#maybe mostly so i myself can look back on it

[fawnhart]

drew begs bambi to forgive him ! ˚ ᡣ𐭩. 𖥔 ๋࣭

They had just wrapped filming her final season on Outer Banks. The whole time, Bambi acted as if she wasn’t hurting inside and nailed every single take flawlessly. Drew, on the other hand, was a mess and everyone knew it.

He kept messing up his lines, forgetting his call times, and dozing off between takes. In a way, Bambi felt bad for him. But he had no right to her sympathy, at least not at the moment

Now, both back in New York, Drew for a photoshoot and Bambi back in her elementl she couldn’t help but look at him with disgust and anger.

How dare he show up?!

It was one of those nights where everything was happening all at once and nothing at all. Drew stood at Bambi’s townhome door, soaked from the rain, his hands trembling, his chest tight. His mullet was a mess, not giving a damn if paparazzi caught him. He just wanted her to listen. She stood there, arms crossed as her eyes burned with anger, hurt, maybe a little curiosity, but mostly just tired.

she had every right to be

“Please, Bambi. Please, let me in. I can’t” He cut himself off, his voice breaking just a little, the words too heavy in his chest. He couldn’t keep pretending to be fine. Not anymore.

She didn’t move, arms crossed, standing her ground. She was beautiful like that, even if her face was streaked with tears, even if her lip trembled slightly.

“You can’t just come in here after everything, Drew.” Her voice was quieter than he expected, but sharper. It made his heart twist “You think you can just say sorry and it all goes away!?”

“I’ve been a mess without you, baby. I’ve screwed everything up,” he said, his words coming out in a rush “I was… I was just scared. Scared of you and your reputation, of what people would say about us. i-” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to hold it together “I thought if I distanced myself, it would protect you.”

Bambi’s expression softened, just a little, but not enough for him to get comfortable. She was still holding that distance “You pushed me away because of what other people might think?” Her voice wavered just slightly on the word might. “And that’s supposed to be for my own good?”

He dropped his head, his eyes stinging “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was..no, I am an idiot.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze never wavered. After a long silence, she sighed, her breath shaky “And then there’s your friend” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. He didn’t need to ask which friend she meant. That girl. The one who had spent more time telling Drew what a mess he was for being with her than actually being his “friend”. Drew had started to feel that insidious doubt creeping in, her words twisting around in his head like vines.

“She told you I wasn’t good enough, didn’t she?” Bambi asked, and there was a bitter edge to her voice.

“i-I didn’t believe her, baby,” Drew said quickly, his hands shaking again. He took a step forward, desperate “I never believed her. I-look, I shouldn’t have listened to her at all. I was so caught up in my own shit, and-”

“And what!? You let her tell you who I am!? Who we are!? But you were perfectly fine having sex with me?, right” she said feeling utterly and totally used

He swallowed hard, a heavy knot in his throat “I should’ve told her to back the fuck off. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve never let her put those thoughts in my mind. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The air in the apartment felt thick, too heavy to breathe. He finally dropped to his knees, his face flushed with the weight of it all “I love you, Bambi. Please... don’t shut me out. I need you. I can’t fix this without you.”

Her eyes flickered with pain as she stared down at him, her arms still crossed, but now her lips were pressed tightly together as she fought back more tears. She couldn’t let him see her break just yet. Not like this. Not when she was still trying to figure out whether or not she could believe him.

“You really hurt me, Drew. You have no idea how much.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she turned away, wiping at her eyes. She moved slowly, the silence between them stretching like a thin wire.

Drew stayed kneeling, helpless. “Please, Bambi. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what I need to do.”

She turned back to him, eyes red-rimmed but steady. “You have to prove it. You have to show me you’re not just talking. Words don’t mean anything anymore.” She paused, her gaze hardening. “And you need to cut her off. She’s clearly got it out for me, and for us, and you can’t keep her around if you want to make this right.”

He nodded immediately “I swear I will. I’ll cut her off. I’ll do anything. Just... please don’t leave me.” His voice was raw, the last of his pride crumbling.

Bambi stared at him for a long moment, and then she sighed “Fine,” she said quietly “But I’m not forgiving you tonight. I need to think about it.”

Drew’s heart sank, but he nodded, trying to be understanding, even if every fiber of him wanted to scream.

“Get up, you’re embarrassing me” He stood up slowly, and she led him into her townhome, but not without a sharp glance over her shoulder as she said, “And you’re sleeping outside tonight, With my cat.”

Drew blinked, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious. Outside. With Ms. Mocha. You can sleep on the balcony.” Her tone was final, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she walked past him into the closet, grabbing a blanket and tossing it in his direction.

Drew was about to protest, but the look on her face stopped him. The soft, determined way she held herself now was a reminder of why he loved her in the first place, because she never made anything easy for him. She knew her worth, even if he had forgotten for a while.

He grabbed the blanket, muttering, “I’m an idiot.”

Her lips quirked up at that, just a little. “Yeah. You are. But you’re still my idiot.” She softened then, her voice growing quieter. “you have to prove you deserve to be with me. Because I can’t go back to being second place.”

Drew nodded, his chest tight. “I swear I will. I swear.” He hesitated then added “can I atleast sleep on the couch?” he said with a weak smile

Bambi rolled her eyes, but it was playful now, the tension easing just enough for her to offer him a tiny truce. “Fine. I haven’t burned your clothes yet, consider yourself lucky.” She said heading to her room to grab some of his pajamas he had left there several times

He laughed softly, grateful for the small weird victory. He knew it was far from over, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

“missed you Mocha” he whispered as he curled up on her soft pink couch, Ms. Mocha curled up next to him with an irritated meow, Drew stared at the night sky view from her townhome, wondering how he could have been so fucking stupid. But maybe, he had a chance to make it right.

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

part one

“so how was your first day?” robin asks steve as he slides onto the barstool next to her and chrissy.

“it actually wasn’t that bad,” steve shrugs before taking a long pull from the freshly opened bottle the bartender slides his way.

“it wasn’t that bad?” chrissy asks, incredulous. “so he didn’t make you go to the erewhon all the way across town? the one he goes to because selena gomez was seen there once?”

“that’s why he made me go there?”

“yeah, he really likes that one movie she’s in.”

steve thinks for a moment. “the dead don’t die?”

“no, the one with the dancing,” chrissy snorts.

steve makes a face and then shrugs again. “i made him his breakfast, i drove him around, i organized his tshirt closet… pretty standard stuff for an assistant.”

“you organized his tshirt closet? what the fuck does that even mean?” robin asks, laughing.

“exactly what it sounds like,” steve grins at her. “anyway, really, it wasn’t that bad. sure, he’s insufferable but not anything i couldn’t handle. don’t worry about it.”

“well, thanks for doing this,” chrissy says. “vickie handled it for a while, but i guess once you’ve been fired twelve times in the course of six months, you have to draw a boundary with the thirteenth.”

“it’s really not a big deal, it’s not like i’m doing it for free,” steve responds. “the money is more than worth it.”

“still, i know how he can be. but he’s really not so bad. once he’s… comfortable.” chrissy frowns.

“whatever,” steve shrugs for a third time. “i’m just here for the cash.” he winks and gives her a reassuring smile.

~*~

the next morning, steve pulls up to eddie’s huge beverly hills mansion bright and early, just as he had yesterday. he punches in the gate code, waves to the security guy on duty, and makes his way inside to the kitchen.

eddie storms in while steve is halfway through cooking another omelette, this time with tomatoes and onions and freshly grated cheddar cheese.

“i don’t care, wheeler, i’m not making a fucking appearance and i’m definitely not doing it with him,” eddie snarls into the phone pressed to his face. he hasn’t seemed to notice that steve’s in his house again.

eddie waits for whoever it is on the phone to speak before he says, “well maybe i don’t want to fix it. maybe this is it,” and then hangs up the phone. he lets out a frustrated little scream before he turns to leave the kitchen, finally noticing steve by the stove. “you’re back,” he says, voice monotone.

“i’m back,” steve smiles, sliding the plate full of food across the large island toward him. eddie looks down at it like he’s surprised. “eat,” steve tells him.

“another sweater vest?” eddie sneers instead of picking up his fork.

“i like them,” steve shrugs, still smiling.

eddie rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he mutters and then picks up the plate and retreats from the kitchen.

~*~

eddie is deeply annoyed by how good steve’s omelettes are. he practically licks the plate clean when he’s finished, which only serves to make his bad mood worse.

“can i take your plate?” steve asks from the doorway of the living room.

“jesus christ, man, wear a fucking bell,” eddie grumbles before holding out the plate, forcing steve to walk across the room to the couch and take it from him.

“i’ll remember to announce myself from now on,” steve replies. “chrissy just called; you have another meeting with the pr team this afternoon. we’ll leave here in about an hour.”

eddie doesn’t respond and steve goes quietly back to the kitchen.

~*~

eddie tries to confuse steve with the directions to nancy’s office again, mostly just to annoy him since the car has a built in gps. steve ignores eddie, leaving him to play on his phone in the back seat. the windows are tinted dark, just how eddie likes it & it lulls him into a false sense of security to where he’s almost relaxed by the time they get to nancy’s office.

the meeting is a fucking drag. it’s just a rehashing of the morning’s phone call and eddie had already made himself perfectly clear. he’s not willing to fix anything. nancy and chrissy try to double-team him, begging him to think about the tour & the album roll-out & the rest of the band. the entertainment blogs are running wild with the rumors circulating about the other night and now they’re digging up shit that he wishes would stay buried.

“absolutely fucking not,” eddie spits out. “i refuse to be fucking cordial with that moron.”

“fine,” nancy says finally. “i guess we’re done here then.” she gets up from the head of the conference room table and leaves through the big glass doors and the rest of her team takes that as their cue to leave, too.

chrissy levels him with a look, waiting until the last intern has left the room before speaking.

“eddie, i know you’re pissed right now. trust me, i would be too,” she says, using that tone eddie always hates—the one that makes it sound like she’s trying to placate a rabid dog. “but the label has invested a lot of money into you and they need you to put in some work right now. take a minute, take a breath, and then we’ll talk again. but we need to respond; we can figure out what that looks like. i’ll talk to nance… maybe we don’t need a joint appearance. maybe you can just make a statement.”

eddie knows there are a ton of people relying on this tour & this upcoming album. he knows the band doesn’t deserve the hit from this. but what is there to even say? he’s just so fucking angry about it.

