#i dont even CARE about them actually getting together IM JUST LIVING FOR THE ANGST

[alexandraisyes]

joining in on ranting in you're ask box part- uh- idk 3?? 4??? I dont even know anymore

Anyway, *cough* i think still have some of these left (edit: I just finished typing this all out and think is defiently an understatement-)

SolarNexus: Solar just goes off on Moon for how much he hates Nexus. Thats all I have for that. I'm sorry im this close to forcing myself to start writing fanfiction again just to write this. Also for my true loves kiss saves Nexus idea- and just to write about Nexus finding who he is instead of who he's supposed to be. .... can you tell i think about these two a lot? (Edit: I prove later that I think about them even more, and Eclipse)

BloodySun: I'm like feral for these two- just, like- Bloodmoon giving dead birds and stuff to Sun and he's absolutley digusted but trying not to hurt their feelings- i- ansusnhas

Servant Sun x Servant Eclipse: I've seen like 1 ship fic with these two but I dont care. I'm obsessed. They need to hold hands and heal and go to therapy together. Obviously Eclipse would defiently be able to help Sun more (cause lord Eclipse), but Sun could defiently help Eclipse too. (Is Eclipse faking losing his memories/being reset or some shit canon? I've read too much fanfiction- im going to assume it is for this) he can also help Eclipse learn that he doesn't have to be fake all the time and thatd be cute

Nexus x Dark Sun: I dont even have thoughts about this. Like I have feelings but I dont have thoughts. I cant even reason why I like this, I just like the toxic yaoi. I just like the concept of Dark Sun not even liking Nexus but manipulating him- like- Moon turned bad x biggest moon hater. I also just like hurting Nexus so other characters can help him heal. Only thing turning me off from this ship is that its an alternate universe of his ex-brother who would most likely be his brother again if he had a redemption arc. Like- I love seeing the ship and I like the concept just it gives me the ick, but thats okay cause I dong have to rot over every ship. Actually, I'm glad I'm not obsessed with this ship I dont need more angst living in my brain. ... I am obsessed with it in a platonic sense tho so I guess the angst is in my brain anyway

Nexus x Eclipse but its when they were looking for who made Eclipse: Nexus abolutley collared him. Im sorry. .. no im not, im right. Like, what is with Nexus and treating others like dogs??? Like first v4 Eclipse, and now Ruin??? Nexus is there anything you want to tell us??? Okay pet play- also doing that to the masochist is crazy, like if you're going to treat anyone like a dog why would it be Ruin that feels like setting yourself up for disaster. Even if he isn't actually a masochist he sure is known for pretending to be one

Nexus x any Eclipse ever: listen, im just saying I think he has a thing for Eclipse's (which is funny cause Moon fucking hates them) Treating Eclipse and Ruin like his dogs. Solar being his best friend. Even Dark Sun, who's a really smart Evil Sun who absorbed the knowledge of his Moon, so im counting him. Like I think Nexus would like being thrown around by Lord Eclipse, or helping to fix up Servant Eclipse. I'm just saying-

Eclipse ² x Nexus (gets its own section i rot about these three): them just reassuring the other's that they're loved and cared for- im sorry you can't tell me that these three don't all have some form of attachment issues- Eclipse being so used to people hating him that he kind of just instinctively pushes people away. Similar with Solar, but he does it more so emotionally while also feeling like he has to earn his place and do things for people. And Nexus also feels like he has to prove himself, and that he isn't good enough.

And they just reassure each other and then the others use their words against him (/pos) and they realize how stupid it sounds and anisnsusnsns <3<3 like- nexus being like "you don't have to prove yourself for anyone, Solar. We love you, you don't need to overwork yourself for us." And, like- solar saying it to him back- and Nexus is just like ".. okay listen-" and similar things happening with the other two and ensunsjss-

also they're the three worst at interaction (other than old Moon he takes the cake for worst at it, but its okay i love it)- like they're all pretty bad at it. Eclipse is Eclipse(aka memories as a villain, and is a sarcastic little shit), Nexus is just kind of awkward, and cmon Solar didn't really ever have any interaction after his split than his Moon and probaly kids, we know he can't talk to people easily. Honestly tho Solar is the best at it (he was able to start up a conversation with Moon easier than Moon could with him) and I imagine he's the one who orders at restaurants

And Moon hates both of Solar's boyfriends and Moon and Solar are friends and I think that's just kind of funny. Like Moon likes Solar so he doesn't stop being friends with him even though he's dating the two, but he's bitter about it (though honestly if Nexus had a redemption arc and it was proved he had a virus, I feel like Moon would hate him a little less. But he'd probaly still be insecure about Nexus probaly taking his place and everyone not really liking Moon again so he'd probaly still be an ass to him.)

Anyway they cuddle. Doesn't even have to be romantic, those three deserve to be in love (also the potential from forbidden love Eclipse² is Nausnsusnsn)

... I- shipping dynamics are neat

I apologize for making this so long, I expected it to be short and then I remembered I started to like new ships 😔

ALSO were being brave and doing this off anon (also id like you to know I genuinely just stared at my phone for a moment when I saw youd followed me lmao. I was so suprised [and delighted, you're neat]- plus it was like 4 am and I hadn't slept yet. I thought it was a dream the next day because I was that tired- I had to check cause i get very vivid dreams-)

All of these are so canon bro.

Solar saves Nexus with true loves kiss real? Real. I saw it with my own two eyes. It happened chat.

BLOODYSUN!!! They love their sunny and try to show that in the best way they know how, dead birds included. Sun is so grossed out by the blood and feathers and ough that's a dead bird ewww but he just forces a smile and nods and feeds it to his cats when Bloodmoon isn't looking. Then drowns his hands with soap and shampoos the carpet.

I feel like I've seen that fic too but my poor brain- Also yes, the pretending to be reset is canon. And that's so cute I'm-

Platonic ships are just as valid as romantic ones! And I really like the angst potential too heheheheh

Ayo 👀 Mmm I have thoughts about that but I must refrain.

Objectively correct. Nexus is an eclipsephile. He loves himself some eclipse.

POLY POLY POLY 🎉🎉🎉

THANK YOU FOR SHARING ALL OF YOUR THOUGHTS THESE ARE SO TASTY OH MY GOD ROLLING THESE AROUND IN MY BRAIN

Also awww ur so sweet. I love ur art! It's very cute! Of course I followed!

Ask Game

[catboylister]

Hi! You asked for iwbft angst and I'm just back from the club so I am here to make myself sad :)

All I can think of I'd jimmy and his sister and the headcanons I have about that. So here you go

It's not that jimmy was the favourite of his grandparents but he needed a lot more tlc than his sister did. With coming out as trans at a really young age and that needing advocated fir, and his anxiety/paranoia, and him being like a music prodigy (and also him height just Youngest Child tm). His sister had classic oldest daughter syndrome and just had to go along with all this when it seemed like nothing in her life was as interesting. (Also she probably remembers a time where their parents were together more than himmy but I don't have thoughts about that)

When she was going to university she choose the farthest place she could. She loves her family, but she needed to distance herself from them (and jimmy specifically). When in school all she was known as was "Jimmy's sister" weather that was a good thing or not, and she wanted the chance to be her own person

Jimmy on the other hand is desperate for her attention/approval! Je doesn't make it public thay he has a sister ciz she doesn't want that but he will bring her up to people who know all the time.

"Oh my sister loves lasagne" "my sisters favourite colour is purple" "Oh my sister is studying that in America" etc etc

When the ark start doing shows in America jimmy very hopefully messages her to ask her to come. She...isn't fussed, but says something like "Yeah, maybe, if I'm free", and to Jimmy that is a undeniable yes! And he's ecstatic!

Rowan and Lister (as Jimmy defenders through abd through!) Have complicated feelings about her.

I feel like her and rowan are very similar, but because they grew up together worh jimmy hes like a second brither, but rowan is also very stubborn and especially when ut comes to Jimmy so she is the worst in his books (compensating because Jimmy can't see it). Lister Ron the other hand, I feel like she clocked listers crush from the get go and very much h does not approve of the relationship. Not that Lister cares, he can see right through her just as easily, lister knows what it's like to have difficult siblings relationships, so they have their own understanding.

Lister is the one to actually convince her to come see them perform. Nit that jummy needs tk know that.

She crys during Joan of Ark.

Okay that's all I hot goodnight 🥰

AAAAA i loove all of this !! we actually have such similar ideas about her ?? me and my friend talk have like turned her into an oc together lolsies weve been calling her naomi hehe

and i sooo agree with the older sister syndrome. i feel like she would've had a big inferiority complex when it comes to jimmy, since he becomes successful at such a young age, and while shes doing well in school, its just sort of average compared to him. also with her being older im sure she has more memories of their parents, so the move between living with them and their grandparents may have been harder for her. and jimmy not really understanding why she seeks their approval so much when their not even around for them.

but even though their relationship is complicated she does care about him. like she looks out for him in school from the sidelines and i think she really does not get a long with lister after the suitcase incident. rowan was kinda scared of her growing up because she just seemed annoyed by everything 24/7 bless. also i can imagine a younger jimmy being like can we play mario kart :( can we play just dance :( can we play minecraft :( like hes just always been the annoying younger sibling even though if she were to bring it up hed be like well i dont remember it like that so ur being dramatic :/ (shes just saying it how it was)

also i when shes older i think she travels a lot for work !! in my head shes a sports journalist and i totally did not make this a thing so i could make her and kou matsuoka (that one girl from free) lesbians together. i think she comes out to him or the gujarat family holiday and hes like 'no way ur dating an olympic swimmer ????' and shes like. 'even better. an olympic swimmer's SISTER !!' also in my head she looks like camilia from 'i love amy' but with curlier hair

[devildom-moss]

Since you menioned Simeon and Barbatos in the same sentence, its my time to rant about how much i love Simbarb!!

I AM LITERALLY ON MY KNEES FOR THAT SHIP. EVERY SCRAP OF SIMBARB CONTENT I CAN FIND, I WILL DEVOUR IT LIKE THERES NO TOMORROW. DOESNT MATTER IF ITS FLUFF, ANGST, OR HECK EVEN SMUT. I LIVE FOR SIMBARB. THERES NOTHING ELSE THAT WILL SATISFY ME MORE THAN SIMBARB. LIKE THE SHIP IS JUST PERFECT IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE. AND BOTH BARBATOS AND SIMEON ARE PERFECT AS WELL. I WANT TO LIKE, SQUEEZE THE LIFE OUT OF THE TWO OF THEM, AFFECTIONATELY.

I think i went a little off course.. oh and i read this simbarb fanfiction once and now ive created a whole au with lore and backstory with Simeon and someone else (which can technically be MC but the actual MC also exists in this au). And i really wanna talk about it to someone, but there's no one who wants to listen, but you're now back, and im happy so maybe ill talk about it to you if youre interested!

Anyways have a nice day! Remember to eat, sleep and dont do drugs <33

Sincerely, 💜

You are so right for this. Those two are not only my favorites, but they are probably my favorite ship (I don't know if I've made that clear in my writing, but I feel like there have at least been hints). We are on the same boat here (I apologize for the pun, but I'm sending it out into the world anyway). I am right there with you. They are precious individually and together. I generally am not a touchy/hugging person, so I wouldn't want to squeeze them, but I would make them a delicious bowl of soup, give them pats on the head, and tell them that they're both good boys.

Especially as a fellow SimBarb lover, you are welcome talk about your AU here! Also, in general, I love reading about how people view character relationships (romantic, platonic - in any form, really).

While I'm here, I would like to fuel the SimBarb love with a few thoughts of my own it won't be too much because I'm going to head to bed soon, so my brain is in wind down mode.

Okay, so I lied to myself about the "a few" and rambled for 10 bullet points, so more under the cut:

Canonically, Barbatos and Simeon just often find themselves on outings together. Barbatos phrases it like it's unintentional; it just happens; they just have accidental dates. Well, considering that Barbatos seems to always have good luck, maybe there's a reason he keeps finding himself on outings with Simeon. Wouldn't it be lucky if he happened to run into a certain handsome angel while he was out?

I think it took Simeon longer to realize he liked being around Barbatos than it took Barbatos to notice how much he enjoyed spending time with Simeon. Simeon probably used Luke as a kind of affection proxy for a long time. A lot of "Luke really likes Barbatos," and "Barbatos is so sweet to Luke. It really warms my heart." Really? Is it just Luke who likes Barbatos?

They probably pick up groceries a lot together, and they both like to menu plan as they browse the markets, so they end up taking ideas from each other. Sometimes they'll plan to cook the same dish on the same night. It makes them kind of giddy. Even though they don't share meals often, when they cook the same thing on the same night, it almost feels like they're getting to eat together.

Whenever Luke goes to Barbatos for cooking/baking lessons, Barbatos tries to ensure they have leftovers for Luke to take back to Simeon. Additionally, Barbatos is especially motivated to help the final product turn out good (outside of just wanting Luke to learn and succeed) because he knows it's a reflection of his own skills and he wants to impress Simeon.

Also, I could see Barbatos sending Luke back home with two bouquets of flowers (especially edible flowers and sometimes herbs) from his garden. One is for Luke, but the other one, Barbatos will casually suggest that Luke "give it to Simeon, if you'd like."

These two both love taking care of others. Can you imagine how often they just try to out-spoil the other? I think it would occasionally end up in arguments that are basically just "sit down, and let me take care of you for a change."

Barbatos would be the least comfortable being taken care of because he's a demon. Being doted on by an angel. That's weird, right? He feels incredibly unworthy.

These two could flirt back and forth so well.

Barbatos would get extremely flustered if Diavolo commented on how wonderful it is to see a respectable demon such as Barbatos and a regarded angel like Simeon getting along so well, and that it gives him hope for the future between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm.

This is kind of angsty, and I don't remember if Barbatos and Simeon actually met before the war, but I have this thought (maybe a future story idea if I decide to lean into ships or something) that while Diavolo was enamored with Lucifer, Barbatos took a liking to Simeon. Actually, it was initially just an interest in the angel whose cooking skills could almost compare with his own. Then he realized how similar they were and how well they would get along. I just imagine younger Barbatos thinking hoping that when the war came around, Simeon would fall with Lucifer. Selfishly, he wanted the opportunity to even just be around Simeon. When that didn't happen, Barbatos was silently crushed but he carried on. He held his excitement the entire time when he first heard that Simeon would be one of the exchange students, and he was even more delighted when Simeon treated him with kindness.

[drottni]

LBFAD Rewatch Part 10

1. When your cheap ass friend starts becoming generous and your immediate thought is "is she broken? Is she possessed ?"

2. Okay can we just talk about the creativity of the "shes deeply in love with me and thats why the Bone Orchid is killing her" arch. Like the way they stitched that in there so we could have the whole "I have to get her to hate me " angst. *chef kisses*

3. Xunfeng: Wait so the Moon Queen is not going to live long?

DFQC: Over my dead body >:(

Xunfeng: Or....hear me out. Over HER dead body! Eh? Eh!

DFQC: *jail for Xunfeng*

4. Xunfeng: I cannot give you the sword. You will destroy it. You are the last hope for the Moon tribe

DFQC: *angry exasperated face* If one more person says that to me---

5. Xunfeng kicking DFQC while he is down:

Me: You little menace.

6. Idk how many times I will gush over his acting, but ya'll. Wang Hedi looked soooo genuinely torn. Like his facial muscles rippling with checked anger. His tight grip loosening as Xunfeng's words start to hit home. The rippling anguish in his eyes as he realizes just what he is doing and how much of a risk he is taking. God.

7. Omg the absolute hell ish pressure cooker my poor baby DFQC is in. Like ya'll imagine everyone relying on you and just trusting in you to handle the enemy cuz you got mad crazy powers and you have to sit there and not have a panic attack because you no longer have the mad crazy powers and you will most likely lose either your people or the person you love. OOOH GOD. Get him out of there! I got second hand panic attacks watching this

8. XLH: Im gonna make the Phoenix Crown out of the flowers Big Blockhead planted for me when I came to Cangyan sea.

Jieli: You're such a romantic you dweeb. Loser -_- (I love you, you beautiful innocent soul)

9. XLH: I dont care who I was. All that matters now is I will be his wife *blush*

Me:

10. DFQC giving her an out. Telling her she still has time to save herself before the war. Hoping that she does leave but also that she doesn't. Her barely holding back tears as she continues to discuss the wedding. Both of them losing their shit as the reality sets in. AAAHHHHHH 😭😭 Reminding each other of their promise. "Whatever happens, we face it together". (him also realizing at this point the absolute betrayal hes going to have to put her through) omg.