“fine. i’ll make an appearance. but i won’t, under any circumstances, be seen with him,” eddie tells her firmly. he slides his sunglasses back onto his face before pushing himself out of his chair and making his way over to the door. “just tell me when and where. and make sure nancy doesn’t make me sound like a fucking idiot.”

“great,” chrissy smiles so bright she looks like a teenager again. “i’ll talk to nancy. we’ll figure it out.”

any reassurance eddie feels is washed away by a renewed sense of annoyance when he sees steve waiting for him in the lobby, still wearing his pastel yellow sweater vest, drinking a purple smoothie from a straw and scrolling on his phone. he’s laughing at something on the screen and the sunlight comes through the huge front windows just right, making him glow golden, and eddie just feels something inside him twist unpleasantly.

steve looks up then to see eddie coming, but eddie breezes past him to the sidewalk. steve jumps up to follow, handing the valet their ticket. when the car finally pulls up, eddie says, “no liquids in the car,” before sliding into the back seat.

he sees steve shrug before smiling at the valet and handing him his half empty smoothie to dispose of and a tip.

the car ride home is silent. eddie practically leaps from the car before it’s even come to a stop when they pull into the driveway. there are packages on the table in the foyer, likely brought in by the security guy at the gate. “grab those,” eddie tells steve with a wave of his hand.

steve follows eddie into the kitchen, arms laden with paper bags and boxes. most of it, eddie knows, is free product and merch, stuff he never uses and mostly stuff he doesn’t even want. steve places the packages on the counter and watches as eddie sifts through them, clearly looking for something.

“do you want lunch?” steve asks. eddie ignores him, finally finding the package he’d ordered earlier today. he flings it across the kitchen island toward steve on the other side.

steve catches the package in his hands and arches an eyebrow.

“open it,” eddie tells him, nodding at paper wrapping. he opens the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and takes a long sip as he watches steve’s fingers tear at the brown paper.

once the package is open, steve huffs out a laugh, barely a breath, before holding up a bright pink cat collar with a tiny bell attached. he shakes it in the air, making the bell tinkle. the collar clearly will not fit him.

“fuck you, man,” steve says, still smiling.

“fuck you, too,” eddie says.

and then he leaves the kitchen.

[holyguardian]

Aerith was pulled from her thoughts at such a forward uttering of her name. There were few among them who referred to her on a first-name basis, and she was distracted enough to not immediately register it had been a familiar voice.

She looked to Somnus in mild surprise. Though her expression softened — she had cleaned up from their struggle, and he still wore it plain. He wasn't precious about any of it but it did kick up the unpleasant memories.

"It's the least I can do." she replied, feeling as though all of this trouble was because of her. Realistically, no, the blame was solely on King Jacob. But everyone here... they had risked life and limb for her. It wasn't a good feeling.

Somnus grinned and pulled at his clothes. A small gasp was pulled from her — she saw that cut immediately, and he was bowing like it wasn't such a big deal. He barely even got to straighten up again before her hands were on him. Clean cloths became dirty ones as she washed around the wound with a crease in her brow.

"You should have come sooner... doesn't it hurt?" she asked, shooting him a look of concern before she looked him up and down. No. This wouldn't do. He was a walking infection risk like this.

"This way. Strip down to your pants." she ordered, so matter-of-factly it might come as a surprise. It had simply been a line that repeated often enough that it felt second nature after that long night.

There was little privacy, but he wasn't ushered along so no one could see. Oh no. It was so no one else would wear the spell he was about to experience. "For the healing water to work, you have to keep the area clean. You can't pull your dirtied clothes back on." She had spent a lot of effort making that small basin of healing water too. She couldn't afford to waste it away to carelessness.

Aerith grimaced a little before she knocked back a small flask. Another mana tonic. She was on her sixth, and her stomach was rioting. If she had to down one more she was going to hurl. "Ouh." she had a small, audible complaint, but shook it off as she collected her stave. The real star of this tent.

"Maybe close your eyes." she offered, then channelled her magic into a steady water spell. It wasn't a gentle flow, but it wasn't assaulting either. Somewhere inbetween. Somnus was watered down the same as countless other soldiers had been though there were a few more glances thrown his way, a few more grins too, especially from Lucian soldiers.

It was over as quickly as it began, and while Somnus wiped down his face or shook some of the excess from his hair, Aerith busied herself at the precious little basin that had been mostly emptied. She only dared to touch with clean hands as she soaked a cloth through and approached her thoroughly-washed husband again.

That cloth was pressed to his side firmly, held there in the same manner, allowing the water time to work some of its magic. "... sorry." she almost whispered. "I forgot to warn you about the sting."

Her eyes lowered. The cloth bloomed with a little fresh blood, but nothing too concerning. The water was already at work. "You don't know how much I'm fighting myself to not simply heal you." she then uttered between them.

If one wanted to find Aerith in such a camp, it was easiest to follow where the groans of pain and desperation lessened.

She stood in the makeshift lazaret. A plain green dress – and yet the symbol of hope among the soldiers there. They all looked to her in one way or the other. Whispering thanks or outright declaring their loyalty to her right here and there.

Approaching her, Somnus held a little smile under all the dirt and grime on his face. He could not touch her like that, but he could talk to her. And maybe… well, one hand would do no damage, right?

“Aerith.”, he warned her quietly before fishing for her hand.

“I see… you have everything under control.”

A little compliment. But it was vague. Because Somnus could see the dread in her eyes. He still heard her crying.

Pulling at his clothes a little to reveal the cut at his side, Somnus grinned with a playful little bow. He wanted her to not feel so beaten down… make a little light of this situation. She had cared for everyone who had needed it. Now it was Somnus' own turn, he deemed. Maybe he could get her thoughts off of any dark spirals that lurked in the aftermaths of such attacks.

“Could I request some of your healing water, too?”

[staticscreenwriting]

I took the good times, I'll take the bad times II Joel Miller

Summary: Joel doesn't think he's deserving of love after all he did and all he went trough. Or maybe he's just scared. Either way he can't let himself fall for (Y/N). Now if only she'd stop sending him those damn postcards.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (I always try not to describe the reader physically, if I missed something please let me know so I can change it and make this "applicable" to every reader. Thank you!)

A/N: This is my entry for the dear-uary challenge by @jolapeno . My prompt was "Character A keeps finding X and traces them back to Character B, who might be leaving them intentionally—or not." And I chose Postcards as my form of epistolary.

TW: This is mostly angsty fluff. There is some talk of self doubt and loss of a child but I think that should be it.

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.

It all starts with a simple postcard tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Joel almost doesn’t realize it’s there, folded twice into a tiny square. It’s only when he’s looking for the list Maria gave him of all the things to look for on this run, that he grabs a hold of the card. 

His gloves make it hard to unfold the small paper but it’s way too cold to take them off. Joel was never big on winter and snow, even before everything went to shit. He doesn’t like the way it lingers, the way it consumes you from the inside out. Now, an unforgiving cold is all he feels as a thick blanket of snow has settled upon Wyoming. 

Bold bright letters scream out to him from the wrinkled paper “ Greetings from Tampa Florida. Wish you were here!”.

It’s one of those campy vintage ones where the letters are filled with drawings of landmarks and beaches. He remembers sending one just like this to his High School girlfriend when Dad took him and Tommy on a trip to Nashville when Joel was 16 maybe 17. It was a good trip, the last one they ever took together. Sometimes Joel wonders how his dad would deal with all of this. This new reality. This fucked up world. He always seemed so strong, so fearless. That man was unstoppable force and immovable object all at once. Every vulnerability Joel finds in himself, he’s sure was absent in his father. Maybe if he was a little more like his own dad he could’ve saved Sarah, could’ve spared Ellie the pain of living in this limbo of knowing and not knowing. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Joel moves closer to the fire, his only light source other than the stars. There’s writing on the back, blue ink on off-white paper. It’s not a handwriting he knows and for a second he wonders if the card has been there ever since he found the bag years ago, back in Boston. But he would know that, right? Would've found it by now. This must be new. This must be meant for him.

“ I know you hate the cold. I know it makes you sad and gloomy, well gloomier than usual. So let me tell you about the hottest day I ever experienced. I was a kid, maybe 7 or 8 and my mom took me to Florida. Not Tampa (it was the only postcard I could find at the library), but Orlando. We went to fucking Disney World!! We didn’t have a lot of money back then so mom must’ve saved a long time for this. Anyway, Joel, it was so hot. Unbearably hot. My clothes stuck to my skin and my hair got all frizzy. Maybe July wasn’t the best time to go. The air was so thick and heavy, so moist (ew). It felt like breathing in honey, syrup maybe. I still had the best time. I know it doesn’t take away the cold but I hope I can take you away to that hot and humid Florida summer for one small moment. If not, there’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag. Made it myself. You never told me what your favorite color is. I hope you like blue. xx 

P.S.: I wonder what happened to Disney World.” 

A chuckle falls from Joel’s lips and forms a cloud against the sharp winter air. He's never been to Disney World. The Millers just weren’t a Disney World kind of family. They were more of a local fair kind of family. All corn dogs and funnel cakes and first kisses behind the bumper cars. Sarah would’ve loved Disney World though. Ellie too. Ellie who doesn’t even know what the hell Disney is. 14 years and the girl has no idea who Mickey Mouse is. What a surreal thought. What a strange world. More than 20 years and it still feels strange. Joel wonders if life will ever let him settle in this new reality. If one day this feels like home and not a bad dream. Not a cosmic punishment. A bad joke that no one’s laughing at anymore.

His eyes travel back towards the blue swirly writing. It’s not Ellie’s bad chicken scratch, he could pick that out of a line-up any day. This looks much neater, more deliberate, and thoughtful. 

“There’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag.”

Quiet, as not to wake up the others sleeping just a few steps away, Joel opens the zipper on his bag and rummages through it with a gloved hand. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, food rations, ammunition, a second pair of gloves. Going on supply runs is not something Joel enjoys but it is a way for him to give back. To Tommy and Maria and the entire community. Jackson and its people have taken him and Ellie in as one of their own without much hesitation. They provided them with food, with shelter, with trust. He has so little to give in return. Going on a supply run to look for medicine and other necessities, that’s the least he can do. 

Something soft and squishy meets his hand and he pulls out a dark blue woolen scarf. There are so many holes and even in the dim light of the campfire, Joel can tell those holes are not there on purpose. Maybe it was Ellie after all, but then she never showed any interest in knitting, and the idea of her doing just that is far too ridiculous. No matter how imperfect it is though, Joel has to admit the scarf does make him feel warmer as he wraps it around his neck. 

“Hey,” Adam, one of the other guys on the run, speaks up from beside Joel, “you can catch some sleep if you want. I can take over the watch.” 

It’s a strange thing, how sometimes you don’t notice just how tired you are or how hungry you are until someone points it out to you. Until they offer to take it from you. Then it hits you like a brick to the face. A wave pulling you under. 

Joel feels his eyelids grow heavy and nods at the younger man. "Thanks". 

This mystery, it can wait until tomorrow. Until then he will bury his face in the warm soft wool of the scarf and think of that Florida sun. And though it most definitely is just his imagination, Joel could almost swear the night feels a little less cold.

His boots leave deep imprints in the white icy blanket as he makes his way past the Tipsy Bison and the community hall further towards his house. His home. 

No place has really felt like home in years. Not since all of this started. Everything was temporary. 4 walls and a roof. He wonders if this place will ever start feeling like home? Will he ever get to a point where he doesn’t wait for the second shoe to drop? It all feels like he’s Charlie Brown and life is Lucy pulling the football away at the last second. And it always ends with him falling. He’s so tired of falling. So tired of getting back up.

Joel almost expects the house to be silent as he steps inside. Ellie is slowly making friends with the other teens living in the settlement and is spending more time at their houses than she is at home. He can’t blame her. If he was more like his father he’d find it in himself to start conversations with people, get to know them, forge connections, make friends. Of the Miller boys, Tommy is the one who inherited their dad’s social gene though, Joel only got the snarl and the crippling inability to talk about his feelings.

Laughter echoes through the house as Joel rounds the corner connecting the entryway to the living room. Ellie’s laughter, loud and bright and light. As if for a moment all the horrors and the pain and the trauma have been taken from her.

When he steps into the kitchen, Joel understands. 

(Y/N) is standing by the counter, a smile on her face so soft and radiant it might just rival the sun. That joy she brings out in Ellie, it’s familiar to Joel because he feels it too whenever (Y/N) is around. Not always but sometimes. It’s a spark of warmth that starts in his chest and crawls up his spine. It settles in his lungs, his heart, his brain. Like a parasite. Like a virus. Like a wonderful dream. He doesn’t allow himself to feel it all the time but sometimes, sometimes he can’t deny himself this little bit of warmth.

Joel can’t even remember when exactly (Y/N) became a part of their life. It’s like one day she was there and refused to leave. And really that’s kind of how it went. She works at the library and the school, lives across the street from him and Ellie and for some reason, she’s taken pity on them. Joel isn’t sure if it's him or Ellie she pities. Maybe a mix of both. Either way, she brought over some soup one day and that’s the beginning and end of it all. She’s wormed her way into Ellie’s heart and by extension his too. Whether he likes to admit it or not. Doesn't hurt that she's so damn beautiful too.

“Joel, you’re back!” 

Ellie pulls him in a tight hug. It’s something Joel still has to get used to. Ellie isn’t a particularly affectionate person. She’s definitely not a hugger. And neither is Joel — not anymore at least. So when they do hug, it’s still a little strange. Not bad strange just unfamiliar. 

“Yeah, I’m back. 

“How did it go?” (Y/N) asks and meets his eyes over Ellie’s head. A silent conversation happening between her and Joel. It’s that thing she does where she doesn’t need to say a single word but Joel can tell exactly what she’s thinking just by the look in her eyes. He sometimes wonders if this is a them thing. 

“Did someone die” her eyes are saying. “Did someone get hurt?” 

“Did you get hurt?” 

He quickly shakes his head answering her unspoken questions. Not this time. 

“Good. It went good.” 

Maybe the relieved sigh he sees her let out is just his imagination. But Joel doesn’t think so. Joel thinks it's very real.

“Did you bring us something? “ 

He can’t help but smile at that. It feels good to smile. In a world that gives you grief and sorrow, you start to count the moments when it gives you a reason to smile. They are few and far between but the number has surely increased since Ellie stepped into his life — and since (Y/N) did. 

“I brought food and medicine. Isn’t that enough? “

A determined “no” falls from both their lips in a chaotic harmony. 

“Geez, you guys are demanding.” 

“Well — did you bring us something?” 

Joel just rolls his eyes and rummages through his bag for the goods. 

“For you— “ he says and throws the old wrinkled comic book towards Ellie who regards it with that endless sense of wonder she does possess. It’s the kind of spark that flickers and dies once you grow old. Or maybe just his did. Maybe grief leaves no room for wonder. 

Placing his bag on the ground, Joel moves into the kitchen and holds out his loot to (Y/N). Green background. White goats. Yellow bubble letters.

“Oooooh, you did get me something. Pet Sounds, nice!” 

There’s a spark in her too. Dulled and dusted from time but it is there and it flickers and grows every time Joel brings her a vinyl record from his trips outside of the settlement. In a world with so little joy, music seems to be one of the few things that hasn’t changed. In the face of immeasurable pain, humans turn to music. They have done so for a long time and judging by the world as is, they always will. 

“I hope it works still. Didn’t really have a record player to try it out.” 

“I’ll try it out as soon as I get to the library. Feel free to come by and listen with me.” 

“Sure.” 

“Thank you, Joel. I hope you didn’t have to do anything stupid to get this.” 

He didn’t. Not this time. He would’ve though. It scares him how willing he is to put himself in danger just to get her something that will put that radiant smile on her face. He’d walk to the end of the earth if he knew there was a record there she wanted. That thought scares the shit out of him. It’s bad enough he cares so deeply about Ellie, about Tommy. The more people you care about, the more you open yourself up to hurt. Losing either of them would tear him apart. Joel is not sure he can handle opening his heart to yet another person no matter how much his heart wants just that. 

“ Nah. No issues.” 

“Good.” 

She just looks at him for a moment. All soft eyes and gentle smile. There must be something she sees in him, Joel thinks, something he doesn’t see. A version of himself that he isn’t, that he will never be. A version he once was, maybe. A version he so desperately wishes he could be. For her.

“Well,” (Y/N) says and snaps him out of her enchantment “Ellie and I made some stew. I know you must’ve been freezing outside, some good warm stew might help warm you up a little.” 

“It smells great.” 

“You have impeccable timing because we just got done. So, dig in. And uh — I guess I’ll see you guys at the movie screening?” 

He doesn’t want her to leave. The devil and the angel on his shoulders are both screaming at him to ask her to stay. And if he was any stronger a man, any more like his own father and more deserving of good things, he would ask her. To stay for dinner. To stay forever.

But he isn’t. And he doesn’t ask. Just watches as she wraps a scarf around her neck and slips into the thick jacket that's a few sizes too big on her.

“I left the recipe by the fridge. Just in case you ever want to cook it yourself.” 

“Thanks.” 

And he really is grateful. For her. For everything.

“Oh Joel,” she says and stops in the doorway. “I like that scarf. Blue looks really good on you.” 

And then she’s gone, swallowed by the cold winter air. 

Joel hasn’t thought about his favorite color in forever. It’s something you stop thinking about once you start growing hair on your chest and fantasizing about girls in a way you haven’t before. Kids talk about their favorite colors all the time. Sarah did. It’s just once you grow old you lose that sense of self, define yourself through different things. 

Looking at the scarf now, all holes and imperfections, there is no doubt in his mind that his favorite color is blue. 

“Have you ever been to Paris?” 

The lights are dimmed in the big community hall, the movie playing on screen providing the only source of light as the people of Jackson have gathered for another movie night. 

A glimpse into a world that was but no longer is and never will be again. And for some of them, like Ellie, a world that never was to begin with.

Ellie is sitting in the front with some of the other teens, her friends, Joel supposes. She has friends now.

“Joel, have you?” 

A soft hand rests on his arm, shaking him from his gloomy thoughts. (Y/N) sits next to him, eyes focused on the pictures dancing across the screen. Ilsa and Rick, falling in love over and over again in Paris. The beginning of a love story doomed from the start. 

“I uh — no. Never.” 

“Me neither. I would’ve loved to go though. It looks beautiful.” 

He doesn’t know why or how it happens but the words just flow from his mouth like a waterfall. For the first time in a while, he finds himself wanting to talk more. About the past. About Sarah.

“My daughter, Sarah, went to Paris once. Some school exchange program. They don’t usually do it until later but her French class was above average and I guess they won some contest. I don’t know it was a long time ago.” 

“Sounds like she was a smart cookie.” 

"Oh, she was. Too smart for me, that’s for sure. Was hard letting her leave and fly to a whole different continent though. I was scared out of my mind until she was back home. Drove Tommy crazy for a whole damn week.” 

(Y/N) turns her face away from the screen and regards him with that infinite sense of something more. Soft and endearing. If he was a different man he would call it love. He would see the way she looks at him and he would kiss her stupid and life would be all sweet dreams and gentle touches. 

But he is the man he is. Not worthy of whatever she is willing to give.

“What’re looking at me like that for?” 

“It’s just sweet how much you care. About everyone. I think you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time.” 

“Do what?” 

“Care for others. For Ellie and me and all of us. You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I just wish you’d let someone take care of you for a change.” 

He doesn’t need to be taken care of. He can do it all on his own. And anyway, he is not as good of a man as she thinks he is. Good men don’t have the blood of their loved ones stuck to their hands. Good men don’t let their daughters die in their arms. Good men don’t kill. Good men don’t do all the things he did. 

Joel doesn’t want to be a good man. He just wishes he was good enough a man to allow himself to be with (Y/N).

“I ain’t a good man. And I don’t need someone to take care of me.” 

“You wore that scarf, did you not? You allowed me to take care of you then.” 