11. If your demon hubby doesn't sit by your bedside while you sleep despite having 1001 and other things to look after, namely a whole ass war...drop him. DFQC supremacy.

12. "In this world what is real and what is fake? I only know that I love DFQC, that is real. It is more than enough" >>>>>>>>> any other love confession

13. DFQC: Because I know them well. One was my bestfriend. The other was the woman I wanted to marry.

Me on my first watch: was? WAS?? WAASSS?!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

14. THE THUNDEROUS SKY AS HE DOES THE TERRIBLE ACT OF BETRAYAL.

15. XLH: this food is the one I hate. THIS RIGHT HERE is going too far.

she's just like me fr. dont mess with food.

16. DFQC about to sacrifice his body, soul and spirit to save his people.

XLH: *in danger*

DFQC: Sacrifice is canceled. We are saving the love my of life. Again.

17. I dont even have words for that scene. Never getting over that. (actually i have words and they are too many.)

18. I just wanna say that in my first watch, I did not process that she actually died for the longest time. Despite the whole setup and slow mo. I just kept thinking nahhh DFQC going to think of something and save her. Aint no way he letting her die.

With this thought in my mind, I just imagine how it must have felt for him. How absolutely helpless and devastated. 😭

19. My mans out here straight up suicidal and burning his primordial spirit faster and faster, getting irritated with all his bros for trying to give him their primordial spirit 🥲🥲

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey:)

Thank you so much for answering my ask! Heh the detail you went into seriously made me smile and everything.

I honestly believe this fandom created a world for Sherlock more real than MF's piss poor attempt in S4 lol

but at a certain point i think all they cared about is BIGGER IS BETTER... MORE and SHOCK as much as you can without realizing that the REAL fans actually hyperfixate on the little details... that we would literally cry if we ever saw Sherlock and John dancing together or buying milk.

God i would honestly seriously enjoy a 1.5 hour episode of them staring at each other across the room... literally it would make me squeal

BUT the thing is if ever in the tiny off-chance possibility that they DO make a S5 i think they'll do it with Molly and that makes me very angry... you know considering how they spent so long trying to deny homosexuality (UGHH) and the fact that they set up possibility for a Sherlolly throughout but i think him with Molly is just... bad.... not good... VERY BAD

and this whole thing makes me wanna live in a different universe GOSH

... alsoo DO you think there's gonna be a S5? like after all this time

Honestly i wouldnt even mind if its a spin off series about Rosie but parentlock better happen

(Heh also i do believe ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE HIMSELF wanted them to be a thing so like 200 years later WHY WHY ARENT they explicitly a THING?!)

Okay i promise ill stop spamming you... but i think somehow this show has a lot to do with who i am gosh... might have something to do with friends you deeply love and they scream NOT GAY at you.. hmm

Also i dont know if youve read her work but (Apliddell) (https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell) Has to be one of my personal fav writers heh heres me Fic reccing a fic rec grandmaster but if your really havent read it you should totally! Especially this series (https://archiveofourown.org/series/739065)

Okay Have a nice day!

LOTS OF LOVE TO YOU, TAKE CARE YOU AMAZING PERSON

(PS: I'd sent this stuff as a message but i dont think it went through? i dunno... im just spilling some of my angst gosh im sorry for spamming sm..)

Hey Lovely!!

OMG sorry for missing both this AND my message... Tumblr has been marking my messages as "Read" on its own and often I don't find out until I'm brave enough to click on the huge number on my bubble...this is an easier way to get a hold of me because for SOME REASON the anxiety I get when I see the number on my messages is a huge one skyrockets. Dunno why lol.

ANYWAY, Yeah, I love this fandom so much, and I adore all the content that comes out of it!!

And thank you for sharing your fave author! Everyone go give them some love on their fics!! <3

Thank you so much for this lovely read and your well-wishes <3

[arttrampbelle]

lord shimura self ship asks/hcs part2

Here is some more ghost of tsushima self ship hcs for shimura.

Cw: mostly fluff may have some angst and implied nsfw but not really.

🌸💕🌸💕🌸💕🌸💕🌸💕🌸💕

• Who do you self-ship with? What’s your ship name together?: Lord Masato Shimura from the ghost of tsushima game. (I gave him a given name since in canon to my knowledge they never gave him one so im making my own hcs now. Plus i just feel like he should have more to him then what was shown) my ship tag is 💕🌸heart of a samurai🌸💕

• How long have you self-shipped with them?:  well not for a long time. More so recently. I just have a newfound absolute love of this character.

• When did you get together in your shipping canon?: well my self insert oc kurisuta. (Which is just essentially myself) met him after he saved her from bandits. He retired after the war and appointed a new jito with the permission of the shogun. And lived life in peace for the most part. (There is some angst with jin,his personal honor,etc but yeah that's pretty much how it goes)

• How did you meet?: after he saved me from bandits.

• When did you first know you loved each other?: well if was after a few months of staying with him. After helping some people from pirates. We went back to his home and estate and kinda had a moment.

• Who made the first move?: technically we both kinda confessed in a way.

• What was your first date like?: it was a nice ride to an onsen and a nice picnic out. Very sweet. It was summer and we had melon.

• When did you first say “I love you” to each other?: again it was after our big battle with pirates.

• What are the most important relationship events for you? Drop a timeline!: well besides the big pirate fight. Another is when he made amends with jin,who was still wanted by the shogan. But another is when we married.

• How extensive is your shipping canon?: its simple. But i added more to shimura and his backstory more because i wanted something actually somewhat better than what we got. (Again no shade. I looooove this game. But even thru its amazing storytelling....it has some things i dont like and is worth a critique. I dunno i guess i just wanna rewrite it with just a bit less romanticism towards the samurai code a bit. Because historically shimura shouldn't be acting the way he does sometimes in canon im just saying. You could argue with hypocrisy or even more of the thing of he just wanted to help his people the best way a leader could as much to his ability. Same as any warrior leader. But i still personally have a gripe with it slightly)

11-20 - ATTRACTION

• First impressions of each other?: at first he thought of me as a sweet woman. And surprisingly a decent warrior. But as we grew close. He thought of me as more than that. He felt at peace and ease. For the first time in a long time. He fell in love but not just as a lover....but also as a friend and life companion.

• How close were you as friends before you got together?: most definitely. He's a great friend to have. :3

• Who fell for the other first?: i kinda hc it was mutual,but there was HELLA pining.

• What initially attracted you to them versus what they were attracted to?: well he was attracted to my genuine kindness. I loved his courage but his compassion. He cared for his people,deeply but he is only human and him retiring was his own personal way of atoning and still able to be samurai in a way. He has made mistakes and he felt this way he could help his nephew jin while making amends and letting things go.

• How do you match up with your first crushes?: i dunno this is kinda its own self contained thing.

• Your top 3 favourite things about them versus theirs about you.: my fave 3 are his smile,his laugh,and his heart. His fave or mine are my smile,my heart,and my arms around him. Maybe my sense of humor. It gets him thru.

• The physical traits you love of theirs.: his eyes,his strong arms,and maybe his beard. (Im a simple person to please ok?)

• The personality traits you love of theirs.: again his heart and courage. Despite everything he still loves his nephew. He never let this war ever change that.

• How publicly affectionate are you? Is it cringe, embarrassing or do you love PDA?: for me? I dont care really. I have no preference. Hand holding is simple and enough for me. I actually dont really like overwhelming pda. But I'll tolerate it. As for masato? He would rather show his super "cuddly" side in private. But he will not hesitate to flash a smile or grin.

• Is sex important to this relationship? Why or why not?: it's not super important. However there is a lot of tension at times. 😏

21-30 - ROMANCE

• Do you have pet names for each other?: blossom,momo,and chou-chou which means butterfly. Darling,dear,beloved,and my love are used too. Other than that its our names.

• What are your go-to date night ideas?: as long as we are together and having a good time. Anywhere really.

• Do you get jealous or protective over your partner(s)?: jealous? Eh. Not really. Not for me. For shimura? Not really. He doesn't get jelly. Its rare if anything. Protective? Yes. We both get that way. Him more so than me. But he has his reasons.

• What’s a gift that you’ve given each other that means a lot to you?: he actually has a silk hair tie he gave. It was a partly of his old armor. He wanted to make for me. I wear it both in my hair or around my head. I gave him a beaded charm bracelet,it's supposed to give him protection and luck.

• What are your love languages?: honestly we need all of them. But i feel like just a simple reassurance. Like a simple im jere for you,a care about you. That kinda thing. Acts of service especially. But he does love giving gifts. Simple and sweet.

• What’s ‘your song’ with them? Does it remind you of each other, or have special memories attached to it?: honestly i haven't thought about it yet.

• What places are special to you guys? Is it because of a memory or is it somewhere you want to go?: there is a small place ontop of a cliff that overlooks the ocean and is a huge field of flowers. He and i rode there after our big battle with the pirates. It was our first...well you know.

• What things in daily life remind you of each other?: for him,wisteria or purple flowers remind him of me,sometimes small bells. And plum blossoms actually remind me of him. Sometimes chrysanthemums. The gold trees too. Waterfalls.

• Do you own anything that’s symbolic of your relationship i.e. charms, souvenirs etc.?: we do have an omomori charm that hangs near our bed. But he has a bell attached to his sword. To have a piece of me wherever he goes. And i have one around my neck.

• What do you guys believe is the most important part of any/your relationship?: communication,trust and honesty.

31-40 - INTERESTS

• Do you share any of the same hobbies/interests/passions?: poetry,art,and song. But also bird watching.

• What’s something you want to try together?: he's always wanted to try this spicy ramen,but its hard to come by because the ingredients are imported and kinda pricey. But i know how to make it.

• What’s something you can do but they can’t? What’s something they can do that you can’t?: honestly im not sure. I guess fall asleep easier. Not by much but still. But we all have our quirks. *shrug* i guess i dont really think about that. Lol

• What do you do together on a bright and sunny day?: depends,is it hot out? But enjoy the sunshine. Maybe sunbathe.

• What’s something you do together if you can’t go outside?: write,read,i paint. Sometimes he'll do flower arrangements. We might sometimes if we are really bored....do things...

• How do you usually relax and wind down together?: most of the time drink tea and talk about life. Maybe past adventures or our childhood. But sometimes if we are in a really good mood. A nice cup of sake or two. Or three. Hee hee

• If you’re away from each other, what do you prepare for each other? Welcome back gifts, setting time aside etc.: he will set aside time most definitely. Sometimes he'll have a nice meal prepared. Pretty much the same for me. I will however run right up to him and hug him tight.

• What is a guilty pleasure/something that you’d be embarrassed to tell them about, but want to share?: ok sfw would be he actually loves board games and gambling games but he kinda doesn't want me to get into it due to it's...notoriety. a nsfw thing would be shibari. He absolutely is into that.

• What do you find weird about each other? Is it endearing or an actual ick?: its not so much weird as its odd and curious to him that i can eat so much and yet... stil have room. Also how much spicy i can eat.

• Are you guys superstitious? How do you see belief in luck, ghosts or aliens etc.?: sometimes. He feels there is logic to things but he wont ever rule out the ways of spirits and kami.

41-50 - PREFERENCES

• What are your names saved as in each other’s phones?: lol dont apply here. But well if we did it would be momo-chan for me and 🌸💕masato💕🌸 in mine

• How do you guys take your coffee/tea? Do you know how the other likes it?: mine is slightly sweeter than his. And yes.

• Where do you get takeout? Who usually pays?: we cook at home for the most part.

• What’s your favourite (type of) show to watch together? Do you watch on routine or set time aside to binge?: lol again dont apply.

• What roles do you take on when you play games together? It can be co-op, or talk about how you play games in general.: well we do have a slight competitiveness to us. But he tries to be easy on me even if i say dont.

• How do you dress? Do you look like you match as a couple, or are your styles different?: its different but complimentary colors

• What could you not live without? Does your partner know what it is?: my bow. His sword. And my zazen bracelet.

• Where do you like to be touched? Innocent or suggestively.: honestly hand holding like i said is underrated af. And kissing the hand. But im not responsible for him if he kisses my neck. >:3

• Mix your favourite colours. What is the resultant colour?: purple and red. A deep purple red? Yellow and purple is strange tho.

• Who needs space, and who needs more attention? Do you cling together or are you loosely together?: depends on the mood and situation?

51-60 - DAILY LIFE

• What does the daily schedule of this home look like?: well we both usually get up around mid day. But sometimes he gets up early than me. He makes tea and breakfast.,we bathe if needed.Then we do our daily chores,pack a lunch and then go riding,have lunch. Then we come back for dinner. And then relax. Sometimes soak in the onsen.

• Who is more of a homebody, and who’s the breadwinner?: i dunno if it applies here.

• What do your sleeping arrangements look like? Do you sleep together, or in separate beds?: together. It was separate,till we got together tho. But it was nearby. He just joined our futons together at that point. The bedroom basically joined together for a bigger space.

• Who’s the early riser, and who has trouble getting out of bed? Who falls asleep first?: masato is an early riser usually. I have problems sleeping tho always. Depending on how tired i am.

• Who handles what chores around the house?: we both do.

• Who deals with the spiders/bugs?: we both try to deal with them.

• Who’s the better driver? Do you argue on the road?: he is definitely a better rider. Not always. Depending.

• When you go shopping, who takes the longest? Who’s the worst to shop with?: depending.

• How comfortable are you with sharing? Clothes, personal items, spaces like the bathroom etc.: we are comfy. Well more so after we got together and definitely when we married.

• When you take pictures together, how do you pose? Do you like taking pics together?: i love painting him.

61-70 - SITUATIONS

• If you got into a physical fight, who would win? Would you let them win?: him more likely. But he'd let me win despite my complaints.

• When you upset each other, how do you make up for things?: we do talk about it. Like anyone else?

• Do you take care of each other when you’re sick? Who’s an absolute mess when they’re sick?: yes. We both are.

• How are you when travelling together? It can be in general or to a specific place.: we love traveling and exploring.

• You run into your ex/their ex while you’re out - how do you react?: oof. I hope not. I dont have one here. But oof.

• If either of you got into any serious trouble, would you bail each other out? In what conditions?: yes. Of course.

• Could you start a musical act together? How good are your musical skills?: i hc he actually can play flute.

• What Alternate Universes have you thought of for yourselves? Fantasy, royalty etc.: modern. Since it's in canon its feudal japan

• How would you react if you swapped bodies?: panic than laugh.

• If the world fell into an apocalypse situation, would you stick with each other?: yes? Duh

71-80 - DIFFICULTY

• What’s the longest time you’ve been apart?: a whole month. Oof

• What do you argue over most? How do you resolve things?: probably about my safety. But we usually can resolve this. He has reasonable fears tho.

• What do you find is the most annoying thing about each other?: him hovering,like i can do things. But he wants to help. He likes taking care of me tho. Ugh. I just let him sometimes. My stubbornness tho,he raises a brow at.

• What can you never seem to understand about each other?: honestly we both are understanding. But his past has hurt him so i can understand sometimes why he is the way he is. Oof.

• What’s the worst thing you’ve done for your partner?: honestly im not sure.

• Do you have any insecurities about your relationship?: not really,other than the normal fears. Nothing in particular.

• What would you guys consider cheating?: going behind eithers back? I mean cheating is pretty obvious and fucked up. He'd never do that tho. Ever. He'd rather just leave than that. He finds that abhorrent and no man,nor sensible person would do that to someone they love so why would he a samurai. Ever do that?

• What was a moment that really put your relationship to the test?: when he made amends to his nephew. We had some arguments about it a bit. But it needed to happen. But other than that we've been good.

• If you could change one thing about your partner, what would it be?: nothing. Why would you change someone. They wouldn't be that person you fell for then.

• In relation to your exes, how do you stand against each other? Would you say you’re better than their exes and vice versa?: it doesn't apply here.

81-90 - DIFFERENCES

• Who’s older? What’s the age difference?: well he is older most definitely. But i hc shimura is around maybe late 40s? Im 30 so...yeah.

• Who’s taller? What’s the height difference?: i hc he's taller than me but shorter than kazumasa. Jin and him are the same height roughly,jin is only slightly taller. Not much to tell tho.

• What are your star signs? How compatible does it say you’d be?: well im a leo sun. I hc him to maybe be a very chill aries or leo too. Either that or a Taurus or has earth in his chart somewhere. Maybe some water. Im not sure.

• What is your MBTI? How compatible does it say you’d be?: i dont do mbti cuz it actually said to be kinda problematic and not really good,but im not sure. Plus i dont care for it personally.

• Who’s more introverted/extroverted?: ot can go either way.

• Who gets the most stressed and why?: both

• What are your biggest differences from each other?: besides the obvious. He's more grounded in some areas than me definitely.

• Who’s more romantically experienced?: maybe him?

• Are you guys more overprotective and jealous? Or are you chill with others around your partner(s): we chill....so as long as they stay in their lane.

• If you were in high school together, what cliques would you have been in? Would you have gotten along then?: lol. Dont apply here.

91-100 - RELATIONS

• How do you describe each other to your friends and family for the first time?: well i hc jin is the only living family member shimura has. And he's cool with me. Jin was more shocked on how much "softer" his uncle has gotten. It makes him happy that his uncle is happier now.

• What do your families think about your relationship?: again happy that he's happy.

• What do your friends think about your relationship?: pretty chill with it. Kinda teasing about how I'm with a former jito now.

• Who is most supportive of your relationship?: i feel jin is. But there are actually many who are happy for masato.

• Is there anyone on your partner’s side that you don’t like/get along with, and is there anyone on your side that your partner doesn’t like/get along with?: not really. Everyone has their quirks. There isn't anyone that i dislike. Neither does masato.

• How do you act differently when in the company of people from when you’re alone with your partner(s)?: not much different. Tho we are way more intimate for sure. Especially masato.

• How did you tell people you were going out together?: well it kinda just happened.

• Do you have mutual friends or are your friendship groups separate?: well kinda separate. But my friends kinda became his friends i guess.

• What’s a common misconception about your relationship?: there is many "rumors" but we scoff at them. We know each other. That's all that matters. (Tho there is times where things do get to shimura.)

• Has your romantic relationship affected any other relationships?: eh not really. Maybe. I don't really pay attention to that.

101-110 - FUTURE

• Are you engaged/would you get engaged? Describe/Show a picture of your ring.: (considering that traditional Japanese weddings including samurai. Were different than western weddings. No rings are involved.)

• Are you married/would you get married? Describe/Show the aesthetic of your wedding.: technically yes. And we got married in spring. It was semi traditional. Not a lot of people i knew came. Jin cake but was watching in secret due to him still being wanted. After the wedding and celebration i brought him some food and a thank you gift.

• What does your ideal home look like together?: well we already live at his estate.

• Do you have/want kids? If not, would you have/want pets?: well he does want a family deeply. Eventually we could have children. But for now our cat miki will do.

• If you have/want kids or pets, how would you name them?: well our cat is named miki. But if we had a son we'd name him kentaro,and if a daughter akari or ayame

• If you could give advice to yourselves when you started, what would you say to each other?: that it's ok to start again.

• What do you look forward to the most in the future of this relationship?: peace

• How long do you think you’ll be together? How long do you want to be together?: as long as our lives will let us

• Do you think you’ll continue to self-ship with them for a while?: yeah

• In real life, are they someone you wish would be your partner?: (well irl im taken and i self ship for both fun and to cope)

111 - What does this self-ship mean to you?:

Honestly i love this game series and it's a lot of fun and i love the story and characters. I of course have my own takes and aus but for the most part i have loved this game from start to finish.

[neowinestainedress]

omg hiii its 2 am at my place when i finished 'hits different' and now typing this (and idk what time i gonna finish typing and hit the blue button to send). my eyes still wet cuz omg yes again i cried. you write so well and i swear i could write a wholw paragraph about how much i love your style and writing and how you poured emotions into your writing. i just hope whatever you do in your life outside this app, you'll never stop writing, even if it's a hobby to kill your free time but i'm sure you love writing with all the word counts every time you released a story. (definitely not saying the short works doesnt have your love poured in but you know what i mean, i just really love long oneshot and i appreciate it so much that you wrote them to the end and uploaded it here)

the development of your characters... damn. you wrote them so well. AND OH GOSH HAECHAN CHARACTER HERE IS JUST A PERFECT DAYDREAMING GUY WE ALL WANT IN OUR LIVES. "When life give you Haechan, don't let him slip away." GOD I WISH LIFE GIVE ME A LEE HAECHAN (i mean yes technically we are living the same lifetime with one and only lee haechan), to the point i dont think i will be able to fall in love with other men irl cuz haechan has set the bar too high for anyone to reach it. okay that's probably too personal. But, once again thank you for writing a very perfect lee haechan in your writing once again. At least the hopeless romantic in me can be happy.

And the angst??? I LIVE TO READ AND LOVE ANGST, I AM LIVING FOR IT. At some point i feel like the pinch to my heart get so real i think im really the fl in the story. well i definitely can feel the real trauma and i understand how she acted like that. poor haechan but yeah it happened when it get to overwhelmed. Thanks for his characteristics tho, he stays and lord i want a man like him (no i dont want other men) and being the most understanding, patience, he like an angel he deserves so damn much love and honestly i wish the fl give him that even after the story end with happy ending cuz yes both of them deserves the happiness and love together.

but of course haechan can be the real devil when it comes to making love (oh i wish theres a part where they be making love like you know after confessing and becoming couple so the tension is not in the air and they can just enjoy yeaㅡ i need to writing too much)

“And I will die like a man,” he insists, challenging you with a glare.

“Yeah, exactly, don’t think,” he snarls.

“I don’t want to hear you. I don’t need to hear you to know you’re going dumb on my cock.”

Yes, i died here. And come back to life and SCREAM. He is a menace, a loser, BUT I WANT HIM. Honestly there are lot more (i mean its 40k+) but yeah i need to stay sane for my own self. Adding cherries on top, he is the real guy because whatever situation he knows he shouldn't force and always care for the fl.

And i love how you include all the positivity in the fic, tho of course it should be a norm, SAY YES TO NOT TAKING ADVANTAGE WHEN THE WOMEN OR EVEN MEN NOT BEING THEMSELVES!!

Well honestly, i kinda wonder if Mark actually know it's fl that Haechan always brought home and fuck (when he is there). So, I always thought like maybe Mark heard it and then shove anything in his ears to block the moans and all so he never noticed fl's voice or maybe he get out of the house whenever it happened (and he is not out of the house yet), or he just pretend he didn't know anything but that doesn't make sense cuz when haechan was with wonyoung, he didn't seems to like saying something that involved feelings with the fl.

I have so much things to say but i will cut it short here with thank you for writing a perfect long piece of yet another haechan fic, i really love it!

and here am i moving on to other things...

This is probably too long already and this is not related to 'hits different' but your other fic, the traitor series. idk if you still remember but i used to send ask where i talked about 2nd part and you did replied but i didnt replied back (sorry about that) because i was waiting until the 3rd part come out and decided to just get back to the 'discussion' after that but i never did altho i have read the 3rd part due to my busy schedule so i ended up losing the notif since tumblr only let certain amount of time. and i finally get back to you now. Another reason is it's the same as this, i have so much things to say and couldnt find a right way to put it into long para cuz yes of course im so satisfied with your writing and at the end the fl get together with haechan just like how i wish altho he kinda dont deserve it. Yes of course i still feel like he doesnt deserve her after all he did to her but he changes and i shouldnt hold onto it too much when they could find happiness among themselves again. You did included it in your note about writing another part for jeno but since its already too long. Well im not gonna ask you to write about because i have seen your wip and you planned to write a lot and your req is close too (+ it's too late now anyway) so i will just say this here, well honestly you always end your story with characters developments so theres nothing to ask for more. I would love to see how haechan and the fl in their new 2nd chance relationship, like how haechan treat her when they hanging out with their friends and if jeno finally found the loml cuz he deserves his own happy ending (altho ofc happy ending doesnt mean he need to find a partner to be with). But that should be it. I'm just writing this here cuz i feel bad for not getting back to you for that series but also its not only bc i feel bad cuz that sounds like im forcing myself it just i really think i should tell you you did well writing the series and appreciate it that you even took time before posting the last part so you of course put so much in thought how youre going to end it and i feel the need to put closure to our discussion just because it's worth it. It deserve the closure note too and once again im so sorry for coming this late to give feedback of the series.

Hoping for your happiness and have nice days ahead!! couldn't wait for your other masterpieces but still take time!! Lots of love!!!! 💗💗💗💗

hii!! i wanted to say that i thought it’s impossible to cry for this fic as if i didn’t tear up while i wrote the last texts haechan sent the mc lmao (i’m a liar) so i’m sorry, my next goals are 1) a happy fic and 2) a short fic. this made me tear up, i’m so happy you can see how much i love writing and i hope the same. if i’m lucky enough to get the job i hope to get i should have a bit of free time to keep my writing hobby alive so, let’s hope for the best! And yes, i totally get what you mean, writing a 20-40k or more story takes much more time than a fic around 1-5k words and if you don’t love doing it you don’t put those words down.  

the development of your characters... damn. you wrote them so well. AND OH GOSH HAECHAN CHARACTER HERE IS JUST A PERFECT DAYDREAMING GUY WE ALL WANT IN OUR LIVES. "When life give you Haechan, don't let him slip away." GOD I WISH LIFE GIVE ME A LEE HAECHAN (i mean yes technically we are living the same lifetime with one and only lee haechan), to the point i dont think i will be able to fall in love with other men irl cuz haechan has set the bar too high for anyone to reach it. okay that's probably too personal. But, once again thank you for writing a very perfect lee haechan in your writing once again. At least the hopeless romantic in me can be happy.

this is haechan’s vendetta for all the times i wrote him like an asshole LET’S GO HAECHAN AND SUNFLOWERS!!! it’s not a want it’s a NEED at this point (also it got nothing to do with the story but lately he’s feeding my delusion a bit too much so yeah). i might’ve written the man of my dreams in this fic… just maybe. no but it’s true that we don’t know him truly but it’s already a blessing to living at the same time. i think i came up with a good compromise between real him and obviously made up character, idk how to explain but the mix between the hopeless romantic – or loser (affectionative) – and the tease is just so haechan.

And the angst??? I LIVE TO READ AND LOVE ANGST, I AM LIVING FOR IT. At some point i feel like the pinch to my heart get so real i think im really the fl in the story. well i definitely can feel the real trauma and i understand how she acted like that. poor haechan but yeah it happened when it get to overwhelmed. Thanks for his characteristics tho, he stays and lord i want a man like him (no i dont want other men) and being the most understanding, patience, he like an angel he deserves so damn much love and honestly i wish the fl give him that even after the story end with happy ending cuz yes both of them deserves the happiness and love together.

i was unsure about her backstory for so long, because initially she wasn’t supposed to have one (not this heavy at least) but then it came to me out of nowhere and i felt it was more fitting of a reasoning for the way she behaved (especially her obsession with rules) than some tough break-ups. i’m not even sure it was what the person that requested wanted but as much as I love fwb2l i’m sick of always reading them with the fl being the first one to fall in love or the one to be more emotionally into the story. i struggled to come up with a plot for months but i was sure since the start that i wanted haechan’s character to be like this. the first one to reach out (when they met again at the club, when he asked for her number, asking her to stay over and so on) i needed loser haechan in my life so badly. and yeah, i can reassure you they’re living happily together because it’s what they deserve.

but of course haechan can be the real devil when it comes to making love (oh i wish theres a part where they be making love like you know after confessing and becoming couple so the tension is not in the air and they can just enjoy yeaㅡ i need to writing too much) “And I will die like a man,” he insists, challenging you with a glare.|“Yeah, exactly, don’t think,” he snarls. | “I don’t want to hear you. I don’t need to hear you to know you’re going dumb on my cock.” Yes, i died here. And come back to life and SCREAM. He is a menace, a loser, BUT I WANT HIM. Honestly there are lot more (i mean its 40k+) but yeah i need to stay sane for my own self. Adding cherries on top, he is the real guy because whatever situation he knows he shouldn't force and always care for the fl.

i wasn’t sure about ending it where it ended, but to be honest i didn’t even think about writing a short smut scene. i wanted to add another scene like two months later but then i thought the fic was too long already so i was like ‘nah, let’s leave it to reader’s imagination’. now you’re making me think about them making love and i’m crying. it would’ve been even better if it was from haechan’s pov, like… he really thought he had lost her and then… she was still there??? and she confessed she never loved nobody else like him??? BRB GOTTA HAVE A MENTAL BREAKDOWN.

the funny thing is the I KNOW that Haechan’s the type to say things like this even irl it’s just his vibe *crying* whoever dates him is so lucky.

i literally wrote about a man that will never exist in real life, how do i bring him to life??

And I love how you include all the positivity in the fic, tho of course it should be a norm, SAY YES TO NOT TAKING ADVANTAGE WHEN THE WOMEN OR EVEN MEN NOT BEING THEMSELVES!!

it should be the norm but unfortunately it’s not so rip

Well honestly, i kinda wonder if Mark actually know it's fl that Haechan always brought home and fuck (when he is there). So, I always thought like maybe Mark heard it and then shove anything in his ears to block the moans and all so he never noticed fl's voice or maybe he get out of the house whenever it happened (and he is not out of the house yet), or he just pretend he didn't know anything but that doesn't make sense cuz when haechan was with wonyoung, he didn't seems to like saying something that involved feelings with the fl.

can i be honest? i love mark but in this story he really is mr clueles😭 1) he’s awkward so even if he heard (he did hear at times) he would shove his earphones on and try to fall asleep like that. 2) after a few months of their affair, he started dating minjeong so he didn’t want to listen and try to analyse the moans of his roommate’s hookup at all 3) the mc was just too good at slipping away they never met not even by mistake and also most of the times they just met up when mark wasn’t there. he knew something was going on but he never pried on it much, also because haechan was good at keeping it a secret. hyuck flirts with many people so to mark is not really weird he brings someone at home every now and then. and haechan’s story with wonyoung was super short and at one point it’s clear hyuck doesn’t talk much about his relationships so mark almost only makes assumptions about them (in fact, to him they’re dating but they’re really not, when haechan goes back to the mc and has to talk with wonyoung it’s just to say that they can’t get to know each other romantically because there’s someone else in his life). it’s a mix of mark barely being with his head on earth (they way he always tries to set mc up with anybody every time they go out when she’s sulking because she wants Haechan sends me) and mc and haechan being good at keeping it a secret (always in a corner, touches under the table, going to a place they know none of their friends will ever go)

I have so much things to say but i will cut it short here with thank you for writing a perfect long piece of yet another haechan fic, i really love it!

Thank you, it made so happy to discuss it with you, probably I’ve answered too much but I hope it’s not a problem!!

This is probably too long already and this is not related to 'hits different' but your other fic, the traitor series. idk if you still remember but i used to send ask where i talked about 2nd part and you did replied but i didnt replied back (sorry about that) because i was waiting until the 3rd part come out and decided to just get back to the 'discussion' after that but i never did altho i have read the 3rd part due to my busy schedule so i ended up losing the notif since tumblr only let certain amount of time. and i finally get back to you now.

i have a few asks about that story so i’m not sure which one is yours (i guess the long one? did you want haechan and the mc to get back together but at the same time you wanted to slap him for what he did?) but apart from that, don’t worry. i don’t mind even if you discuss a fic six months after i posted it or even a year, life gets busy and tumblr sucks so it’s fine.

Another reason is it's the same as this, i have so much things to say and couldnt find a right way to put it into long para cuz yes of course im so satisfied with your writing and at the end the fl get together with haechan just like how i wish altho he kinda dont deserve it. Yes of course i still feel like he doesnt deserve her after all he did to her but he changes and i shouldnt hold onto it too much when they could find happiness among themselves again.

i’m happy you liked the ending of happier. haechan in that series surely wasn’t the man of our dreams but he’s working hard to be a better person. i know it’s all fictional and those characters don’t exist but i wouldn’t have made it end that way if i didn’t know he could be a better man and keep on growing up, so you can sleep at night knowing they’re all happy.