That damn scarf. He had a hunch it was her. The handwriting on the postcard matched the one of the recipe stuck to his fridge an awful lot. But it’s something else entirely to hear her say it outright. 

“That was you, huh? Had an awful lot of holes that thing.” 

“Hey, I never said I was good at knitting. You wore it anyway.”

Joel turns back towards the screen as Rick and Ilsa share a loving kiss. 

“Yeah, I wore it anyway.” 

And to the sound of bombs and tanks, (Y/N) rests her head on his shoulder.

That’s what you do for the people you love. Even if you don’t allow yourself to love them.

You wear the scarf anyway.

The mailbox flag is up. Bright red against the sharp white of the winter's day. 

It’s never been up. People around here don’t get mail. It’s but an ancient relic of a life they used to live. Remnants of a society long gone. 

But Joel is nothing if not curious. So he stomps up to the mailbox, leaving deep imprints in the freshly fallen snow. 

It’s another postcard. Only this time it doesn’t come with a mystery. This time it comes with that silly little feeling that makes his heart beat just a little faster. That makes his head swirl with stupid thoughts of stupid dreams.

“From Paris with love,” it says on the front. Fucking Paris, of course.

Sometimes the way he feels about her is infuriating, confusing, scary.

And sometimes, like right now, it feels like a ball of warmth settles in his ribcage and warms him from the inside out.

“Dear Joel,

We’ll never have Paris. Not in this life at least. And while I would’ve loved to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle with you and make you eat a croissant (which you would’ve pretended to hate but I think you would’ve enjoyed it secretly), I am glad to get this life with you at least. Or alongside you. Whatever it is we are, I am glad this life gave me that in between all the pain. Despite what you like to tell yourself, Joel Miller, you are a spark of fire, a light in the dark. You are more than the sum of your failures, you are more than your pain. All the good that is in you, that counts. That’s all that matters in the end. And there is so much good in you.

I wish you’d let yourself see it. 

We will never have Paris. But we’ll always have Jackson and that is enough for me. I hope it’s enough for you.

Here’s looking at you kid! ;) “

There’s a tragedy in knowing someone else sees all your good parts and none of the bad. A tragedy in knowing how much they like those good parts and being awfully aware that seeing all the bad parts would destroy them. 

A tragedy in still wanting to show them all of you, even the ugly soul-destroying parts.

But if she thinks he’s a good man, then Joel needs to be just that. A good man who keeps those ugly parts hidden and away from her. Even if that means denying himself the one thing he wants. 

“What’s that?” Ellie speaks up from beside him, a curious look on her face.

“Postcard.” 

“Like what people would send from vacations and stuff?”

“Yeah, how do you know about that?” 

She rolls his eyes at him and it’s one of those moments where he feels like a dad again. Those little moments that mean the world to him because he gets to feel like the old him. The Joel he thought was long dead and buried beside the bones of his own child.

“I watch movies? I talk to people? I read books? Take your pick.” 

“Wow, when did you become such a smartass, huh?” 

She shrugs his shoulders at him “Was born that way. Nothing I can do about it.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Hey, you’ve grown to love me! You wouldn’t want me any other way.” 

And she isn’t wrong. Ellie, with all her curiosity and her bravery and her lust for life, whatever that life may look like, is exactly what he needed. Which makes him wonder if saving her from the fireflies was ultimately more of a selfish act than that of a heroic savior. 

“Who’s it from?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Oh, so (Y/N).” 

His eyes flick up and he is met with that satisfied, mischievous grin that is so uniquely Ellie.

“What makes you think that?” 

“You always change the subject when I bring her up. And that way you just jumped when I mentioned her? Yeah, you’re not slick, old man.” 

“Hey! Who are you calling an old man?” 

“You! Old and scared!” 

“I’m not scared!” 

Like hell he is. Terrified even. But there ain’t no way in hell he’ll admit that to Ellie. She’ll never let him hear the end of it. 

“Then go talk to her! She likes you, you like her. Why do you have to make it so complicated?” 

If only she knew all the ghosts swirling around inside of him threatening to break free. Things could be so easy. Only nothing ever is.

“Mind your own business, kid! Anyway, don't you have someplace to be? Think Dina came by earlier asking for you. You two are getting along well, huh?” 

“Aaaand on that note. See you for dinner, old man!” 

She’s gone before he can even hurl a reply at her. It pulls his lips into a smile. There’s no better way to get a teen to shut up than to bring up their crush. Nice to see that some things never change.

Another run. Another record. 

Joel feels silly, standing here in front of her door with his heart beating fast and heavy as he clutches the vinyl record in his hand. 

If Ellie saw him now, she’d surely make fun of him. Tommy too. Sarah even. 

What happened, Joel? You used to be so brave. What makes you so afraid now? 

Life, he thinks. Life has made him scared and bitter and sad. 

“Did you wanna knock or — ?” 

Joel turns around as the voice calls out to him. There it is again, that softness, that smile. 

“Uh, yes.” 

“Okay, good. Did you come to see me? Sorry, I was helping Maria at the farm.” 

“Yeah no uh — don’t worry about it. I just came to drop this off” 

Her eyes grow wide as she catches sight of which record it is he’s holding up. 

“No way! The stranger! You found it.” 

“ I did.” 

He had to clear an old dilapidated bar full of clickers to get that record. Almost lost his damn arm in the process. But her smile, that god-damn, life-ruining, world-shattering, heart-beat-faster, smile of hers makes it all worth it. He would give both arms, all of him. He would give it all to see her smile.

“Do you wanna come in and listen to it with me? Got my player fixed so I don’t have to use the one at the library anymore.” 

Say no. Just say no and go home. Be a good man! Be a better man! 

But he’s not. For this one moment, he can’t be that man. He’s just as weak as the rest of them. 

“Sure.” 

This feels so — normal. So before everything. Different and twisted and warped. But normal.

It’s scary and comforting all at once. Like a tipsy dream when you know you’ll wake up with a headache for sure.

(Y/N) is twirling around her living room, a beer in hand and a smile on her face. Joel leans against the door connecting her living room and her kitchen and all he can do is stare. At this woman who means so much to him. Too much for him to ever put into words. If he even knew how to. He’s never been a poet. 

“I said I love you, that's forever

And this I promise from the heart, mmm

I couldn't love you any better

I love you just the way you are, right”

“I love this song. Can you imagine someone loving you enough to write something like this about you?” 

Yes, he thinks. If only he WAS a poet. He would write a hundred songs. A thousand. And all of them would talk of her smile and her eyes and the way there is no single thing about her he would change. 

But words fail him. They always do. 

So he just nods.

“Joel,” she says and moves closer. The bottle of beer now placed on her couch table, her hands find his chest. So warm. So soft. And all he does is stare. 

“I know you got my postcards. I know you know how I feel. And sometimes I think you feel the same. I see the way you look at me. I know the dangers you put yourself in to get me those records. I just — you never say anything. So am I making a fool of myself here? Please tell me if I — “ 

“You’re not.” 

Wow, so eloquent. 

“I’m not?” 

Her voice sounds so small. So unsure. He hates that he’s the one who put the uncertainty there. Be a better man, Joel! Be a good man for once! 

But all he does is stare. Words fail him. Again. again. again.

“Then can I — can I do this?” 

(Y/N)’s gaze falls to his lips then back up to his eyes. She is so close. He can feel her warm breath on his skin. Can smell the scent of her shampoo. Notices the tremble of her fingers as her hands rest on his chest.

And he wants to kiss her. Every version of him that ever was and ever will be wants to kiss her. But all he does is stare.

All he does is stare and pull away.

And it breaks his heart to see hers break in that moment. 

“I uh — oh I’m sorry Joel.”

Tears gather in her eyes, fill them with sorrow, fill his heart with rage. He can’t do anything right, can he? Everyone he’s ever loved, he’s disappointed. But how can he let himself love her, how can he let her love him, when he is so broken? When all he does is break things?  Taint them with this infinite sadness that lives and grows inside his bones? 

“It’s not you.” 

“Oh please, Joel. I made a fool of myself already. Don’t make it worse.” 

“I ain’t trying to. It just ain’t you. It’s all me. It’s always been me”

His palms are sweaty and he feels like someone has reached into his ribcage, cracked every rib on the way to his heart, and ripped it out with bare hands. Snapping veins and arteries and all.

“I want you. I want this but I can’t have it. You think I’m a good man but the truth is, I am not. I do bad things all the time, over and over again and time and life have made me so numb to it. But you, you are so good. You deserve someone better. Someone whole.”

It’s like once he’s started it all comes flowing out like a fucking waterfall. All his fears and insecurities and pain. It’s all there for her to be disgusted by. Because god knows there is no way she won’t be. He is. All the time.

“I have not been the same since this all started. Since Sarah — since she died. I live with this immense grief. It surrounds me. It IS me. All of me. And I so desperately want to claw my way out of it. Rip it apart and leave it behind. But at the same time, I want to bury myself in it. Because what if I do leave it behind and I start to forget? Her and all that she was? How is it fair that I have to remember her far longer than I got to know her? So if I get better, if I become the man I need to be to be worthy of your love, am I still gonna be the man she knew? Can I still remember? Because that is all I have. And that is not a burden I can put on you. Not you and not Ellie.”

Joel takes a breath then another but it does little to calm him down.

“You two mean everything to me and I am sorry I am bad at showing it. That I can’t say it. I need you to know, it’s all me that’s the problem. It was never you. I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t wait for her to say anything. He doesn’t think he has the heart to hear a reply anyway. It’s like he just ripped himself open and spilled all his guts, his heart, his lungs, and all his inside out on her living room floor. 

If he was any better of a man he’d pick them up and try to rearrange them.

But he is not a good man. Maybe he never was.

“There was something for you in the mailbox” Ellie exclaims and slumps down on the couch next to him. “I was this close to opening it but I didn’t want to make you even more grumpy than you already are.” 

“I’m not grumpy” 

He has to admit, the tone in which he said those words does not do much to counter her point. Ellie knows too, judging by the way she raises her eyebrow “Sure, you’re not.” 

She drops a sunflower yellow envelope on his lap. ‘Joel’, it says in that swirly handwriting he’s become so familiar with.