You did included it in your note about writing another part for jeno but since its already too long. Well im not gonna ask you to write about because i have seen your wip and you planned to write a lot and your req is close too (+ it's too late now anyway) so i will just say this here, well honestly you always end your story with characters developments so theres nothing to ask for more. I would love to see how haechan and the fl in their new 2nd chance relationship, like how haechan treat her when they hanging out with their friends and if jeno finally found the loml cuz he deserves his own happy ending (altho ofc happy ending doesnt mean he need to find a partner to be with).

honestly? i wanted to write that part right away even if nobody wanted it. but then last year i had a really bad burn out and i still have no idea how i managed to write the stories i had planned back then (and in fact i didn’t write two of one series) so i decided to don’t start anything because then i get mad at me. like i use writing as escapism and when i start a story and can’t give it an ending it reflects on me more than it should, so i’ve promised myself to don’t put too much on the plate. BUT who knows, if i can keep it short i could still write a small epilogue where we see more of haechan and mc’s relationship and also jeno. in my mind they’re all back together as friends, and jeno did find another person that loves him like he deserves, so whether i’ll write another small part or not, this is their future in the sour universe. i would’ve loved to expend the sour universe and make an entire spin-off on jeno for sure, and maybe even on renjun but that’s just too much work.

i’m also happy you understood the characters development because some comments drove me insane and made me doubt everything. i simply thing this ending was a clear cut, you either liked jeno or haechan and it’s obviously if she didn’t end up with who you were rooting for, you would’ve ended up disappointed. but to me this story was so much more than #teamjeno or #teamhaechan so i’m happy with my characters anyway (even tho sour!haechan you will never be like hits different!haechan)

But that should be it. I'm just writing this here cuz i feel bad for not getting back to you for that series but also its not only bc i feel bad cuz that sounds like im forcing myself it just i really think i should tell you you did well writing the series and appreciate it that you even took time before posting the last part so you of course put so much in thought how youre going to end it and i feel the need to put closure to our discussion just because it's worth it. It deserve the closure note too and once again im so sorry for coming this late to give feedback of the series.

no don’t feel bad at all, i’m the chilliest person and i just love discussing about my stories but i don’t get mad when it takes more time to reply, i’m a late replier too so i can’t get mad at others.

thank you so much for this ask, it made me really happy and i’m still glad you wanted to also discuss happier. have a nice day too!!! Love you 💗💗💗

[ravensmadreads]

UM??????

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was warm.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

I'M OKAY IM FINE-

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

chapter rating: T

word count: ~25K

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

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

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

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

part ii:

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

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

crunch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just by the top drawer.

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

It’ll be small. Just a latch.

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

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

Joel.

“Joel!”

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Planning on getting wounded any time soon?”

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

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

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

Morphine. 

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

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

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

Would and wouldn’t.

Should and shouldn’t. 

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

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

“What else you got?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ellie!”

“Joel, look, it’s a radio!” 

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

“But I’ve got room in my pack –,”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

No other purpose at all. 

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

“Hey, Ellie, uh–,”

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

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

Luxor, the label reads. 

Hand cream. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She lifts her chin, hands curled at her side.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you make them afraid?” 

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

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

“It’s not. Not when it’s for her.” 

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

“Yeah, of course, she’s your kid.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just stares wide-eyed and inhales. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could hardly recognize the woman underneath it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whenever Joel gets back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie.

And Joel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah, are you –,”

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

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

At least crazy runs in the family. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? What was it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was fine. Did she mention anything?”

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

“Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.” 

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

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

“Joel? What is it?” 

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

“C’mere.” 

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

You go to him without question. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome.”

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

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

You can’t deny this anymore.

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

One hand in the air.

“Yes?”

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

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

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

“Correct again.” 

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

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

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

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

Genus

Common name

Poisonous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie merely sniffs hers. 

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course, I know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a kind of math –,”

“Advanced math,” you interject. 

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

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

“Sam? Who’s Sam?” 

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

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

Ellie, however, remains completely baffled.

“Yeah and? He’s just some guy.”

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

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

Sarah shakes her head no. 

“Not even with a group of people?”

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

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

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

“Oh – you mean like a date.”

“Who’s going on a date?” 

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

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

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

“We were talking about boys.”

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

“Oh.”

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

Joel nods, wiping his hands on his shirt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s Sam?”

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

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

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

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

“That’s not funny, Dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel’s trust makes your heart soar. 

Only to come crashing down. 

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

Nurture. It’s not what you do. 

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

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

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

  “Alright, Joel. I’ll try.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think so.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until something sang out to it. 

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you see the world?” 

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

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

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

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

“But I can’t leave him.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah, do you know what rouge is?” 

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

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

“Have you ever worn it?” 

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

“Would you like to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hard to believe, right?”

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

“Have you seen him since he left?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes, please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” Small. Hesitant. Hopeful. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah’s face nearly shines with joy.

Cool. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh, Joel. 

“Tell me you want this.”

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

“I won’t stop.”

Don’t. Please. 

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

His hands are gone, his warmth evaporated. 

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

Pick it up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re surprised.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A soft, barely intimate gesture. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You unplug the drain, your movements slow, hesitant.

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

“Of course she does. I know that.”

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

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

“That is not your decision to make.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What else are you to me? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, goddamn it, I don’t!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit, what the hell did he know?

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah, that’ll be fine.”

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

“Are you okay?” Sarah asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna talk about it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he do?”

You blink. “What?”

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

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

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

“Sarah, don’t –,”

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

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

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

He’s angry. He’s still angry.

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

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

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

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

And yet he hadn’t. 

He’d let someone in. 

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

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

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

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

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

For coming here and upsetting everything. 

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

Now, what does he do with –

“Dad!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah . . .” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you’re mad about somethin’?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, baby. You have to go.” 

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

But instead –

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

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

“No, not right now. But some day.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nerves. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you haven’t been able to focus since. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vanilla beans.

You grin as you pick them up, trying half-heartedly to find that watchful eye. Just before you click off the light, you affectionately rub the corner of the wall.

“Thanks.” 

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

“‘kay, it’s real easy.” He clears his throat again, shifting, and the wood panel squeaks beneath him. Crickets echo in the shadows beyond the light of the porch. “This is gonna be your C – your A – your G, and your D. There’s only twelve you really gotta know. From there you’ll get the basics and can start to –,”

“Where’d you learn to play?” Ellie asks abruptly. She sits with her back against the wooden post outlining the porch, her knees tucked up to her chest. Joel is reminded of the look Sarah once gave him after he silently helped her chop the rest of the wood before a rainstorm came – he had told her she couldn’t do all of it by herself, and she had adamantly refused, but he didn’t rub it in her face when he came to help. They narrowly avoided the downpour but had enough firewood to last them a week. 

Grateful, was the expression he remembers. 

The heat of the day still lingers in the air, the sun just beneath the horizon. Flies and gnats swarm and tangle around the exposed bulb over the porch, thickening the shadows of his hands over the neck of the guitar and beneath the porch steps. 

Joel’s fingers still, the music of fluttering wings and electrical zaps taking over. “My dad taught me. He taught me . . . and my brother.”

Maybe it was the talk with Sarah that had loosened something, at least temporarily. He doesn’t feel like he’s been torn open, spilling his guts, when he tells her about Tommy. He wonders briefly if Sarah had ever mentioned her uncle and if she didn’t, why. He can see the question build behind her eyes, thoughts shuffling, looking for a memory if he had ever mentioned a brother before. 

“We got pretty good for a time. Played at school, church. Had a guy come through town once and tell us we could really be something.”

“Like a Hank Williams kinda something?” 

Joel eyes her, impressed she knows one of the greatest artists who’s ever lived.

“I dunno what he meant,” he says. “But that’s never why I did it anyway. Just wanted something to do with my little brother. He had some good lyrics too. He was always talented that way, with his head, you know? I think sometimes that’s where Sarah gets it. ‘Cause i'snot from me.” 

Joel smiles and Ellie grins back, an inside joke they didn’t know about yet. He strums quietly.

“I think he wanted to be that Hank Williams kinda somethin'. But it’s hard when you’re no one from nowhere. And I think him leavin’ would’ve broken our mama’s heart.”

“Tommy . . . right?” Joel glances up at her, the name so foreign on someone else’s tongue she could have meant someone else entirely. “Sarah – she, um – she mentioned him, once. And that he left for California – a while ago.” 

Joel nods, again in search of that anger to wield as a weapon, but the guitar digs into the place in his chest where it hurts the most. 

“Is that why the guitar was in the trunk? ‘Cause you’re pissed at him?”

It’s almost funny, the way she needles through to the center of things. He could lie, but what’s the point?

He hums. “I stopped playing this thing long before Tommy left. No time. Even with his help, you gotta fight with this land to grow anything. Then Sarah got sick, and now there’s all this fuckin’ dust . . .” 

He puts a hand on the belly of the guitar to stop the vibrations. He looks up at the stars, blinking into existence as night falls like a dropped curtain, and shakes his head. It felt like an excavation of something haunted, when he pulled the guitar from a trunk in his bedroom closet. Truly, he hadn’t thought about this guitar in months and taking it out again was just asking for something dangerous to befall him. Maybe something already had, given how much he had started to care for the girl who carries a pocket knife in her sock. 

Joel’s gaze drops to that girl now, her wiry little fingers wrapped around her ankles as she stares right back. He had forgotten they still made people like her.

“But it’s good. It’s good to remember.” Joel slides the guitar off his lap and onto the wood step between them. This guitar is older than Ellie and he hands it to her. “Now let’s see if you’ve been paying attention.”

She stares a second after he leans in to point out the chords before she tries to match his fingers on the strings. But then Sarah opens the screen door, out of breath and the tip of her nose pink as if she’d been standing over a fire. 

“Dinner’s ready.” 

Joel stifles the urge to roll his eyes; his girl was many things, but subtle was not one of them. As she disappears back inside, Ellie hands him back the guitar and meets his eyes with a confused look on her face – what’s up with her? Joel shrugs, then tries not to groan as he stands up, his knee acting up again. Odd, given that it only used to ache when a storm was coming, like a warning. But the skies had been clear for weeks.

“Good first lesson, kid. I’ll put this up, you go see what they got cooked up.” 

“You sure?” Her gaze drops to his knee, observant as her aunt. 

“ ‘M fine. Go on.” He knows there’s more affection than gruff in his voice, but at least Ellie doesn’t seem to register that. 

He follows her inside, the air warmer in here due to the oven and a lack of a breeze. When she moves towards the kitchen, he goes to the closet beneath the stairs and opens up the trunk at the back. 

He isn’t entirely sure he can forgive Tommy for what he did, but at least he understands it. Beneath where the guitar laid, there’s a scrap of crumpled paper – a telegram he thought about tossing in the fire when it first arrived. Instead, he is glad he just wanted it out of his sight. 

It is blank except for a few letters and numbers: a forwarding address. 

He can’t pick it up and look at it, not right now, but maybe. Maybe someday, when he needs his brother.

“Holy shit!”

Joel smiles as he shuts the trunk lid and stands. Not today.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen, Ellie stands at the head of the table, her shoulders by her ears, arms out, as if preparing to be tackled to the ground. Her eyes are bigger than he’s ever seen them.

“Happy Birthday, Ellie!” Sarah yells from the other side of the table, the words bursting out of her. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I . . .” Wordlessly, she slides into the chair, her face glowing in the light of the candle sunken deep into the top of the cake. The shadows, thick and heavy around her mouth and under her eyes, blur the emotions on her face. 

“Ellie?” You say, tentative. That crease is back between your eyes and Joel wants to press his thumb to it until it goes away. “Is this okay?”

Slowly, she lifts her eyes. The shadows cannot hide the wet shine there. Joel has to look away, something hot expanding under his ribs. 

“Uh, yea-ahh . . . this is fucking okay.” He hears the slight chuckle in her voice and he looks back. Her smile is stretched from ear to ear. “And this is dinner too, right? We get to eat cake. For dinner?”

You smile, relief and excitement giving your own face a special glow. And then, your eyes fall to him and that hot band in his chest thickens to his throat. He’ll dream of your eyes again tonight, he knows it.

“Mr. Miller has extra storages of flour in the cellar,” you say, gaze slipping away before he can hold onto it. The band in his throat hardens when you refer to him so distantly. “We used just a bit of cream and milk –”

“And sugar!” Sarah blurts out. She is practically vibrating next to you. “We have to really conserve sugar, only for special occasions, and what’s more special than a birthday?”

Ellie tears her gaze up from the candle and, for a second, she looks very small. 

“You used it for my birthday?” 

While Sarah nods vigorously next to you, he watches as your face falls. He knows that look, felt it screw up his face too – you feel like you’ve failed Ellie somehow.

“Of course, Ellie.” You say quietly, your hands knotted in front of you. He watches as the words get caught in your throat, all the right ones and the wrong ones. “You . . .”

“You’re a good kid.” Your eyes jump to him, wide, as he steps closer to the kitchen table. He puts a hand around the knot on the back of Ellie’s chair. “Is what your aunt means to say. Happy birthday, from all of us.”

Ellie’s gaze is so gentle, she looks timid. She glances between Joel, you, then Sarah, and back to you. 

“Um, thanks, guys. I guess.” 

In the soft silence, she takes a brief moment, her eyes closed, and then leans forward over the candle and promptly blows out the flame. The kitchen falls into darkness, a second before you reach for the light. 

Sarah claps her hands, the amber electrical light softening her already smooth skin. “What did you wish for?”

Ellie’s smirk returns, her hard edges returning. “Can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

Sarah rolls her eyes as you gather the plates you and Joel had cleaned just this morning. “I always thought that rule was so stupid. It’s no fun.”

You grin at her as you hand Ellie a plate and then Sarah herself. 

“It’s the secret that gives the wish its magic. All the good things are best kept secret.”

Your hand extends a plate out towards him, but it’s your gaze that meets him first. Mouth slightly parted, you watch him from beneath your long lashes. The light that softens Sarah emboldens the curves of your cheeks, the slope of your nose, the entanglement of your hair against the nape of your neck. A table between you, he hasn’t been this close to you in what feels like days, when it had only been this morning. This morning, when he had never felt further from you, when his own fear had gotten the better of him. 

For so long, the circle of his love ended at the property lines and he had spent years of his life etching in that demarcation, digging in and digging in until the wet earth swallowed him whole. There was nothing else but Sarah and this land because he could not afford to lose either of them, so he held on tight and burrowed deep.

But this deep down, the earth he loved might as well have been a coffin. A tomb. In order to stabilize his daughter, the land, and himself, there had to be less of him. Less to carry. Less to burden. 

Less of him to share. 

He thought – maybe hoped – that those bits of him that had fallen away would always stay gone, another sacrifice in addition to his blood and his sweat into the soil. It was easier to mourn a loss if you never had it in the first place.

But, as he looked at you from across the table in the low light, as your fingers touched his beneath the plate – even for a fraction of a second – the pieces he’d left behind roared to life once again. 

Heat warms him up his arm, down into his chest – and it keeps going. The smell of you, of sweat and sugar and honey and sunlight, invades his head like a dirty wind and the fire inside scorches him as it flushes down his ribs, through his stomach, and right into his groin.

You all but drop the plate into his hand, pulling your fingers away from his touch, gaze diving away. But he can see your nervous swallow, the way your hand shakes when you pick up the knife to cut the cake. 

“Let’s eat.” You smile at the girls, but it’s as weak as your voice, crackling, trembling, overwhelmed. As if you too had been consumed by years of dormant want out of nowhere and now couldn’t possibly put those feelings back into hiding even if you wanted to.

Even if you begged.

The cake is gone in a matter of minutes. 

Ellie lets out a groan, leaning back in her chair, her hands resting over her full stomach. “That was so goddamn good.” 

“It’s inappropriate to lick the plate, right?” Sarah asked, sponging up crumbs with her finger. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ellie grins. She snatches up her plate and with her tongue flat against her chin, licks up every last morsel. Sarah snorts, laughter bursting out of her, before doing the exact same thing. It’s not long until both of them are making grotesque noises. 

“You girls act like you haven’t had a proper meal in weeks.” Joel sits across from you, his arms folded across his chest, a faint glint in his eye as he glances back and forth between them. He sits low in his chair and his shoulders look especially broad across the back of it. “Y’all are gonna eat me out of house and home.” 

Sarah giggles and wipes her spit-covered chin. “Ellie said she found a really good spot out back to look at the Milky Way. Can we go look?” 

You expect him to ask that they clean up the table first, at least put the dishes in the sink, and not to stay too far into the dark. He’s watching Sarah for a beat too long before he opens his mouth again.

“But then when will Ellie get her present?”

His eyes lock onto you.

“THERE’S MORE?!” Ellie screeches.

The heat in his gaze sends a tangible shock down your throat, across every single one of your ribs, right into your nipples. Your faint gasp is overshadowed by Sarah and Ellie’s yelling – oh my god you didn’t tell me about this what’s wrong with you – please please please can I see it I’ll clean the bathrooms if you just lemme have it please –  but the look is gone a second later when he stands up and jerks his chin over his shoulder to the living room. The girls sprint into the room before he can take his first step. He doesn’t look at you as he follows them, slow, confident, teasing them just a bit.

“What is it?!”

“Is it more comics?”

“More marbles?”

“New clothes?”

“Ew, that would suck.” 

As if deaf to their pleas, Joel slowly walks over to the chest in the corner of the room and just as the girls are about to burst from excitement, he bends down and picks something up from behind it.

A radio. 

The radio.

The same one they had found in town. 

Ellie and Sarah’s eyes widen to the size of the dinner plates sitting on the kitchen table, covered in spit and cake crumbs. They drop to their knees, fingers outstretched like they approached a feral kitten.

“Now, it doesn’t work right.” Joel says, his arms crossed again. “But I thought it might be a good project for you girls. Something to work on together. Maybe learn about magnets and electricity n’shit.” 

His eyes fall on you again, as if you knew all about “magnets and electricity n’shit.” Joel grins again, this time just for you, and something inside of you snaps in half, melts, sparks open; some great weight, one you didn’t even know was there, has been lifted off your shoulders, your heart, and you can breathe properly again. You sink into the blue sofa, hands in your lap to keep them from trembling. 

The idea that you would ever willingly leave this place is laughable.

The idea that you would take Ellie away from this, from Sarah, is agonizing. 

They’re both fiddling with the buttons and twisting the jobs, the novelty of it perhaps the most fascinating. They are silent, more reverent than if they are on hallowed ground. 

“I’ve got some pliers and a screwdriver if you wanna –,”

Perhaps it was the witchcraft of the sisterhood. 

Perhaps they had managed to work out some secret code.

Perhaps they were just lucky. 

The radio lights up and the tear of a trumpet whines out of the speakers. Their yelp of delight is muffled beneath the white-hot music of a jazz band. 

Joel watches with what can only be considered bemusement as the girls leap to their feet and start dancing like no one had ever taught them about rhythm. 

The sofa squeaks, the cushion under your butt tilting up, as he sits down next to you. 

“Not likely to win any competitions any time soon,” he mutters quietly, presumably to you, as you both watch Ellie’s jerky knees and Sarah’s dizzying twirls. You sit, hands in your lap, perched on the edge of the cushion, while he leans into the sofa, arms back in place over his chest. With the way you are positioned towards the radio and him facing straight on, your knees almost touch. 

You wonder if he’s as aware of that chance as you are. 

“Listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” His voice is deep enough to be heard over the music. He glances at your hands, and then your face. The sincere regret in his eyes makes the blood in your wrists pound. “You didn’t deserve all of those things I said to you this morning. Both you and Ellie have been . . .” he struggles for the word, his bottom lip moving with the swipe of his tongue, “a good change in our lives, and I regret saying the contrary.” His gaze falls back to your hands, your thumb tucked into the hole made by your other fingers. You wouldn’t look away from his face if it was the sun itself. “The fields have been well taken care of . . . and I know Sarah’s grateful for everything you’ve done for her. You’ve changed her life for the better. You’ve changed m–,”

It’s like his voice crumbles and slips off a cliff. His broad shoulders sag forward and then he looks up at you, a desperate sort of hope in eyes. Hope that you understand what he’s trying to say, and hope that you don’t make him say it. 

Oh, but you want him to say it. You want it so badly. 

You nod, this crumb sweeter than anything on the kitchen plates. On some heady sugar high, you smile at him.

“Well, I meant what I said.” He frowns and your grin widens, but then teeters and topples over. Your wrists ache. You have to lose his gaze for what you’re going to say next. “We are very, very grateful you took us in. I know it wasn’t a decision you made lightly, risking so much of you and Sarah for two complete strangers.” You shake your head with disbelief. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you made the right choice, if I have to.”

You glance up at him – and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

It’s that same look he gave you when you handed him his plate over the kitchen table. Lips pursed, brow slightly furrowed, with a wary uneasiness in his eyes. Like he’s finally figured out what kind of woman you are, and he can’t quite tell what to do with you.

“C’mon you two!” Sarah yells and that hazy bubble that envelopes you bursts. He blinks, as if not remembering where he is. “You gotta dance!”

“Yeah, you old farts!” Ellie pants, red-faced and nearly out of breath. “It’s my birthday so you have to do what I say and I say, let’s boogie!”

You lunge at the chance to be distracted; you turn away from Joel and arch your eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re dancing? Is that what you’re doing? Can hardly tell.” 

Ellie sticks out her tongue while Sarah starts kicking with one foot then bounces to the other, flicking her wrists. “I saw this move on the school’s television!”

Ellie immediately stops the flailing of her limbs and watches her moves. “Teach me!”

Sarah slows it down until Ellie gets the hang of the bounce. Sarah looks much more natural in the rhythm, but at least Ellie is partially on beat. 

“And then I think you do this–,”

Her foot dangling in the air, she loops her ankle around Ellie’s and starts hopping in a circle. Ellie lets out a giggle.

“No way this is a real thing!”

“It is, I swear!”

“You got any moves like that?” Joel asks quietly, but still ensnaring your attention completely. He sunken completely into the sofa, hips low, legs wide. His thumb taps the beat on his thigh. Something about the way he has completely relaxed allows you to unclench your fists and loosen your foot tucked behind your ankle.

“Me?” You chuckle, leaning back on the arm rest. “I never had the time to go to the dancehalls, much less learn complicated moves such as the – Sarah, what is that dance called?”

“Hell if I know!” They’ve switched feet, trying to go counterclockwise this time.

“Complicated moves such as The Hell-if-I-know.” He rewards your terrible joke with a low chuckle. 

“Me neither. I can’t dance for shit.” 

As though he had called her name, Sarah stamps down her foot and rolls her eyes at her father, Ellie trying to follow along with the instructions the singer is giving over the speakers.

“Yes, you can. You taught me The Dip.” 

“That’s not a real move, Sarah–,”

“You can teach her!” Sarah’s brilliant smile extends to her eyes as if she had just announced the best idea in the history of ideas. “Then she’ll know at least one!”

Your fingers return to their fists. Joel stiffens beside you.

“Yeah, you should.” Ellie yells over her shoulder distractedly, one arm raised and the other leg straight out – in complete opposition to what the lyrics said. “Can’t have her embarrassing me in public.”

“C’mon, Dad, just one dance!” Her brown eyes flicker to Ellie and sweat-damp shirt. “It’s Ellie’s birthday!” 

“And for the party, we – must – dance!” Ellie strikes a dramatic pose and Sarah, giggling, swishes her dress with a flourish. With a brief glance at you, she rejoins Ellie, her skirt twirling.

The sofa squeaks as if he’s moving, a soft hand comes to rest high on your back, and panic leaps into your throat.

“Mr. Miller – Joel – you don’t have to – Sarah is just being silly –,”

“Well, it's not like I’m going up there by myself.” 

That rough palm slides over your scapula, then your shoulders, and down your arm. Tugging gently, a soft pinch around the bone of your elbow nearly pulls you to your feet, but sense-memory has you folding your arm back up towards your chest, your knees locked and heels heavy. Immediately he senses your rejection and stops. 

The warm light above threads gold through strands of his silver hair, the ends of his curls long enough to disappear into nothingness, into the halo around him. 

Joel Miller would never, ever hurt you.

Joel Miller is not your husband.

Joel Miller could be your friend.

His light touch releases and just as his fingers drop from your sleeve, your arm unfurls towards him, taking him by the bicep. His eyebrows lift slowly, watching as your fingers curl around his arm. Drawn towards his light like a sunflower, you stand, closer to him than ever before, and smile up at him. Friends go dancing together all the time, right? 

But all the standards and regulations of propriety and social mores were flung out the window the second you, an unmarried woman, stepped foot onto the land of an unmarried man. Nothing about this, about any of this, could be considered conventional.

A step or two away from the sofa, he holds your waist in one hand and yours aloft in the other, fingers interconnected. Respectful. Decent. A good man. No boundary crossing here. 

“Ready for your next lesson?” he asks, a little breathless. Maybe he forgot the steps and he is simply nervous to perform – hm, teach. He does a bit of adjusting, watches his own feet adjust as you stand still in front of him, waiting to be moved.

So, you open your stupid mouth and say,

“See, teaching isn’t so easy, is it?”

You grin and finally his eyes meet yours. Soft as leather, warm as a saddle in sunlight. It’s your turn for necessary air to be drained from your lungs and he decides then to move.

“Gotta lead up to it,” he grumbles, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Can’t just dive right in.” The way he leads is completely out of sync with the music, but you see that it’s intentional, a choice to slow things down. Not quite what you’d expect at the Boston dancehalls, but something far more precious and memorable. He sways with you, as supple as a blade of prairie grass in a warm wind. 

The curve of his shoulder is warm beneath your fingers, your thumb inches from his collar. He is more solid than any other person you’ve ever touched – including Anna. He could stand at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and never be washed away. You cannot imagine what that stability feels like, but you crave it all the same. 

There’s a respectable distance between your hips and his, but you can still smell the sweetness of the cake on his breath, the hot earth he tends to so lovingly, and the tang of sweat. 

“I know you’re a fast learner.” You turn your head towards him, but he gazes straight on. For a moment his face is so stoic you start to wonder if he actually said anything, but then a smile, a small one, flickers across his face. He turns his head towards you, his nose brushing yours, and suddenly you are too close together. Instinctively you pull away – your head, your shoulders, your hands – then find yourself frustrated that this is how you still react. You don’t even mean it. You don’t even want it, this temporary separation. But still Joel stands. He waits for you and sure enough, you sink back into his arms, your palms separating for only a second. “We made a regular farmhand out of you in a handful of weeks. Could get you to a full Dip in days.” 

He’s talking too softly to be easily heard over the banging percussion, the scream of trumpets, the boozy warble of the singer, so you bend closer. Over his shoulder, Ellie and Sarah take turns curtseying and bowing and then locking their elbows together and spinning each other in circles, giggling. 

“They’re alright.” The words hum in your ear, heat warming the air after a flash of lightning, and you fight a full body shudder. You tear your gaze back to him and his smile. His hand hasn’t moved an inch on your back. You worry your palm is getting sweaty. “Just focus on me.” You nod. 

From the radio, the song ends and the band slows to a discordant crash, as exhausted as the ones who danced to their rhythms. Men raucously laugh over the airwaves at their own created chaos and the two girls collapse onto the couch, red-faced and sweaty and laughing. 

“You trust me?” His eyes are brown and dark and smoky, firewood kindling. He really intends to teach you something. You nod slowly. The memory of his hand smacking into the counter breaks apart when his palm slips further down your back, his leg shifting in between yours, and he leans forward to lean you back. Back, back, back, off the edge of the earth. Hair slips off your shoulders as you hang, suspended above the floorboards, cradled by his hand and his thigh, the other hand holding yours to his chest. The world is upside down – in more ways than one. 

When you lift your head, he blocks out the light above for just a moment. Joel, for a moment, is all you can see. He holds you like you weigh nothing, gravity a suggestion to a force of nature like him — and a moment later, he pulls you both upright. 

Your cheeks are burning, your heart roars in your chest, in your ears, and there is no other way this would have ended: you glance at his mouth. He looks at yours. The fingers entwined with yours tighten. 

And then the radio dies. No preamble. No warning. Just ringing silence.

“Welp, it was fun while it lasted.” Ellie huffs, out of breath, smacking her hands against her thighs. 

Sarah wipes away sweat from her forehead with her arm. “Nah, we’ll get it back. I know we can fix it. Right, Dad?”

Joel Miller is still staring at your mouth. 

He’s quiet too long before he drops his gaze and clears his throat. Caught in a daze, you blink and suddenly his warmth is gone. Your hand floats in the air, empty. Joel pulls on the waistline of his pants and turns back to the sofa, nodding.

“Course, we can fix it. But not tonight. Get to bed, both of you.” The gravel of his voice makes his words harsher than they need to be, but Ellie just rolls her eyes and Sarah throws herself onto her feet. 

“C’mon, teenie bopper, I found a mouse skull the other day I forgot to show you.”

Ellie’s eyes widen as she follows Sarah up the stairs. “Like a skull skull? No meat, just bones? Was the rest of the skeleton there?”

Her interrogation continues as they move around the second floor and you can almost hear every word of it. A stark and abrupt reminder that this house echoes – any noises or sounds made can be heard anywhere, in any room, by anyone. 

Your gaze drops to Joel like a stone and with the added weight of whatever he was thinking, it all becomes too much for him. He turns away, denim shoulders nearly up to his ears.

“I’ll clean up.” He waves his hand vaguely to the kitchen. Cake. Plates. Flour on the counter. Oh, that’s right. “You cooked.”

A trade, a sharing of responsibilities between two equal partners. There’s some part of you that knows you should argue, cleaning was what he hired you for, but this is not him telling you as your employer. 

This is . . .

“You did good today,” he says, quickly, his hands on his waist, a step forward, as if he remembered something mid-stride. “It meant a lot, to the both of ‘em. I know you don’t think much of it, but you’re good at this.”

Your face heats, a familiar zing from his words racing down your spine into the bowl of your hips. The next breath you take is a shaky one. “Thanks, Joel. I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

He swallows, then nods. “Night, then.”

“Good night.” 

You might have let yourself believe you had imagined the whole thing, as you walk down the long wood floor to your bedroom, the girls’ chatter now just noise in your head. You might have believed that, after half a decade of being unwanted and undesired, abandoned at the edge of civilization, you extrapolated sentimentality from the first man who looked at you. All your life you doubted yourself; doubted your ability to keep Anna safe, doubted that you’d ever be something more than a pathetic replacement for Ellie’s mother, doubted your own sanity at times when you sat in that dark, dank dug out and listened to the scratchy winds tear apart your husband’s finances. 

But this – this you did not doubt. You did not mistake, or dream up, or lie to yourself. 

Before he let you go, Joel had squeezed your hip, rubbed his thumb against the waistband of your skirt. Let his fingers snag and catch in your blouse.

Whether it was trust or companionship or something ultimately more terrifying, he felt some kind of way about you. 

What kind of way you felt about him, you couldn’t answer honestly. 

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

It was warm.

END OF PART II

series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i | part iii

[dyketectivecomics]

I did NOT want to wake up this morning to Batanna feelings and yet

Here I am 😭😭😭😭😭

[simpliao]

plz im so excited i found your blog!! if you feel like it, could you write something about him and the reader getting into a fight and the reader tries to storm out but he won't let them bc (not to be parasocial) he seems like the type to have a "never go to sleep angry" mentality and im a sucker for hurt/comfort :(((( thank you in advance, and if you dont get to it thank you anyways for the writing you've already done!!

growing pains ; (irl) schlatt x reader

summary : although schlatt is comically angry for entertaining purposes online, it doesn't mean his anger doesn't seep into his real life too. moving in is stressful, he does it enough to know. although when it's someone else moving into his space, the stress of the change puts a strain on the both of them.

info : swearing, angst turned fluff, she/her, afab reader.

a/n : happy to hear it, anon ! it's such a blessing to have you here, again, thanks for the support ! ♡ I'm not a hundred percent confident in this one shot, but hopefully you enjoy ! thank you so much for requesting !

Budding romance was meant to be idyllic and sweet, right? Being with a newly found lover was supposed to be peaches and roses, the kind of happily ever after feeling foretold in every folk tale out there. That's what would have been figured by Schlatt, having a harboured love of sappy sweet love songs, being new to this kind of thing made actually being in a relationship throw him for a loop. Sure he's had his fair share of one night stands and school crushes, but it never extended to the level of which he's shared with Y/n.

She was this kind of ethereal perfection in his eyes, adoring her as if the woman hung the very stars and moon themselves. After a handful of months, of course he thought it would be logical to ask her to move in. She slept over at his place quite a number of times, she always seemed to at home anyways, what would be the difference of actually having her all the time?

A lot, actually. It started good, moving her in was actually fun. The pair seeing who could manage to carry the heaviest box up to his place, racing to see who could make it back down the building first, and of course hearing her little stories about every item she owned. Finding a place for everything took some creativity, but worked out in the end.