It’s been a few weeks since he’s seen (Y/N). Since he spilled all his sorrows and worries to her and then ran. And, surprisingly, Jackson makes it very easy for someone to avoid another person if you only try hard enough.

Maybe Ellie has a point, maybe he has been exceptionally grumpy lately. No correlation to any recent events though. Absolutely zero.

“Sooo are you gonna open it?”

Ellie looks at him with curiosity and that little spark of mischief as if she knows something he doesn’t. 

“Not with you watching over my shoulder, I ain’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Cause it’s none of your business.” 

“Excuse me? I have to live with your grumpy ass because you guys can’t get your shit straight. I think it very much is my business.” 

“Jesus, Ellie. Language!" 

“Sorry,” she says and gives him that pseudo-sheepish look he’s grown familiar with. “You guys need to get your stuff straight.” 

He used to scold her for it but really, he isn’t one to talk. 

“Anywayyyyy, I’ll go stay at Dina’s tonight … just in case you decide to go over and apologize for whatever it is you did and you guys finally sort it out and need some privacy later.” 

“Why do you think I did something?” 

And there it is again that sassy eyebrow raise. The same one he’s seen on Sarah so many times before. It truly is a woman’s world and he’s but a fool living in it. And they let no opportunity pass to remind him of just that.

They are also absolutely right.

“My lawyer advised me not to answer that question. Anyway, be nice. Have fun. Byyyye” 

Her voice trails off as she grabs her bag and rushes outside leaving Joel alone in this big empty house with nothing but his demons and this mysterious envelope.

Carefully he opens the seal and shakes out the contents. A postcard, a photo, and a — cassette tape? 

His eyes find the photo first. It’s a polaroid of him and Ellie and (Y/N). All 3 of them smiling, yes even him. He remembers that day back last summer. It was one of those warm but not yet hot days. (Y/N) was wearing that agonizingly beautiful red sundress. The one that made his heart beat twice as fast. She brought over a whole basket full of cherries from the tree in her garden. A pie too. And that damn Polaroid camera. 

Of course, Ellie was enamored by it, wasted almost the whole damn film. 

“Come on Joel, let's take a picture together,” she had called out to him and pulled him to sit down next to her and (Y/N) on the blanket they had placed on the lawn. 

“I’m not a picture guy,” he had grumbled, “ ain’t nobody want to see my old mug.” 

“Oh shut up. Joel, you are so handsome, don’t even pretend like you don’t know that.” 

It was the first time (Y/N) had ever called him handsome. It was hard for him to believe it then, hell it still is. But she has done it a lot more since then. Calls him handsome and gorgeous and pretty all the time. At first, he thought she was just humoring him but slowly but surely it dawned on him that she meant it. Means it still.

“We don’t know how many good sunny days we have left. Ain’t no shame in trying to remember this one, right?” 

Her eyes held so much honesty then. Vulnerability too. And gratefulness for all they had then after all they had lost. It made him smile then and it makes him smile now.

The Postcard is next, big bold letters spell out TEXAS and in the corner, there’s a drawing of the Texas State Capitol in Austin.

When he turns the Postcard over, there it is again, that swirly writing he’s grown to love so much. 

“Joel, the ‘Postcards from around the world’ book I got from the library didn’t have an Austin one but it did have a Texas one so that’ll have to do. I’m not even sure if you're going to read this. I hope you do because you didn't give me a chance to say my part when you stormed off & I think I deserve that.

You're not the man you were in Austin, you lived through the worst thing imaginable and it changed you. But you are not just your pain. It is part of you but it doesn't define you. I know you see all the bad but none of the good but believe me I see it! Ellie does! You are your pain but you are also the smile on Ellie's face when you bring her a new comic or teach her a song. You're the guitar chords echoing through the air on a warm spring afternoon. You are those fluttery feelings in my heart whenever you look at me.

Joel Miller, I understand if you don't want to be with me but if it's only because you don't think you're good enough then I think that's a choice I get to make. Taking that from me is a dick move. 

You said you're bad at showing love but you're not. You showed me through all those records. Through all those songs. Now let me love you back.”

Joel can’t quite name the feeling spreading through him. It’s both foreign and familiar at the same time. Like an old friend. A hazy memory. Pictures blurred and dulled by time and age. 

Maybe he was wrong, and he hates admitting that. Maybe he ain’t a good man but maybe that is hers to decide. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

He takes the cassette tape in his hand and squints his eyes at the tiny writing on the label. God, he really is getting old. Those eyes ain’t what they used to be.

God only knows - The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds

You’re my best friend - Queen - A Night at the Opera

Just Like Heaven - The Cure - Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (you should!) 

In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel - So

Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper - She’s so unusual

Your Song - Elton John - Elton John

Can’t Help Falling in Love - Elvis - Blue Hawaii

Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton - Slowhand

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs (!!!! LOVE SONGS!!!)

Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel - The Stranger

"You gave me all these records with all these songs and all these words to tell me you love me and I’m not sure you even knew.” 

And she’s right. He got her those records because he knew they’d make her smile. Because that smile means everything to him whether he wants to admit it or not. He got those records to show her that even when he’s gone on a run, she’s always on his mind. He believed it to be a curse, a ghost haunting him for all his past mistakes and taunting him with what he shall never have.

But maybe it’s not a curse. 

Maybe it’s a blessing. A sweet song to remind him that someone back home is waiting. A gentle reminder that life can and will go on and good things can come from immense tragedy. And moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, in fact, it means remembering. Remembering the bad and believing that there can and will be good and that it’s worth it to go on. Even if you are a different you. Not worse or better, just changed. And that you deserve love. And kindness. And warmth.

Joel drops the envelope and its contents on the table and grabs his thick winter jacket as he rushes outside. The cold feels only half as bad as it nips at his skin, he barely notices. There is a fire inside him now, burning away all the doubts and hesitation. 

He’s back at her door, only this time he doesn’t wait to knock. He’s spent so much time denying himself the one thing he wants that he can’t lose just one second more. The rapping of his knuckles against her door echoes through the winter day. Oh, how he can’t wait for the spring and the summer and her in that gorgeous dress. 

“Joel?” 

Back before — everything, Joel remembers a movie night with Sarah. She got to choose and despite being an avid fan of trashy action and horror movies, that time she chose a romantic comedy. All things considered, Joel can admit that when Harry met Sally wasn’t the worst choice but he still would’ve preferred Star Wars or Terminator. 

He does remember the ending though, the grand finale. He remembers Sarah trying to wipe away tears without him noticing. And he remembers Billy Crystal’s words “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” 

Back then he thought it was some silly, cheesy movie speak. No one feels that way, right? It’s grandiose and kitschy for the sake of movie magic.

But no, he’s sure now, that one is true. Because it’s how he feels.

“I love you!” 

That confession should come with ribbons and flowers and fireworks but it doesn’t. It comes with honesty and that is all that matters. It comes from the heart.

“Huh?” 

“I got your postcard. The photo too and the tape. And I love you.” 

“I know. Took you long enough to figure it out.” 

“I’m sorry. I — I still believe that I am not a good man and that you deserve better. But it would be selfish to punish you for my own insecurities. I love you and I want to let you love me. If you still want to, that is.” 

“Joel Miller?”

“Yeah?” 

“Please just fucking kiss me.” 

Joel remembers a lot of kisses in his lifetime. Some rushed, some clumsy. Quick kisses in secret. Long drawn-out smooches in smokey bars. Loving, fast, aggressive, and soft. 

This one is different, as cheesy as it sounds.

This kiss makes him feel like all he’s ever been and all he ever will be can live in peace with one another. This kiss makes him feel like none of it matters as long as he has her. 

She tastes like peppermint and sunshine and he’s sure he’ll never get enough of her. The feeling of her skin against his as he gently cradles her face in his hand. The soft movements on her chest as she breathes. The twitch of her lips as she smiles into the kiss.

For the first time in his life, Joel is sure that a kiss is more than a kiss. It’s a healing hand on a shattered heart. It’s a new path to a new future. It’s sunshine melting the ice from his bones.

It’s a promise to try every day and to be better and to be enough. ---

[nowoyas]

koi no yokan 38: love is stored in the kitchen (nishinoya yuu/reader)

First - Prev - Next (coming 2/8!) - M.list 1-30 - M.list 30-60 - Ao3

A/N: hi. please go look at this. please.

Summary: Despite everything, Nishinoya Yuu is going to learn how to cut an onion.

Warnings and Tags: food-heavy chapter, not much else

Word Count: 2700+

You've started to realize that you like your house better with Noya in it.

Maybe it's the fact that the house isn't empty when you walk in together for his cooking lesson—your dad's working late again, which for once, doesn't feel like a slight. Maybe it's the way he nods to the butsudan on his way in and leaves you misty-eyed when he calls out a muted "I'm home" to the picture of your mother. Maybe it's the newfound purpose to every motion of preparing to cook—wiping down the counter, tying on an apron, and even washing your hands feels like it matters so much more with Noya watching. Maybe that's the reason for your weird mood, all bubbly and goofy.

"I like your apron," he teases, eyes trailing down your body appreciatively, like you're wearing anything more unusual than your school uniform with a plain gray apron over the front. It's only mostly plain, you suppose—there's a little frilly trim that had once been pure white, before years of cooking had stained it in everything from orange juice to blood. "Very wifey."

"Aw, thanks," you chirp, approaching him with intent. "I'm glad you like it."

Before he can reply, you snatch another apron—this one a dark blue—off the nearby hook and yank it over his head.

"You're also going to be wearing one. Especially since we're going to be frying food today. You can normally cook without an apron if you really want, but you're in your school uniform, so you might want to try protecting it." Just for good measure, you find the strings and wrap them around his waist—it's laughably easy to get a full loop, not the mention the way his cheeks flare as you tie a little bow. "You can just let the strings hang in the back, but this way, you can loop a towel on 'em for ease of access."

"I-I could have put it on myself, you know."

You fail to suppress a grin. Even rarer than coming home and not feeling the usual ache is Noya's embarrassment. A stammer could be considered unheard of in some circles. You'll be riding this high for a week. "I'm sure you could have. C'mon, step one is wash your hands. I'll start setting everything out while you do that."

Like this, you ease into his presence in your home. It's strange for him to linger—it's always been his place, his kitchen, his life wrapping around yours. As you tell him about mise en place⁵³ and chicken prep, he nods seriously, brow furrowed like he's really trying to hold onto the information you're giving him.

He takes instruction much better than the first time—likely because you're actually instructing him, rather than simply trying to distract him from his own thoughts. You show him how to prep half the meat, then hand him the knife to do the other half, watching closely and instructing him on how to adjust his grip before you have to bandage his fingers.

He takes instruction very, very well, until the moment you have to teach him how to cut an onion. Then, immediately, a pout, the killer kind a lesser teacher might bow to.

You are not a lesser teacher.

"I know you don't like the texture, but you gotta learn knife basics. This is good practice."

"But [name]-san…"

"You wanted me to teach you, right? You can cut 'em big so they're easy to pick out."

"Why are we even cutting onions?" he complains. "We were doing karaage."

"We were, you're right. Karaage's dinner. We're also making tomorrow's lunch."

He sighs, picks up the knife with one last withering look your way. "It's like you don't even like me."

"This'll be the only time I force you to work with onions, alright? Weren't you saying you wanted to learn to cook for your future wife or something? Your future wife likes onions."

Silence. He stares at you, knife in hand, face reddening, and—

Ah, shit. Right. You said that.

"Show me how to cut them?"

Your own face feels hot as you show him the technique, stammering some verbal instruction that you barely remember, even as you're saying it. When you step aside and pass him the knife, he holds it the way you showed him before—he really is taking instruction well.

"You're kind of a natural at this," you mumble as you watch him work. "Are you sure you need my help?"

"Wait until you see me try to follow a recipe without my future wife helping me," he mumbles.

You stop yourself just short of hitting his shoulder out of embarrassment. "Shush. B-besides, once you get the basics down, you won't even need a recipe. You're probably a better chef than cook."

"What's the difference?"

"I'm a good cook. I can look at a recipe and execute it. I kinda suck at cooking without a recipe, though. But you're always really good at going with the flow and stuff. I think you'll probably be able to throw together some really good stuff once you know how to throw it."

He laughs softly. "Stop complimenting me right after you just called yourself my future wife. I'm gonna pass out."

The startled laugh overpowers the embarrassment. "You will not. You can propose to me more than three hundred times, but you can't take one suggestion that it might go somewhere?"

"Not followed by compliments. Compliments are lethal. You disarmed me and then you went for the throat."

"I'll keep that in mind." You stifle a lingering giggle, turn away to focus on the next step. You're balancing a couple of recipes—running the rice cooker, making miso soup, prepping ingredients for the oyakodon you're turning into tomorrow's lunches. Admittedly, it's an ambitious project to balance with teaching, but it's going well. The chicken for the karaage is marinating, Noya's slicing the onions properly, and all it took was the sacrifice of all your dignity to get him to do it without complaining.

It takes until the karaage's done marinating for your face to stop feeling hot, and then comes the fun part.

You get to outsource the tedious task of breading all that chicken to a willing victim. You show Noya how to dredge it—first in flour, then in potato starch—and try not to tease him too hard when he fumbles with the chopsticks.⁵⁵

"You can also just use your hands," you tease. "The chopsticks are just to keep it from building up on your fingers."

"No, I got this," he insists. "I can use chopsticks."

"You can use chopsticks!" you chirp in reply, nodding.

He shoots you a heatless glare. "I'm about to dredge you in flour and potato starch."

"Will you also fry me gently at 160 Celsius until golden? Ooh, will you let me rest and then put me back in at 180 Celsius for forty-five seconds?" You bat your eyelashes at him. Feign an exaggerated gasp. "Will you serve me with lemon?"

He bites back on a laugh. "No, I'm gonna serve you plain. Room temperature, even."

"You wouldn't."

He raises an eyebrow. "Try me."

"I'll put extra onions in your bento."

"You wouldn't."

"Serve me hot, then," you shrug.

"You're always hot," he complains. "Best I can do is the lemon."

"I'll take the lemon."

As he finally gets the chicken breaded properly, you move to frying it. He watches you drop a few pieces at a time into the oil, listens to your explanation about controlling oil temperature and cleaning between batches.

"You don't fry a lot, do you?" he asks.

You shrug. "Not really. It's an awful lot of effort, and even with the window open, it'll be hard to get the oil smell out for a few days."

He hums thoughtfully. "We'll have to see if it's worth it."

You work together for the rest—when he's done prepping the chicken for frying, you swap so that he's babysitting the fryer while you clean up. You take the opportunity to flick some flour at him, and he jerks away, grin blinding. "Hey! You could have actually gotten that on me!"

"Oh, like you'd even notice. You got it in your hair, look." You reach up with powdery fingers, rub that maddening golden tuft between your fingers until you're sure that you've gotten some flour—probably also some potato starch—good and in there.

He blinks. He processes. And before he can lunge at you, you step back, quirking your lips in a smile.

"Eyes on the pot of boiling oil, hotshot," you tease.

He narrows his eyes. "I'm starting to think you're a little bit evil."

You're sure that later he's gonna find some way to get you back for this. You'll be tackled, teased into submission. He'll find some way to totally ruin your dignity. For now, you finish cooking together—the karaage goes in for the second fry, you each make oyakodon for tomorrow's lunches, and when he borrows your shower to blitz the potato starch out of his hair, you take the liberty of wrapping up both bento⁵⁶, taking note of which one Noya made—containing all the onions despite his poutiest efforts—and which one you made as you wrap them.

When he returns, he's opted for no shirt to complete the wet-hair look. You roll your eyes in immediate reply. "Why topless?"

"Had to take my shirt off to wash my hair out after someone put flour in it."

"Potato starch," you correct with a cheeky grin.

"How can you even tell? They're both white."

"Texture. The potato starch is, like, silkier than flour. And it clumps different. Also, you do know how to put your shirt back on, right?"

He rolls his eyes. "Not until after we've eaten. Just to spite you."

Well, you won't complain.

"You didn't already try it, did you?"

"Nope. I was waiting on someone to wash the vanity out of his hair." Again he narrows his eyes. You smile sweetly. "I already got everything together, so let's eat."

At the table, he allows you the first bite. The flavor blooms in your mouth, light and warm and delicious and spreading throughout your body as your eyes drift closed. You sigh, blindly reach for another bite.

Noya stifles a laugh. "That good?"

You nod, dopey smile on your lips. "Really good."

"Do you feel loved?"

Another nod, mindless.

You do feel loved.

When you open your eyes, he's just watching you across the table, eyes soft. "Good. Got it right, then."

You fight down the urge to shy away. Noya has this way of doing this to you, making you feel impossibly vulnerable over something as dumb as trying the first bite of fresh karaage. "Eat your food. It's the first thing you've made yourself, right? You don't wanna let it get cold."

"Right, right. Thanks for the food."

He turns to his own karaage bowl, and you stare down at the table, smiling at your dinner like an idiot.

The truth is, you could count on one hand the number of times you've felt really loved in this house in the past two years. One split second, when your father went out to buy a cake the moment he realized he forgot your birthday. The rest—Noya sitting outside your door, refusing to leave until he knew you were okay. Noya, hugging you gently while you made curry, choked up after finally confessing to someone what happened to your mom. Noya, sitting across from you at the dinner table, watching you eat food you made together, food you made because he wanted to know how to make it, because you said it felt like love, because you said you ate it when you needed comfort. Just Noya, Noya, Noya.

You rest your cheek in one hand as you eat. Hope that's enough to cover the tear that slips down your cheek.

I'm being so stupid.

~

Yuu nearly forgot that the two of you made today's lunch together. He was slightly dreading the damn onions you'd insisted on, sure, but when lunchtime comes, he still feels almost excited, and not for the usual reasons—talking to friends or tracking you down, not being in class, eating in general because he's normally starved half to death by lunchtime.

Onions and all, it's food he made with you.

And then he unwraps his bento.

That's not his box.

He lets his feet carry him out of the room, bento half-secured in his hand.

~

"Hey, Yacchan."

Yachi picks her head up, turns in her seat. "What is it?"

"It's like, super shitty to break up with someone over text, right?"

She jolts, eyes wide as she leans in. "Are you gonna break up with him?" she whispers.

You toy with the edges of the bow on your bento, rubbing the cloth between index finger and thumb. In a way, you feel like you haven't left last night, haven't left giggling and cleaning up the kitchen with Noya. You're half-giddy, half-contemplative, all resolve. "Like, that's not something good people do, right? You've gotta break up in person."

She furrows her brow. "Well, ideally, yeah, I think so? Breaking up over text is kinda mean. I'd want someone to at least look at me while they're breaking up with me. B-but, I mean…"

You groan. "I don't know how to even do it. Last time I had a breakup, I didn't handle it well."

She blinks. "You've dated before?"

"Yeah. We, uh… we had a big fight, and I just never talked to he—him⁵⁷ again."

"That's awful." She starts to say something else, but the both of you cut off in a yelp as someone slams two hands down on your desk.

"Hi."

You blink. "Hi, Senpai."

"Lunch."

You glance at Yachi, an amused smile crossing your lips. "I need more words than that."

"Did you swap them on purpose?"

Ah. He figured it out. "Uh, yeah. The batch you made had onions, remember? I didn't put any in mine. I just wanted you to learn to work with them. You don't gotta eat 'em."

"You do love me!"

"Oh, hold on—"

He snatches your still-wrapped bento off the desk, grabs your wrist in his other hand. "Yachi-san! Sorry for stealing her."

Yachi laughs, shakes her head. "It's okay. See you guys later!"

You let him drag you outside without complaint, to sit below the sky, to eat together uninterrupted, the way you should have weeks ago. Head on his shoulder, basking in the sunlight and each other.⁵⁸

You hope he never gives up on you.

(Times Noya's held back: 35)

53. Mise en place - a culinary term meaning something like "everything in its place". The short version, "get the shit you need out and on the counter before you start cooking. Yes, all of it." It's French⁵⁴, I believe.

54. Sorry.

55. If you're semi-decent with chopsticks, I cannot recommend breading things using them enough. I hate trying to bread chicken with my bare hands because you eventually also start breading your fingers in layers and layers and layers and—you get the idea. It takes some practice, but once I figured out I could bread with chopsticks it changed my life.