The first night also went swimmingly, having his woman all to himself was a nice change. That was until that following morning he awoke to his bathroom occupied and showing no signs of ever opening up. Just fifteen more minutes! Or so she said, it was never just fifteen minutes. He adored hearing her laugh, but not so much when he was demanding for her to open up so he could shit. It was easy in time to get fed up with the friends she'd bring home, having their little get together's while he was banished to the bedroom to sulk. Not even beginning to mention that one 'guy friend' he just wants to strangle.

Her nagging as he so lovingly referred to it to his friends, was also not appreciated. It's as since she moved in all he heard was complaints directed towards him, you're too loud, you never hang out with me anymore, could you put that in the sink? It was like living with his own mother and slowly he grew to loathe her presence.

It wasn't exactly the easiest for her either.

Being that the New Yorker didn't enjoy having many people over, he never really had a reason to keep his place clean. She'd been over, and being that she never used to stay over longer than a night and morning, it was easy enough to ignore. When it was that she lived with cluttered counters and dirty dishes that sat way longer than they should, she ended up taking upon the role of housewife (or glorified maid).

The mostly convenient-oriented, and occasional forgetful male had bought machines to do basic care for Jambo; and yet at times forgot to empty or refill said machines. That feeling of taking on all the home responsibility was suffocating, and yet she only mentioned it briefly in passing considering that it was his place. She felt more like a guest than a member in what was supposed to be their home.

And the lack of sleep from his irregular sleep habits causing him to be practically yelling into late hours of the night didn't help a bit. Despite knowing she loved this gentle giant, for his hidden away kind nature and charming personality, she grew sick of it all.

Life continued on, and despite inconveniences, the two pretended everything was okay for a while. It worked for the most part, but bottling feelings only caused them to pressurize until the whole thing blows up in their faces. Today was supposed to be another one of those days, unremarkable and really just another Tuesday. However, what they say about the straw that broke the camel's back is soundly true.

From the afternoon onwards, the pair hadn't stopped going at it; both parties forgetting what exactly started this fight in the first place. This shouting match being the only relief they'd had to voice out their issues, by the time the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and a blanket of Prussian blue long having been spread across the city skies, it had gotten far too personal. It was like every word was meant to attack the other person, it was only a matter of time before words were exchanged that weren't meant to be said.

"Have you ever considered the fact that I don't actually want you here?" Schlatt had been seeing nothing but scolding red, speaking lies with such conviction for just a minute he believed it was true. And yet as the moment settled, and rather than yell back something else, the woman he knew he still adored gave a stare of a completely crushed spirit. Mouth hung agape, shock and hurt evident from her complete silence. He could see tears begin to well up, and that's when his expression fell. He stumbled on his following words, although her name could be made out as she dashed past him.

He hesitated going after her, she had just gone to the bedroom and he figured they needed some time to cool off before attempting to meld anything back together. It was only when he spotted her speeding out with a hastily packed suitcase that he bolted to apprehend her. "Y/n." "If that's how you really felt you should have just said so." He was quick to grab her wrists to prevent her from taking off, "there's a lot of things we both should have said." His accent being what it is, made his words sound unfairly harsh. "Schlatt, please, I get it. You don't want me here." "No! Listen, just..."

He could feel anger involuntarily rising from his chest. So knowing restraining her like this and ending up in another bout of hostile yelling, he made the decision he knew would at least calm him down enough to speak out what needed to be said. So tugging her closer, she practically fell into his arms. Although the first couple moments she tried to fight it again, uttering his name as a plea that made a diminuendo with every cry. All he did was stand there, chin resting upon the top of her head, his eyes closed and basking in the feeling of her held close, her overly scented shampoo filling his sinuses; a hit of dopamine rushing his brain. They stood like that for a while, the need for a timeout to the relentless fighting well needed. His thoughts cleared, for the first time today that was, and he began by squeezing her closer before letting much needed words escape him. "I'm sorry."

By this point, she had also given up trying to escape his embrace, blinking away tears as best as she could. "Listen to me, Y/n." He spoke in a tone she never expected to be so faint, delicate and airy as if should he speak above this hushed whisper the woman held in his arms would shatter. He took in a deep breath, buying time in an attempt to find a way to word this properly. "I'm just not used to this, used to us." Again, attempting to buy time to find a way to put his feelings into words, a hand slinked up to tangle his fingers into her hair. "But that doesn't mean I don't like us. It's..." He sucked in his lips, unsure of what to call it.

"Growing pains?" Her strained voice caught his ears, even if muffled against his shoulder. "Yeah, they're growing pains. And I'm not perfect... And no matter how in love I am with you, you're not perfect either. That's okay." Smaller arms slinked up his back, a small tug a weak return to the death grip he held her with. "I still love you too, Schlatt..." The way her face nuzzled into him made his heart melt and familiar butterflies fill his stomach, ones that had seemed to have gone missing for some time; and yet came back in full force. Dread at knowing of how poorly he spoke of her weighed in on him. "I'm willing to work on it if you are." He lessened his hold of her, pulling away to look down into her eyes.

Eyes that looked back up at him with the same kind of guilt he felt weighing his body down, those glass-like doe eyes tugging at strings of his heart he didn't even know he had. "I'm sorry too, I'm so sorry..." "Hey, we're both assholes, it's okay." The reassuring smile he flashed easing her own pressure, her own misconducts coming back to haunt her. Larger hands lovingly cupped her face as they had so many times before, wiping away those pesky tears for her. "I'm willing to go the distance with you." She assured, to answer his comment a short while earlier. The atmosphere of their home alleviated, and finally it felt breathable. "Let's unpack your suitcase then, and tomorrow morning we can talk more thoroughly about it." "Forget about the suitcase, we've been fighting all day. I just want to sleep."

With a grin that told her that everything would be okay, he slowly let his arms slide off her, one hand gently grabbing hold of hers in the lightest of holds. "Let's get some sleep then, sweetheart."

[iwadori]

Haikyu boys when they make you insecure PT 1 (Kenma,Kuroo)

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6.

Word Count:3k 

genre: angst, fluff

masterlist

Kenma:

You and Kenma have been in a long distance relationship for a while.

Both of you stream, Kenma doing it seriously for his job and you just playing it for fun,

Sometimes you stream together of course but because of your difference in audiences and games you don’t do it all the time

“Bye guys! Hope you enjoyed todays stream” You wave off to the camera and shut off your PC taking a few sips of water.

Kenma: Hey.. nice stream today Y/N are you going to watch mine?

Y/N: Of course I will 

Kenma: Ok talk to you later

Y/N: okayy <3

Kenma is what inspired you to stream, he also taught you all the ins and outs of streaming making sure you were set and ready. Your gaming style was very relaxed and friendly as you obviously weren’t streaming as a career just for fun and to make friends with your online viewers. The games you played were usually: minecraft, COD, Sims 4, Roblox, Animal crossing and *Insert your favourite game here* the way I literally named all the games I play 

You wait for Kenmas stream to start, kind of excited as you’ve always loved seeing your boyfriend in his ‘element’ when it comes to playing to games. As your boyfriends stream starts you see he’s already chosen what game he is playing today which is to your surprise Call of duty, since that was the game you were playing earlier.

As he gets into the stream you are entertained, as always since Kenma was being his usual self laughing at his own deadpan jokes and interacting with his viewers. He is currently waiting for his capture the flag game to start so as he waits he decides to read some comments in the chat.

You’re used to the usual ‘Kenma where is Y/N I miss your usual streams together’ or ‘kenma please RAIL me’ which always makes you laugh. You were also used to the common hate comments Kenma and You both got on your streams but you were definitely not ready for this..

@ Ihatewomanandiamadick : Hey Kenma did you see your girls stream today she is so dog shit at COD lmaoooo jhdfkjdrhdrr

“Well hello ihatewomenandiamadick” started Kenma “but yes I did see Y/N stream and obviously she is not the best at games and I would definitely NOT ask her to team with me for any serious gaming competitions ... but she’s fun to watch I guess” as he finished speaking about you his game loaded up so he focused his attention on that the words he just spoke going to the back of his mind as they end up at the forefront of yours.

You obviously knew you were no match for Kenma’s gaming expertise but you didn’t expect him to publicly agree with a hate comment let alone add more of his imput on you. Did he really think that about you? ‘She’s fun to watch I guess’ did he not even enjoy your streams that much?

You wanted to distract yourself, and you definitely couldn’t do that watching him so you close off of his stream and get in your bed deciding to watch your favourite show. 

Waking up at 6pm after your sad nap, you see that Kenma has left some messages to you,

Kenma: hey did you watch my stream?

Kenma: do you want to facetime later and play some minecraft..?

Kenma: y/n r u ok??

Y/N: oh hey cnt play minecraft w you rn not really in the mood..

Kenma: oh ok..

Time passed since then a month to be exact and you basically dropped off of the face of the earth, you weren’t in the mood to do anything let alone game and stream, which was a constant reminder of your boyfriend (something you didn’t want at the time.) 

You felt embarrassed over all the things he said about you and all the things you now think he thinks about you and the way you play. Maybe he thinks even worse things about you, beyond just how you game? What if he doesn’t even genuinely like you...or he has someone else...it does make sense, you do both live miles and miles away from eachother AND he’s a big streamer you see the amount of girls in his comments.

You shake your head to erase your protruding thoughts coming in your mind, but it doesn’t really help. You and Kenma haven’t spoken much over this month he tried to constantly reach out to you at first but you assume he got bored over your constant, repetitive dry texts. So you were almost content with you and Kenma not even being in a relationship anymore.

However on Kenma’s side, he was beyond worried about you. Since you haven’t been streaming or barely responded to his texts he thought something happened to you, but he didn’t want to be seen as ‘overstepping boundaries’ if there was nothing wrong at all with you and you simply were just ‘not in the mood.’ 

So here he is, in Kuroo’s apartment trying to get him to help him out on finding out what is wrong with you.

“So kenma can you remember what happened the day when Y/N went ‘ghost’“ asked Kuroo in a mock detective voice

“Y/N didn’t go ‘ghost’ Kuro, and take this seriously” said Kenma “I’m worried bout her”

“Okay fine, but for real what’s the last thing you remember before she started acting all weird.” 

“Umm I think it was around a month ago I did my saturday stream and I think she was on it but she didn’t leave her usual nice comments throughout”

“Ohh that was the stream when you sai-” Kuroo said before pausing his words as the memory of what Kenma said about you on his stream came in his mind, as even Kuroo thought it was a tad bit harsh for Kenma to say all those things “I think I know why Y/N has been so distant kiddo”

“What why?” Asked Kenma

Kuroo pulls out his phone and brings up the clip off what Kenma said and Kenma’s face cringes ‘did he really say all those things about you’ he thinks. 

“Shit.. I didn’t know I said all of that” he said quietly “how do I make it up to her?”

“There’s only one thing you can really do Kenma” said kuroo

You are woken up out of your sleep by a knock on the door. Getting out your bed like a zombie, you trudge to your front door only surprised by what you see. There in his 5′6 glory stood your ‘boyfriend’ Kenma with a controller and a kitten teddy in his hand. You were very tempted to shut the door in his face and get back to your dreamless sleep but you waited on him to speak.

“Hi Y/N” he said quietly “wanna play some minecraft...?”

“Why so you can ridicule me on how shit I am?” You ask bitterly ready to shut the door on him

“No! No not all” he said stopping you from shutting the door entering your place “Y/N i’m really sorry on what I said, I wasn’t thinking AT ALL... I love watching your streams and I think you’re great at playing games...I was just being a dick,”

You take a deep breath before tears pool in your eyes “what you said really hurt me kenma..” you say “ I know people say shitty things on the internet all the time... it’s the internet. But I wasn’t expecting you to agree with the hater and say even more shitty things on top of that.. I don’t think I want to even stream anymore”

Upon hearing that, Kenma’s mouth parts open with shock ‘you dont want to stream anymore’ were his comments that bad? Now he feel even worse as he should and is now more determined to make things right. 

He impulsively drags your arm into your game room, catching your surprise ‘what is he up too?’ you think. He stops for a second seeing your usual pristine gaming set up, collected up with dust. 

“What are you do-” you start 

“Just wait!” He says, as he rushes away turning on all your stuff and logging onto his twitch account as he sees the views go up he starts to speak

 “Hi guys, its me kodzuken and today I’m here on stream with my beautiful girlfriend and today I want to say..” he turns to you “Y/N im so sorry for the horrible things I said to you that day... I was just being a dick and I’m sorry I really am.”

You look at the chat and you see some confusion and some people recalling his words from last month. “It’s fine Kenma, I forgive you” you say giving him a hug”

“Okay Y/N, so what do you say... wanna beat my ass at bed wars?” He says with a smirk 

“When have I ever loss?” you return his smirk

Of course you did beat his ass as bed wars for rounds on rounds never losing proving yourself to actually be a good gamer girl. You enjoyed your time with Kenma, forgetting what he said before about you and moving on. 

Eventually, you guys moved in together and streamed together all the time and yes you still do play for fun but you’ve gotten way better at COD (some may say better then Kenma) but who is better didn’t matter to any of you, as long as you got to play together that’s all you both cared about.

Kuroo:

Kuroo and you have been together since you were in your first year of high school 

You met as friends first when you got him to tutor you in chemistry ( a subject you still aren’t that good at.)

Now you have your upcoming entrance exams for university in a month so your school has you doing mock exams in preparation for them.

20%

You look down at your chemistry paper that your teacher just handed you. 20%. You’re surprised, very surprised since out of all your subjects (that you go 90+% on) you studied on the chemistry test the hardest ensuring Testurou, that you didn’t need his help at all. But I guess it turns out, you did.

This failing mock grade put a blunder on your day, you didn’t interact with anyone and didn’t want to see your boyfriend so you skipped your usual routine of meeting him on the rooftop and went to the library instead ‘might aswell start early on your studying’ you thought.

As you were going over your chemistry topics, you hear an ‘ahem’ next to you and you turn your head only to find your boyfriend and his friends next to you. Kuroo with his usual goofy smile on his face. 

“Hey kitten where were you at lunch?” he asked 

“Needed to go to the library, Chemistry is kicking my ass” you mumbled 

“Oya” he said as he noticed your chemistry test laying under your textbook “20%, well damn Y/N I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t know you were that stupid” he laughed doing his stupid usual hyena-like laugh.

Ouch well that hurt. You slightly flinched at his words, “Really your name, you didn’t know the molecular formula for ethanol, that’s first year work” he said continuing to laugh “I’m pretty sure that’s one of the first things I tutored you on when we first met” 

His overbearing laughter was not good for you, you were already having a bad day and yes you do know your not that good at chemistry but you didn’t need your chemistry-enthusiast boyfriend to make fun of you for failing. Kenma and Yaku stood there awkwardly obviously aware of how bad Kuroo is making you feel but they didn’t really know how to stop his friend in the moment.Whilst he’s still dying of laughter you decide to pack up your stuff and leave the library.

You managed to get your Chemistry tutor to let you retake your mock paper in a week so that means, extra hard studying with no distractions you definitely can’t fail again. Since studying on your own was definitely not a good option, and you couldn’t go to Kuroo (especially after he ridiculed you) you decided to ask the second smartest person you know to tutor you.

Y/N: Hey Yaku! Can I ask you a favour?

Yaku: Hi Y/N what do you need??

Y/N: I have my chemistry retake next week, and as you know from your loud-loud friend I failed my recent test so can you tutor me?? 

Y/N: Pleaseeee

Yaku: Ok Y/N why can’t you ask Kuroo you know that he’d be more than happy to help

Y/N: Yakuu pleasee just help me out 

So there you was, nearly a week done with your study sessions with Yaku and you’re feeling way more confident than before. 

“Y/N what is the functional group of a Carboxylic Acid” Yaku asked

“umm... COO?” 

“Great! that’s correct Y/N” he praises i dont actually know if it’s correct or not

You then hear a knock at Yaku’s front door and hear his mum let the person in, Kuroo then enters Yaku’s bedroom with shock plastered on his face surprised to see you here.

“Y/N...hey?” he says confused “what are you doing here?”

“Oh Mori-chan is just helping me with chemistry for my retake tommorow” you say nochalantly internally smiling at the twinge in Kuroo’s face at the purposeful use of Yaku’s first name.