56. I hate this word man. It's Japanese so the plural is also "bento". That looks wrong because 99% of everything else is in English. I can't make myself type "b*ntos". Nightmare dimension.

57. Third person pronouns in Japanese are actually used pretty rarely, and it's considered far more polite to just use the person's name if you're gonna use anything at all, but most of the time you can just kind of… skip it, and if the person you're talking to gets confused, you can clarify. In this case, Reader actually cuts off "Kasumi" into "he" in Japanese here—Kasumi into 彼 ("kare") as a slick way to slide that closet door back closed. It's definitely a more elegant save in Japanese.

58. Originally, I had a more fleshed-out rooftop scene here. It didn't serve much more purpose than to be more fluff, and I couldn't quite give it a reason to exist beyond "they had a rooftop date redo and it went well this time". The main reason I'm even mentioning it is because we had, in the background, Yachi running interference to keep a certain someone from showing up, and I feel that her valiant actions during that scene deserve at least a mention. Thanks, Yacchan. You're a real one.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @kazunish

[lunawings]

Animaniacs in Concert, 2/17/24 in Bristol, CT

Or, the story of how I ran into Rob Paulsen and immediately threw up.

Not on him, thankfully.

Where to begin? From the beginning, I guess.

I talk a lot about Japanese voice actors on this blog and I have almost no thoughts about American anime dub voice actors (no offense, I just don't know their work). However, if you asked me my favorite American cartoon voice actor, it's Rob Paulsen. I knew his voice before I even knew he existed, and if you ask me, he's one of the most recognizable male voice actors in Saturday morning cartoons.

He's probably most known as being Yakko on Animaniacs, and "half the Ninja Turtles" as he puts it. ("Maybe if I live to 102 I can voice all of them!") I also personally really liked him in The Mask cartoon, I think it's some of his best work. (Even though he was doing Jim Carey, he kind of wasn't at the same time. He made it his own.) But even beyond his leading roles, he just seems to pop up all sorts of places, and it always makes my day when I recognize him as additional voices.

While Japanese voice actors are often young and excessively beautiful people you're supposed to swoon over, 80s/90s American cartoon voice actors aren't... quite... the same. And yet. I sorta do, in a weird way. I mean I've known Rob Paulsen's voice for as long as my brain has been making memories and that's a pretty huge impact on a person. A few years back, I stumbled upon a few videos of him on YouTube attending cons performing Yakko's World and such, and I just loved his personality and energy so much. So, I added seeing him perform someday to my mental list of goals to accomplish if I ever returned to the US.

Fast forward again to the 2020s, the Animaniacs revival comes out on Hulu (I don't care what anyone says I freakin loved it) and I hear he's touring again with Animaniacs in Concert. I looked up the dates and none of them were remotely near me. As I checked back one day, mourning the possible missed opportunity and debating how far I might go, a new show popped up in Bristol, CT. How random, I thought. I checked if it was doable for me, and it was! It wasn't feasible as a day trip, but still doable. And once I saw there was one FRONT ROW SEAT LEFT, the deal was sealed as I quickly bought the ticket and reserved a room at the only hotel I could find in the area, the Bristol Double Tree.

Fast forward to yesterday. I arrived in Bristol just after noon following an uber and FOUR different buses. I'd woken up way too early, I was hungry and tired, and not feeling too great. I decided food would be my first plan of action, and since I didn't quite understand how to order room service (the menu wasn't loading on my phone anyway) and there wasn't anything within walking distance, I decided to just head downstairs and eat at the hotel restaurant/bar.

As I was waiting for my impossible burger and fries, I decided to take off the Yakko's World hoodie I'd been wearing.

I bought it specifically to wear to the show, and I'd already spilled a little coffee on it this morning and didn't want to risk having to wash it again. So I tucked it behind me in the booth.

Shortly after that, another group walked in and sat at the table next to me. An older guy and some ladies. I wasn't paying much attention to them as I thought they were maybe a part of the wedding party I heard was at the hotel. My food came and I focused on that.

But then someone else walked in and joined them. Someone I very much DID recognize. "Oh there you are!" "Hi, I'm Rob!"

The next moment is kind of a blur so I'm not exactly sure whether I jumped a little or if I did the dramatic eyes widen slow turn, but I definitely had some kind of a visible reaction as I looked over to the table. It was then that I locked eyes with who at that moment I first realized was Maurice Lamarche, voice of Brain (from Pinky and the Brain) and many MANY Futurama characters (more than I realized as I learned later). He was the older man I mentioned earlier, and had been sitting there the entire time. And at that moment I thought perhaps he knew everything. (Both the fact that I recognized the new person who had just walked in, and the fact that I hadn't recognized Maurice himself until now.)

So I'm pretty sure I have at least mild prosopagnosia (face blindness) so it is hard for me to recognize people right away.

But there was something I could never fail to recognize, and that was the voice of Rob Paulsen, who was the person who had just walked into the room and joined the table with Maurice.

I'm not sure how they knew the women they were dining with, but they were all catching up, asking them if they were going to the show, etc. I listened a bit as Rob happily talked to them about the impact of the show and its fans. Such as how devoted fans would actually fly in to see them and how the average age of the audience was about 40 (hah ha... not yet but I'm getting there). He even mentioned Tress MacNeille at one point! Maurice was right in my view, but Rob was at an angle where I couldn't see him without turning my head but oh lord it was definitely him.

I had no idea what to do at this point. Do I say something? Do I not? Would it be terrible to just say hi and that I'm looking forward to the show??

I've been to a lot of events with voice actors in the past, especially in Japan, but I still just... cannot handle meeting famous people that I admire. Actually seeing them up close is intense enough, but actually TALKING to them? I don't know how anyone can do it.

I'm reminded of Amari in Idol Land PriPara, that episode where she meets Hibiki...

Yeah, basically me. For the people who visualize in their head while they are reading something, just replace whatever you imagine I look like with Amari and this story will fit very well.

All while this is all racing through my mind, I'm still shoveling french fries into my mouth while trying (and probably failing) to stay calm and act normal (even though I'm pretty sure Maurice is onto me) and I soon realize I've got a couple fries stuck in my throat (as often happens when I'm eating without paying attention, as I'm a very fast eater). I exaggerated a little in my previous post when I said I was choking, but it was hard to swallow and I realized I'd have to sneak off to the bathroom to deal with it without causing any more of a scene. I basically threw my credit card on the table and ran, though (which was dumb in hindsight, but I didn't want anyone to think I was dine-dashing).

In the end, after I came back, I decided to just quietly pay the bill and leave without saying anything, scrunching and hiding my Yakko hoodie the best I could. I didn't want to interrupt them during their private time, and for that reason I didn't try to take any photos or videos either. So I have no proof that this happened but it very much did.

And it made sense, I realized later. I already knew that the Double Tree in Bristol was literally the only hotel in the area, where else would they be!!?

After leaving the table I was so worked up I basically walked straight out of the hotel because I didn't know what else to do and headed to the Carosel Museum of New England where I killed at least two whole hours sitting on a bench looking at intricately carved 100+ year old wooden animals while nursing my exhaustion and caffeine cravings. (The museum isn't that big, I just literally did not know what else to do with myself.)

But I learned that most carousel horses are only decorated on the side that faces the customers. And since they were all hand-carved back then, the opposite side would often be carved by a less experienced carver in training or something. ISN'T THAT NEAT?

I thought that was neat.

Anyway.

Eventually I downed an energy drink I bought from a convenience store as I went on my way to the venue of the show.

I was still super early since I ran out of the hotel super early but there was already a crowd gathered outside. At first I didn't know this was the reason people had gathered, but the first 40 people to line up were eligible to sign up for a "meet-and-greet" with everyone after the show. And when I reached the front of the line, it was still open.

"Sure?" I said, not really fully understanding what I was signing up for. And so I headed inside.

The show opened with Yakko's Universe (SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SONG) and of course closed with Yakko's World as the finale. What came in between was quite random. Despite not being an actual cast member, the real star of the show was composer Randy Rogel. Rob of course voiced Yakko and his other characters, and Randy voiced... almost everyone else haha. Just using his own voice most of the time, but still. He sang as Dot a lot.

And it seemed like he picked the songs they played not necessarily by what songs were popular, but by what songs he and Rob had stories to talk about. For example, they did a bunch of songs from the failed show Histeria when Rob literally broke into tears (he was acting) while talking about how Randy had to actually, physically, go to a library to research the topics he was writing about back in those days. Randy also played an alternate version of the song LA DOT that had sat untouched in a folder for decades.

Rob's voice doesn't sound quite the same as it used to, as anyone who has seen the 2020 Animaniacs series would know, but he can still do it all! And considering he survived throat cancer, and came back to not only work again but sing live!? He sounds amazing!

Maurice Lamarche was also of course a part of the show, and although he only "sang" one song as Brain, his interactions in character as Brain with Rob as Pinky were probably the highlight of the whole show. (They did a whole "Who's on First" sketch talking about what countries to conquer, with Pinky misunderstanding "Hungary", "Turkey" and "Chili".)

Maurice also did a showcase of his voice, including so many other Animaniacs and Futurama characters I had no idea were him, not to mention frikkin Toucan Sam and the narrator of Lexus commercials.

The only thing that disappointed me a little about the show, was they didn't really do anything from the 2020 series, but I guess Randy wasn't as involved with the music in that. So, oh well.

I didn't take many photos/videos during the show, since I wasn't fully sure of the etiquette (still kinda have my Japan brain for these sort of things) and since I was in the front row I wanted to give them my full attention. I think there are plenty of videos online anyway, since at least one segment was one I'd already seen before.

So, after the show ended, people began to line up for the meet-and-greet, and it was then that I fully understood what I had gotten myself into.

Each of us would get about a minute to talk with them individually, get their signature, and get a picture if we wanted. I was really kicking myself for not bringing anything to sign! I really had no idea it would actually be an option! (In the days leading up to the show I had been looking at Rob's website where I noticed he normally charges $60 for an autograph, so I didn't think he would do it for free.)

But more importantly, I realized I was going to have to actually face them. TALK TO THEM. The exact thing I had run away from earlier in the day.

And again, I considered just running away. But I had taken a spot on that list. A spot that could have gone to someone else and it was too late to give away now. So, I told myself, I had to see this through. No matter what.

As the line inched closer I panicked over whether they would recognize me from the hotel or not as I rehearsed in my head over and over again all the things I could say. I was honestly juggling between two or three entire scripts by the time it was finally my turn and when realized... after all that...

I did not need to say anything.

Rob saw my hoodie ("It's me!") so he knew I was there for him, and he knew I was nervous. So he did all the talking. (After all, that is his job. Literally!) He took my hand and complimented my hoodie, my hair, and everything. He said so many nice things about me (I even got a "Hellooooo nurse!") and even broke the ice by introducing me to "his friend the Brain" so I got to shake hands with Maurice as well. (I STILL THINK HE KNEW. So I felt a little awkward then but other than that) it was just such a wonderful interaction. Rob was so nice and kind and I got the impression he really, really cares about his fans.

So I missed out on the autograph, but I did get a picture, and I left the entire experience feeling so warm and fuzzy and oddly complete. Childhood dream achieved.

It took me another four busses and an uber to get home today (I left around 8am, walked into my door after 4...) but it was all very worth it.

I'm mostly at peace with how things turned out, but if I ever get the chance to see them again, at a Comicon or whatever, I'll be sure to bring a Futurama DVD boxset for Maurice to sign and maybe try to acquire an old Animanics or Mask the Animated Series VHS for Rob!

You know, it's pretty ridiculous how easy it is to meet and get signatures from famous voice actors in this country. That almost never happens in Japan. I mean, I'm planning to go to an actual Love Live concert in Japan next month, and here I am oddly depressed I can't fly out to Seattle to see Chiemi and Coco at Sakura-con instead because I might get to actually meet MEET them there haha.

Even though it would be another disaster if I actually did.

Hahah...

[thrashkink-coven]

OKAY so multiple people have expressed interest in this upg and have said it resonates highly with you, so I’m interested to see if anyone else thinks they may have visited this place.

If I’m correct this garden would have been one of the very first places I visited Lucifer way back when I was first approaching him. It’s a beautiful grassy field filled with what I think may be bushes of laurel, berries, and flowers like roses beside streams of water. There are really tall and wide branched trees with fruit that look like plums. They provide shade. I remember the sky being filled with pink and yellow sunset clouds that reminded me out the sulphuric clouds on Venus. By the banks of the river you can find crystals. I have a very distinct memory of finding a ruby and offering it to Lucifer. There are also statues of what I would presume to be Venus that can be found along the paths. It is perpetually spring.

The other thing that was notable to me was the amount of spirits and other people running about. Most were naked with flowers in their hair or wearing robes and blankets. They’re all beautiful and drunk with bliss, laughing together. I believe these may be other followers of Lucifer (MAYBE??????? even some of YOU????????? 👁️👁️???) and nymphs that keep the trees. They would circle dance, drink and kiss, and lay in the fields together. There were horned creatures that kept them company. There was also food, mostly cakes and fruit on small altars all about the garden, surrounded by candles. Every now and then I would come upon what looked to be a recently done ritual, with sigils carved into the rocks or dirt and left over herbs singed in silver pots. I’ve only been lucky enough to witness a ritual actually being done in this place one time, during what I think was some sort of sabbath or celebration. There was a woman layed naked on a large obsidian stone, and the spirits drenched her stomach with wine and blood. I think she was trying to get pregnant?

The first time I was there and one of my first ever interactions with him, I saw Lucifer as an enormous creature (for lack of a better term, but star or Goddess would also work) like a planet. When he would approach from the horizon everyone would get up from the grass and excitedly usher him in, chanting “the morning star is here!”. There was music and loud booming sounds like drums. We all started to float and orbit him. It felt like we were riding on clouds.

In what might have been the centre of the garden in a grove more heavily surrounded by trees, there was one tree that stood far higher than the others and who’s fruit seemed to almost shimmer gold. This grove is down a hill surrounded by a band of water that can be crossed through the grassy bridge that connects it to the rest of the garden. The fruit from the tree glows, so you can see it down there in the darkness from atop the grove. I could also see what I believe to be the Hesperides (absolutely stunning btw) sitting around it, seemingly napping on each other, and other nymphs layed along the branches of the tree. They seemed very calm knowing that they are protected. In order to enter into this grove one would have to bring an offering to the dragon that guards the entrance. I very strongly feel that this dragon is either related to Lord Leviathan or is an extension of him himself. I don’t think I’ve ever actually entered the grove myself, I have seen other followers march down there with a platter of meat for the dragon.

When i awake there I’m usually laying in the grass or am in some kind of flowery grove that I have to then crawl out of.

There are also what I can only describe as hot springs? or like, little temples where people go to bathe, sometimes not entirely roofed like rooms but more so like open areas. I adore these places. I think it’s my favourite part tbh. I’ve met Lucifer in one of these little temples, he appeared to me as a beautiful swan.

I strongly get the feeling that the garden is a common place that he takes his followers to play and worship with each other. There is such an overwhelming sense of beauty and freedom. Everyone there is in love with each other. Laying in the fields and feeling Lucifer’s warmth all around me is incredible.

This is all i can recall off the top of my head, there are definitely parts of this place that I have not yet explored yet. I know for certain that there are caves and forests.

if this resonates with you pls let me know!!

My brain adores the idea that the daughters of Lord Hesperus the Evening Star are the beautiful sunset nymphs that protect the golden (forbidden) fruit of immortality.

“ The Hesperides were entrusted with the care of the tree of the golden apples which was had been presented to the goddess Hera by Gaia (the Earth) on her wedding day. They were assisted by a hundred-headed guardian-Drakon (Dragon). The three nymphs and their glowing, golden apples were regarded as the source of the golden light of sunset.”

It’s so cool when myths reaffirm little ideas like this. This is all upg but it just makes so much sense in my mind that the daughters of Lucifer are the nymphs who keep forbidden fruit, accompanied by a hundred headed dragon of all things. It perfectly reflects astral experiences I’ve had with Lucifer, the Garden of the Hesperides feels like a place I frequent often.

[icewindandboringhorror]

On average, what is the total MONTHLY amount that you spend on dining out*?

*(This doesn't only count going out to restaurants, but also stuff like picking up fast food to bring home, getting a coffee on the way to work, getting a premade sandwich from a grocery store deli during lunch, buying a quick snack from a convenience store or food cart whilst walking somewhere, ordering a pizza or any other food to be delivered to your home, etc.)

*(If you often dine out in groups/as a household: calculate and divide the costs so that you get a Per Person average. This is for YOU individually, NOT the total household/group costs)

(I'm sure polls similar to this have been made before (very common topic), I just haven't personally seen one that I can remember, so, I was curious to do my own! I was discussing this with a group of people today and it was very interesting to see how widely the number varied between individuals. :0c )

(Reblog for bigger sample size if you can, and feel free to explain your answer in tags if there's anything extra to add!)

[talkorsomething]

I have Got to get more transgender

[unproduciblesmackdown]

what in the. see this is why it's a good thing that multiplayer videogames especially are about having fun & being yourself like what do you mean disguised spies automatically had the speed of the disguise's class & everyone's like yea if i wasn't always going for the scout disguise i'd kill myself right now. i'd be like haha can't catch Me out supposedly the extra slow or extra fast class >:) i am a harmless engineer

[peniscat]

.

[izzy-b-hands]

Was gonna sleep in. Instead woke up randomly at 5 am and have been writing a fix it steddyhands fic since then

I work in like. six hours. I have gotten maybe four hours sleep. Today is a double shift day that'll have me working bit late into the night.

This is fine.

[tkbrokkoli]

:O

[truecorvid]

starting to suspect that i am not very good at engaging in open/honest/non judgmental conversations on the internet actually

[ame-to-ame]

Ackk

[iraprince]

gonna show u guys a little opalescent highlight hack i threw together today

rainbow gradient above your main figure (i usually have all my main figure folders/layers in one big folder, so i can clip gradient maps + adjustments to it!). liquify tool to push the colors around a bit. STAY WITH ME I KNOW IT LOOKS STUPID RN I'M GOING SOMEWHERE WITH THIS

THEN: set it to add/glow (or the equivalent in ur drawing program), lower the opacity a bit, and apply a layer mask. then u can edit the mask with whatever tools you like to create rainbow highlights!!

in this case i'm mostly using the lasso fill tool to chip out little facets, but i've also done some soft airbrushing to bring in larger rainbow swirls in some areas. it's pretty subtle here, but you can see it better when i remove the gradient map that's above everything, since below i'm working in greyscale:

more granular rambling beneath the cut!

u could also just do this with a brush that has color jitter, but what i like about using layer masks for highlight/shading layers is how simple and reversible it makes everything. i can use whatever brushes i want, and erasing/redoing things is super low stakes, which is great when i often approach this stuff with a super trial-and-error approach.

example: have u ever thrown a gradient w multiple colors over an entire piece, set it to multiply etc, and then tried to erase it away to carve out shadows/highlights? it's super frustrating, bc it looks really good, but if u erase something and then change ur mind later, u basically would have to like. recreate the gradient in the area u want to cover up again. that's how i used to do things before figuring out layer masks!! but masking basically creates a version of this with INFINITE undo bc u can erase/re-place the base layer whenever u want.

anyway, back to rambling about this specific method:

i actually have TWO of these layers on this piece (one with the liquified swirls shown above, and another that's just a normal concentric circle gradient with much broader stripes) so i can vary the highlights easily as needed.

since i've basically hidden the rainbow pattern from myself, the colors in each brushstroke i make will kind of be a surprise, which isn't always great -- but easily fixable! for example, if i carve out a highlight and it turns out the rainbow pattern in that area is way too stripey, i can just switch from editing the mask to editing the main layer and blur that spot a bit.

also, this isn't a full explanation of the overall transparency effect in these screencaps! there's other layer stuff happening below the rainbow highlights, but the short version is i have all this character's body parts in different folders, each with their own lineart and background fill, and then the fill opacity is lowered and there's multiply layers clipped to that -- blah blah it's a whole thing. maybe i'll have a whole rundown on this on patreon later. uhhh i think that's it tho! i hope u get something useful out of this extremely specific thing i did lmao