“So why didn’t you ask me to help you know I’m a chemistry whiz” he asks

“Maybe I’m too stupid to be taught under your tutelage” you mumble “since I seem to forget whatever you teach me, even when it’s 3 years ago... but ok”

“Y/N I-” he starts 

“Oh save it Kuroo, I have studying to do” you say cutting him off

“But I-” he tries

“So Mori-chan COOH is the function group of ethyl ethonate right?” you ask ignoring your boyfriend who is now at a lost for words

“ummm yeah it is” says yaku who is clearly feeling heavily awkward at the tension in his bedroom.

Kuroo leaves and you and yaku finish off the studying for the night, you did feel a little bad for being a bit mean to Kuroo but it’s karma for him being a dick to you. 

You wake up the next day ready for your exam which was first thing in the morning, before you hand in your phone you see a message from Kuroo,

Kuroo: I know you’re still mad at me, but I think you’re going to do so well on this test. You’re not stupid at all, you’re really smart and I love you < 3 

Kuroo: Good luck Y/N

You don’t respond to the message but smile at the sincerity of it and thankful for the boost of confidence it gave you before you start your exam.

Finishing the exam with a smile, you were confident you did well as everything you and Yaku went over was on the paper and you’re almost certain you atleast got more than 75%. You have to wait an hour before your teacher can give you your results, so in the meantime you might aswell reconcile with Kuroo.

When you exit the classroom, standing there was Kuroo who seemed to have been waiting for you for the whole duration of the exam.

“So how was it?” Kuroo asked, apprenhensive as he assumed you would just ignore him like you did at Yaku’s house.

“It was fine, I think it went alright..” you say

“Kuroo”

“Y/N”

You say simultaneously, he pauses for a second to let you speak “I’m sorry I was being so stand offish when we were at Yaku’s I just wanted you to see I could do it on my own, and when you called me stupid I really took that to heart since you and I both know that Chemistry wasn’t ever my best subject” 

“I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, and since it was only a practice test I didn’t think you’d take it to heart but I am sorry I know you aren’t stupid.”

Before you got to say anything else, your Chemistry teacher exited the room with your chemistry paper in hand. Kuroo grabbed your hand anticipating your nerves and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Miss L/N” said your teacher “Well done on your chemistry test” he turned your test around to sure a perfect 100%. Both you and Kuroo gasped, you were elated to say the least you wanted to jump up and down in excitement but a PERFECT 100%.

“I’d also like to add that you have now got the top chemistry score in the school beating the previous title holder Kuroo Testurou” said your teacher, this made Kuroo open his mouth even wider in surprise nearly making you giggle at his response. 

Your teacher took his leave, leaving you and Kuroo in the hallway “ I guess i’m the chemistry whizz now “ you say wiggling your eyebrows just as Kuroo did to you before at Yaku’s this made him chuckle as he came to put his arm around you.

“Y/N don’t get ahead of yourself now, you may have won this battle but I will win the war” he said smiling

In the final exam, you continue your winning streak also getting a near 100% and still beating Kuroo which didn’t matter to either of you, now you’re just like him cracking chemistry puns and jokes all the time which none of your friends appreciated but atleast Kuroo found them SODIUM funny.

AN: Please kill me for the last line of Kuroos, I didn’t really like Kuroo’s since it was a bit self indulgent with my hate for chemistry but what do you guys think?

[amandert]

YOUR DRAFTS ARE SO CUTE!!! i love them so much, but i cant help but think....

Angst writer over here 🤚

That's really wholesome and i can imagine it happening but indudge for a little while, yes?

In the game for a considerate amount of time the brothers see you as kinda of a part of their sister lilith after they find out you are hers ancesthor, during this time they are showed to kinda idolatrize you, in an overwealming manner something that just stops when they start to see mc as Mc and not lilith and they get really ackward

What i want to get with that is that they are Obsessed with the idea of having a sister/Lilith with them and have kinda..... Incestuous things hinting over there

So imagine with me back to when everyone was in the celestial realm ok? Let's change cannon for a little bit

You are one of their sisters you have an awesome sister called lilith who is the most kind and heartfealt person, she pratically theaches you everything and is an IMENSE part of you and all of your closest brothers, after all, everyone is family over there..... Right? So when lilith Helps the human and is Condemned to hell, shit breaks lose all your brothers and even you start to figth and Rebel, you get struck and the last thing you hear are loud screams from one of the sweetest of your Brothers Bellzebub, sobbing from one of the kindest belphegor and the sharp inhale of the last breath of your sister and you black out

You wake to all of them distressed, hurt ,Fallen mammon is holding you close as expected, he was the one who showed more care to everyone like lucifer, except less cold he's crying and trying to keep himselft together, you ask about Lilith but everithing you receive is a shallow glaring look from lucifer and then for the first time in decades you feel a hug everyone hugging eachother

It starts slow every single one of the brothers seems to look at you with sad eyes and always say to you to hide your demonic apearence for some reason, then sometimes belphegor and Bell seem estrange around you and always being super close to you but not actually feeling like they are with you

Then the first incident happens you even with the high name of one of the eight rules of hell gets atacked, although it was so soon and you were not so used to your demonic powers so you get defeated and by pure luck you get saved by barbatos

After that the brothers that were already grieving and treating you like precious glass start to become obsessed with your security Lucifer never leaves you alone for one second, not trusting in you anymore

Mammon becomes paranoid and distressed because he can't let HIS sister be taken away like Lilith and he wont let anyone even have to chance to try, making you suffocated and feel like you arent someone, but something he must protect someTHING precious

Leviatan surprisingly would make you feel safe but still thinks is so unfair that only you got to live and how he wanted both you a Lilith to be with them, he shows to you that he is gratefull and is a lot less anxious with you than others although he always screams or dont accoet if you try to offer games and seriously asks you not to, because he dosen't want to feel like betraying lilith

Just some foodies to the mind.... Honestly im probably gonna do a post because your writing is simply TOO INSPIRING AND GOOD. I honestly eat it all up and can't help but want more, is just perfect honestly and it makes me wanna create too

(also im REALLY sorry, is not my first language and i dont normally use tumblr, i just read things here so i dont know how to make thing dinamic to reading)

Do ya'll ever just wonder how fun it would be to be a sister to the demon brothers? Like ofc I love them with all my heart and think less than innocent thoughts about them but also just imagine being siblings with them?? I mean its mostly self inserted cause i'm imagining myself but like

Lucifer with his head in his hands because you keep getting mixed in with the brothers' shenanigans.

Being Mammon's partner in crime. Even though you know that his plans are stupid, you still think its funny how in the end Mammon gets scolded the most.

Being the only one Levi doesn't automatically recoil at because you bring him snacks to his room when he's been playing for a long time.

Satan chasing you down the streets of Devildom because you accidentally stepped on one of his books that was lying on the floor.

Doing self care routines with Asmo whenever you're sick of life and getting the worst dating advice from him simultaneously.

Trying (and failing) to hone your culinary skills and making Beel your test dummy. He's always happy to help though Lucifer is less than pleased with the mess in the kitchen.

Playing pranks on Belphie when he's sleeping and watching in glee as his day gets ruined.

Just idk, having them as brothers <3

© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.

[thighs-of-betrayal-blog]

hi, this is about the part 2 to stakeout company. maybe when they get home, they kinda don't talk about it but are very affectionate with each other, like maybe they cuddle on the couch in the common room or hold hands and stuff and the team notices and maybe sam gets enough of it and asks what's going on between them but they look at each other and are like, 'we dont know, we haven't really talked about it' and maybe bucky says 'but im pretty sure we're together' and then sam freaks out and leaves and then reader teases bucky about it and they kiss?

i dont know, maybe its a shitty idea but its an idea nonetheless and dont do it if you dont want to

much love x

Time to Talk

Part 2 to "Stakeout Company"

A/N: This could never be a shitty idea! It’s amazing and I’m so happy you sent it in!! Thank you so much, love! :)

I hope you all enjoy and as always, any feedback is appreciated!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Reader

Warnings: angst/fluff, violence, weapons 

Part 1

The past week has been… interesting, to say the least. After Bucky’s affectionate cuddling session with you during your stakeout, the two of you have been acting like a couple. Funny thing is though, you’re not. You haven’t even discussed what went down during the mission. There’s unspoken words between you and you both know it. You’re just living in blissful avoidance. 

Bucky’s never been great at expressing his feelings and you, well you are supposed to hate him. That’s what everyone else thinks anyway. You feel like it’s easier to keep up the façade then explain it to everyone, but unknown to you, some have already noticed. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon and after a long, morning training, you and Bucky are sitting on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna be so fucking sore,” you groan. 

Bucky rests his hand on your thigh. “Maybe I can-” 

“Maybe you can what?” 

The two of you jump apart at the sound of Sam’s voice as he sits down on the chair across from you, staring at you expectantly. 

Your hand is resting over your heart as it beats erratically in your chest. “Sam! You scared me. I didn’t know you were standing there.” 

“I bet you didn’t. Otherwise, I’m sure you two wouldn’t have been acting the way you just were.” 

Bucky sighs. “Look, Sam, we can explain.” 

“Can you? I thought you two hated each other and now, you’re all cuddly and shit. I’m confused. The whole team’s confused. Hell, even you two look confused.”

You look over at Bucky. “Well, we haven’t really talked about it.”

Bucky looks back at you and nods. “Yeah, we haven’t.” A grin appears on his face. “But, I wouldn’t mind if we were official.” 

All the feelings you’ve been recently suppressing come sliding up your body, ready to slip out at any moment. You fight to keep them down, not wanting to scare Bucky away with how much you actually care for him. 

“I’ve gotta go.” Standing up, you give Bucky one last glance before rushing towards the elevator, your heart breaking with each step. 

---

You realized the next day that you crushed Bucky’s heart. He avoided you at all costs, refusing to even look at you. 

Now, a week later, you’re on a mission and of course, you’ve been paired up with him. 

As the two of you walk through the building, it’s dead silent, neither of you daring to speak. You want to apologize, tell him you were just scared, but the looks he’s giving you makes you think you should just keep quiet. 

“Y/N, Buck. You guys almost in the lab?” Sam asks over the comms. 

You steal a glance at Bucky and sigh. “Yeah, right down the hallway. I’ll let you know when we’re in.” 

When you enter the lab, you split up, the both of you heading in opposite directions to download data from the computer systems. 

It’s now that you decide it’s a good time to talk. “Why have you been avoiding me?” 

Bucky groans. “Seriously, Y/N? You wanna have this talk now?” 

Sticking your flash drive into the computer, you click to start the transfer process. “Why not now? We’re alone.” 

“Are you really though?” 

Quickly turning around, you face off with three guards. “Shit. I was really hoping to have a breakthrough with the man I have feelings for, guys. Is that too much to ask for?” 

Bucky’s head whips to the side. “You have feelings for me?” 

One of the guards chuckles. “This is cute and all, but you’re not leaving with that flash drive.” 

You look down at the drive in your hand. “Oh, right.” You smirk. “Guess you’ll have to come and get it.” 

One of the guards rushes you and you jump to the side, pocketing the flash drive into your boot before fishing around in your belt for your knives. When you come up empty handed, you want to kick yourself. You forgot them. You actually forgot to bring your knives to a mission. 

“Fuck me,” you groan out loud. 

“What’s wrong, doll?” Bucky asks from across the room, in the middle of dodging a punch from one of the guards.

You kick your leg into a guard’s chest. “Forgot my knives!”

In an instant, a knife slides your way. “Take one of mine!” 

Picking up the knife, you send a quick grin in Bucky’s direction. “God, I like you so much.” 

Bucky grunts and continues dodging punches. “Why’d you run off like that then?” 

You slash the knife at the guard in front of you, narrowly missing his chest by a few inches. “I was scared! It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone romantically and you make me feel things I’ve never felt before!” 

The guard kicks out at you and you flip onto the floor, slicing your knife into his ankle. He groans as his step falters. 

“You don’t ever have to be scared with me, doll! I’ll always protect you!” 

As the guard is focused on his ankle, you climb up to his neck, wrapping your thighs tightly around his throat. “I know you would! I’m just an idiot!” 

You use all your strength to knock the guard over, falling onto your back hard. You groan, but continue to choke him until he passes out. Once he does, you’re back on your feet, heading towards Bucky and the two other guards. 

Bucky gives you a quick smile. “You’re my idiot.” 

You smile to yourself as you lunge at one of the guards, throwing your hand out to punch him in the throat. “Did you hear that?” You question the guard. “I’m his idiot. How sweet.” 

Bucky lets out a deep chuckle as he knocks the guard he’s fighting in the head with the blunt of his knife. The guard falls down in a heap, landing right at Bucky’s feet. 

When he turns to look at you and the guard you’re fighting, he swipes the sweat off his forehead. “Let’s hurry this up so I can kiss you already.” 

“Sounds good to me!” 

The two of you swarm the last guard together. Bucky grabs his waist, while you swing your leg in the air, kicking him square in the head. Bucky ducks before your foot connects with the guard’s head, sending him into the wall next to you. 

When you look at Bucky, he’s already staring at you. “Is this what we’ll be doing now as a couple? Fighting together? Because it’s kinda hot.” 

You smack his arm. “You’re insatiable.” 

Grabbing your arms, he pulls you towards him. “Only for you, doll.” He grabs your chin, tilting your head up to his. “Now about that kiss-”

His lips press against yours, claiming your mouth. “Worth the wait,” he groans into the kiss. 

You chuckle before kissing him harder, biting down on his lower lip. 

Bucky grips your waist. “The things I’m gonna do to-” 

“We can hear you, ya know!” Sam yells in the ear comms, disgust laced in his voice. 

Laughing, the two of you separate while grabbing your comms in sync and throwing them onto the ground. 

“That solves that problem,” Bucky laughs before pressing his lips back onto yours. 

It sure does, you think to yourself, getting lost in the feel of him against you. It sure does.

[threepointseven]

Home(Dinner Part 2)

Im shortening the exchange students name to S/N AKA student name

Sorry i forgot to answer the person who actually requested this @kurooandkarmaswife thank you sm for requesting! I hope you enjoy 😩

Also lets pretend you cant have more than 1 pact with a human cause yeah. If you havent read Dinner yet go read it since you’ll really only understand this if u read the first part

Fandom: Obey me!

Pairing: not really with anyone but has subtle undertones of solomon & Simeon x reader

Length: sort of long

Genre: Angst with comfort

Gn! Reader and exchange student!

Part three!

Dinner last night, was, well...pretty terrible. I ended up waking up at 2 am to the brothers STILL not home. Apparently even Diavolo had taken a liking to the new exchange student.

A day goes by and finally i get to meet the new exchange student.

Whoah

Is all i can think. I walk into the living room unnoticed as everyone is talking to the new exchange student, i wouldnt blame them.

They look incredible.

I felt a hint of jealousy wash over me. Seeing Mammon, Asmo’s and Beel’s joyful laughs as they talk to them. Their voice was ever so gentle, it’s what i imagine spring to sound like.

I tried forgetting about my distasteful thoughts of jealousy and walked over to them.

“Goodmorning!”

I called out to try and grab their attention

“Oh, MC! I didnt see you there;;”

Asmo said to me as he was taking selfies with the new exchange student

“This is the new exchange student”

Beel smiled

“Hi! My name is MC”

I happily introduced myself

“My name is S/N”

They brought their hand out and i shook it in return. Their eyes were ever so sweet, i felt the sadness come over me as i wore a soft smile.

Something tells me this wont end well.

Weeks go by as i barely get to see the brothers anymore. They’re always around S/N. I find myself longing the brothers touch. The random emergency texts i get from mammon, calls from Asmo asking me if i wanted to go to a club, Belphie always dragging me to his room to take a nap, Beel’s adorable goodnight texts, Lucifer’s complaints about work, Satan’s library dates, And levi’s rants about a certain anime he just watched.. i missed it all.

I guess i missed the warmth and the constant attention i got from them. The attention thats now being directed at S/N.

The new feeling of emptiness leads me to the Purgatory hall, a place i’ve been to quite often after S/N had won over the brothers.

I enter the room praying that i dont see S/N hogging Luke, Solomon, and Simeon’s attention....

What?

Did i just think that?

Am i that jealous?

Have i gotten so used to being in the spotlight that suddenly i become like this when not in the center?

Its an unpleasant feeling and i try to snap myself out of it as i see Simeon, Luke, and Solomon all happily seated on the couch drinking tea and eating pastries Luke made.

“MC! Hey!!”

Luke happily greets me as well as Solomon and Simeon. Im pulled to the couch as im seated next to Luke. I take a bite of the pastry and embrace the comfort of the sugary sweets.

The conversation goes on for a long time as hours go by. Soon enough the entire tray of pastries and tea are long gone.

As the clock hits 8 PM i realize ive been at the Purgatory hall for too long now. Excusing myself i go back to the house of Lamentation to be once again greeted by smiling faces and S/N laying out plates filled with food for the brothers.

The brothers quarrels, Satan’s face of annoyance, Asmo’s whining... The smell of warm food on the dinner table being handed out....

As i hide from the view of the brothers and S/N i look back to when it would to be me that made everyone dinner and calmed them down.

My chair.

My chair had been occupied by S/N,

What?

Did they expect me to sit on the floor for dinner or something?

As i slowly walked to my room i heard the deep voice of Lucifer

“Oh MC,,, sorry S/N is sitting on your spot, we thought you were gonna go to the purgatory hall for dinner tonight. We do apologize”

As i feel my throat closing up i smile and say in a bubbly tone

“Oh it’s fine! I was actually gonna go out with my friends for dinner anyways! I was just getting something from my room, i’ll be out in a sec!”

Lucifer gave me a warm smile and continued conversing with S/N

As i went to my room i started to realize the situation here. I’ve been replaced. I mean who wouldn’t replace me when the actual definition of an angel was right in front of them with their welcoming arms open.

As soon as i got to my room salty tears trailed down my cheeks,

Jealousy?

Sadness?

Anger?

Whatever the emotion was i wasn’t having it. Unlocking my DDD to be greeted by the wallpaper of me and the brothers all dressed up for a ball we went to together once. i tried to hold back my few tears as i called Solomon, a dear friend of mine.

“Hey solomon!!”

“Oh, yes MC? Is there anything you need?”

“I know i just left the purgatory hall but could I possibly stay there for the night?”

“Oh, of course! I dont exactly know why but Luke’s already whining about how you stayed for too little.”

“I’ll be right over”

I hung up the phone, my tears stopping after i heard that comforting voice of his.

That night i stayed at the purgatory hall, happily sleeping next to Luke, lulling him to sleep.

The purgatory hall became my escape. Solomon always made me laugh, Simeon always made sure i felt welcome there and Luke was practically my adopted son after how long i could stay with him.

As i went about the kitchen helping Luke make a pastry i showed him from the human world a strange feeling washed over me. The feeling of something being erased from my my soul, something was fading away. That something felt like it was piercing my soul.

I look around my body to see what it is. As i look around i see it.

My pact marks are starting to fade

I panic as i excuse myself and go back to the house of lamentation.

As i silently enter the room i hear the faint sound of the brothers, they’re discussing something.

“Cmon Satan you’ve gotta be quick! What if they find out?!”

“Removing a pact isnt that easy Mammon.”

As i listen more i realize what it is.

They’re trying to break my pact with me.

And for what exactly?

Because they want one with someone else.

That someone being S/N

It hurt. Who wouldn’t be hurt? tears flowed from my eyes in record time as i tiredly walk outside.

Devildom was a place the brothers always told me to beware of, but right now i couldnt care less.

While i walked around the town with puffy eyes and the stinging feeling of my pact marks being removed, i hear a certain group of people call my name, i look back to see Luke, Solomon and Simeon’s smiles quickly turn into frowns as they see my tears

“What’s wrong MC?!”

Luke worriedly asks

Unable to hold it in i tell Them.

“The brothers are trying to break my pact with them, they want one with S/N apparently. Im afraid i’ve been replaced by that saint..”

Solomon and Simeon’s face turn into faces of empathy while Luke’s turned quite sour

As Simeon came closer to me and pulled me close into a hugged he mumbles out a comforting phrase

“Whatever happens MC, you’ll always be welcome at the purgatory hall.”

The sentence made my stomach overflow with butterflies. I happily hug back, quickly accepting the purgatory hall as my new and improved home.

[technowoah]

if you're taking asks for the prompts, can you do 11 and 17 from the angst list with george but have a fluffy ending? she/her pronouns pls

I Can Make It Right

SHSJS I HAVE SO MUCH ANGST IN MY INBOX YALL!

Thanks for the request babe! The way it came out was gender neutral i dont think I user she/her, but it still works trust me!

George x reader imagine (established)

11) "It's not important apparently"

17) "You already made me feel like shit so might as well finish me off"

⚠︎ angst with happy ending, unresolved issue but they're gonna fix it dont worry 😌, angry George, swearing

*** = flashback

Masterlist

You had stood infront of your bathroom mirror finishing up your makeup for the night. Your hair was already done and you had a nice outfit on, not to fancy and not too comfortable. While listening to a playlist George had made for you, you had put down the brushes you were using. It didnt really matter if you cleaned up your makeup that was littered all over the sink right now, but right now you were feeling good.

Today was your and George's 3rd year anniversary and you couldn't be happier about it. Today you two were going to dinner and doing something else which was supposed to be a surprise for you. It was a night on the town.

George and you met 4 years ago actually. You two started out as acquaintances, the slowly grew into friends and then one day he asked you to join him to dinner. At first you were oblivious to his actions, thinking he was just being a good friend, but turns out the more dates you two went on the more you caught on. He officially asked you to be his girlfriend 3 years ago today.

His friends keep on pressuring George to propose already, they think it's been long enough. The only thing close to marriage is a promise ring. He put the ring on your finger as a promise that one day he would marry you, everytime you doubt that he will propose you turn your attention to the cute ring on your finger.

You had turned off the bedroom lights and sat on your bed finally relaxing after struggling to find a decent enough outfit for tonight. George said that he was going to pick you up around 6:00 and now it is 5:47 so you had some time to spare.

You had found yourself scrolling through tiktok because you had nothing else better to do at this moment. It was a guilty pleasure of yours even though you and george both joked around about hating tiktok.

Time began to tick away so you had checked the clock on your phone which said 5:57 pm. You had grabbed shoes that you set up against your bed, slipped them on and grabbed all of your belongings for the night. You stationed yourself in the living room waiting till George came to the door.

Nervousness always came up before a date, it was the anticipation actually. You were excited and nervous about the date as you always were, but today for you was special. It was three years worth of beautiful love. You remembered the time he first said I love you too, it was just like it was yesterday.

***

"Hey y/n." George looked towards you. You both were sitting on a plaid, plush blanket with a brown woven basket ontop in between you two. It was just like the movies and that why you cringed because of how cheesy it was when George led you to it.

It was sweet, it was extremely sweet and you loved these dates that George always brung you too. You always felt special when you are sitting next to him.

You responded to George. "Yeah Gogy?" You laughed at the use of his nickname.

"Im trying to be serious right now and you call me Gogy." George smiled and shook his head. "Anyways, you know I love you, right?"

"Of course I do-"

"No I love you. I mean. I'm in love with you." George reached to rest his hand ontop of yours and repeated himself. "I'm in live with you y/n."

You wasted no time answering. "Im in love with you too."

***

6:03

George didnt show up yet, but there was no sweat. He was only 3 minutes late, maybe he ran into traffick. Your stomach was rumbling, but you didnt want to eat yet since you two we're planning to go to dinner. Patience is key, and it wasnt like he wasn't late before.

6:10

You started to get worried, it's been 10 minutes and still no sign of your boyfriend. You had gotton up several times to check outside of your door only to be met with no one. Your mind was jumping to conclusions about if he forgot your anniversary, but you shut those thoughts out for the time being.

6:19

Okay this is getting out of hand. You brung out our phone and began to text George, you couldn't believe that you had waited this long before texting the man.

Where are you? Ive been waiting for 29 minutes?!

[Sent: 6:20pm]

George what are you doing?

[Sent: 6:20pm]

You awaited his text message with your phone faced up on the coffee table infront of you. You didn't want to believe that George woukd forget, or overslept, but that was becoming truth the more minutes passed by with no call or text.

6:30

Calling him was useless, because he didn't answer. He didn't hang up on you he just wasn't picking up the phone, like he turned it off. You started to get worried if something happened to him, if he was in a situation where he couldn't call or text you. You wondered if he was safe at home and not out in the middle of the street.

In a flash all your worries subsided when your phone lit up with a notification.

ThisIsNotGeorgeNotFound is live:

Im Playing golf with my friends

That son of a bitch. Pissed off was an understatement, you were fuming. How could he end up streaming at home when you had constantly reminded him about this day, he knew damn well about this day too. How could he?

You ended up grabbing a jacket and your purse and ended up driving to George's place. It seemed like he was mocking you in a way, he knew you had notifications on for Twitch. You loved to support him and his career, but this was making a fool out of yourself.

Your hand tightly gripped the steering wheel as you tried not to run every red light you cane across. You finally came across George's home, you found a place to park and quickly got out of your car and sped walked your way to George's residence. Finally making up to George's door you knocked harshly on the door probably making more noise than what you intended too. You continuously banged on his door until you got fed up.

Remembering that George had given you a key to his house you dig through your purse to get your set of keys out anr unlock his door. You stomped inside his house and closed the door behind you.

"GEORGE! GEORGE!" You yelled through the house. You were being reckless and annoying, but you didnt care at this point you were fuming and needed to tell George how you feel.

You had made your way to George's recording room where he was talking to his friends on discord. George looked towards you in shock clearly not hearing the sounds you were making throughout his house.

"Y/N?!" George yelled and muted his microphone.

"What the hell are you doing?" You exclaimed back.

"Im streaming thats what Im doing!" George sassed back at you, not paying attention to his screen and the chat.

"Dont get smart with me. End the stream."

"What?! No!"

"You heard me, we need to talk." You crossed your arms across your chest. Your heart was beating too fast for your liking and you tried to calm yourself down, but George's comments were getting to you.

George was about to unmute himself and get back to the game. "No we dont-"

"GEORGE END THE FUCKING STREAM! This is embarrassing! Talk to me cause you have some explaining to do." You snapped at him.

A silence tell upon you two and he glared at you before turning to his stream and closing it out.

"Okay guys! Go watch the other boys streams I need to go now! Bye!" George quickly ended and turned off everything.

He turned around to you still sitting in his chair. "What? What do you want?"

"Do you know what today is?" You asked.

"April 30th." George answered bluntly.

"Thats all you have to say?" You asked in shock. "It's our anniversary dickhead!"

"I fucking know that." George said.

"You do? So why did you start streaming and we had dinner plans?!"

"I told you we were streaming! You weren't listening to me!" George stood up from his chair when he said that.

"When the fuck did you tell me this?!"

"A couple days ago! You didn't listen!"

"But you knew that was our anniversary! And we made dinnerr plans-"

George yelled over you. "A month ago! We made those plans a month ago so excuse me for forgetting!"

"So all these other years you remembered our anniversary and went out of your fucking way to cancel other plans around that date, but today you didnt because why?!" Tears were threatening to fall down you cheeks, but you wouldnt let him see you like that.

"Because I planned this already with the boys! And AGAIN you werent listening to me when I said that-"

"There were several other times that you could've told me too! But you didn't!" You sniffed trying to keep the frustrated tears inside.

"I already planned this and I cant go back on my promise-"

"But you can with me?!" You yelled and George stopped talking. He's just studying your face at this point and you hated this silence.

"Its not important apparently." You said while walking out of the recording room.

"You're being a bitch." He mumbled.

"Excuse me?! That is so disrespectful!" You spun around yelled at him.

"You already made me feel like shit so might as well finish me off." George said in a annoying tone.

"Yeah you should feel like shit! I feel like shit too so-!" You threw your hands up in exasperation and stormed out the room. You had made it to the door before George called out to you again.

"Y/n! Y/n! Please!"

"No! Just..." You paused before opening the door and ushering your way out. "Call me when you get your shit together.

You were currently curled up on your couch eating leftovers that you had in the refrigerator. That had satisfied your hunger for the night because the dinner was canceled that night. Your anger and sadness had subsided and you were only left with an unusual feeling in your heart. Your relationship felt incomplete, this fight felt incomplete. You didnt break up with him, but you were waiting for closure.

The TV was the only light in the room. It illuminated what it wanted to, you didnt care if it was too dark. Usually you would be cuddled up with George at this ungoldy hour, but you weren't and that made you tear up.

Your sadness was still there, your anger towards George turned into pity. You were sad about the actions he took, but somewhere in your heart you could forgive him. You could forgive and move on if he would come to you.

Speaking of, you had a knock on your door. You didn't have the strength to get up, but you did. Shuffling your way to the door you sluggishly opened it to find George standing there with his hands in his hoodie. The person you wanted to see, but at the same time you wanted to slam that door in his face.

"Hey." George spoke and you gave him a small smile, nothing more.

You turned around to find your seat back on the couch where you were comfortable, but also giving him a silent invitation to come inside. You had sat down on the couch not paying attention to George, but you knew he closed the door, took off his shoes by yours, and put his keys on the table by the door like he always did. It was like a routine to him.

George ended up awkwardly standing beside the couch as you ignored him.

"You know, if you didnt open the door I would've used my keys like you did." George tried to spark up a conversation, but you only hummed in response. You were scared that if you spoke, you would cry.

George ended up making his way to the couch sitting beside you and pulling you into his embrace. Your head was on his chest and you began to sob. You missed this it's only been a few hours, but you had felt that in those few hours you had lost everything. You continued to sob into his hoodie as he rubbed your back and shushed you, whispering sweet nothings into the air only for you to hear.

"Im here, and Im sorry. Im so fucking sorry that I did this to you and I only hope that you can forgive me." George said, his voice cracking a little when he said that. You kept crying.

That's what you wanted to hear all along, that's what you needed. You could forgive him in due time, you always will because you love him, you will always love him. You both can always make it right.

[goldenmorningglory]

so we're getting the beach scene probably in ep 10. i feel that would be because they just want to...leave this. leave all of this stupidity and just be with each other. and we're gonna have wai spill to pran's mom about them (idk why im so sure i feel theres a lot more bad to come from him).

and that's why sht hits the fan when they come back. they come back to worse than what they left behind. their parents know.

and this is going to test the two of them a lot more than the friends finding out cause they can always ask their friends to mind their business but...parents?

this episode showed how pat reacts towards negative emotions from his dad. his father's words are like a bittersweet pill to him that just because his dad seems chill it all hinges on pat living up to what his dad wants from him (felt deeply man).

this is probably because pat never faced an immediate pushback the way pran did. that had opened pran's eyes to how his parents could be wrong a long time ago. pat has yet to have that realisation.

it just makes the father worse for me.

and well. so how will pat and pran react? i think we've seen quite well enough how quickly they've settled into each other, found their homes in each other's smiles. and i dont think they'll break up.

pran has never actually been afraid of people knowing he's with pat i feel. thats not his fear. if you ask him he would go out with pat's hands in his wherever they went fck everyone else.

no what pran's fear was and always has been is the consequences they'd face. they very real threat of being made to leave. of being made to choose between happiness and ill sought loyalty to blood relations.

the one time they attempted to be close without even conciously trying, pran was ripped away. alone, he was the only one who uprooted his life. pran is afraid of that. afraid that one of them will be taken away again.

which is why i didnt feel any shot in the preview suggested that pran wanted to break up with pat. pat being well, just the best person ever, was ready to stab himself through his own heart and tell everyone that they broke up just so pran doesnt get hurt (very riam of him).

but nothing suggests pran agrees to that. they fight for each other here, in college, because they can. none of these people around them can make them leave each other.

parents? parents are a different ball game.

and thats why wai being the one to drop the curtain, being the only one that pran's mom likes among pran's friends (remember pat saying in ep 5 that pran's mom doesnt let him have anyone over?) makes it so loud and clear that neither wai, nor pran's mother actually care about pran.

and i think that is going to hurt a lot more to pran because no matter what theyre whom he holds the highest just after pat.

i have to credit p'aof again because a lot of times the idea of being subjected to angst bored me because it always stemmed from the main characters being foolish themselves. but here its outside forces.

we're not seeing patpran fight themselves and each other. we're seeing them fight everyone else together, because they've always been taught that there's no reasoning with the enemy. ofc no one knew they were never enemies.

what the hell am i writing i have no idea but anyway, its characters like pat and pran that redeem romance as a genre for me. im demisexual. romance always feels like being outside looking in. not here though. its not romance, its just love and affection. and that, i can relate to.