#new trauma unlocked for him

[nexilu]

What if in the pilot Sam never accepted to help Dean ? If Sam told Dean that he was definitely done with hunting, if he rejected him, went back inside his appartement with Jess and left Dean outside, quietly watching his little brother close the door behind him while he stands alone next to the Impala ?

What would happen to the story ? To Jess ? But most important: What would have happen to Dean ? Oh god, he would be heartbroken…

[sandeewithtwoe]

Rejected gift

In case you can’t read my writing:

Nightmare: Ah, Horror. Just the guy I wanted to see

Horror: Huh? Me? Really?

Nightmare: Absolutely! In fact, I��ve got you a reward for all you work

Horror: Aw, thanks Bosssssssssss..?

Nightmare: ta-daaaah! Oh your face! You must really like him

Horror: N-Nightmare… Is… is he..?

Nightmare: Ah! No, he’s not dead (yet). Just passed out

Nightmare: We can put him on your walls! Kinda like a painting-

Horror: NO!

Nightmare: No? Why not?

Horror: Because… it’s cause I don’t have space left in my room!

Nightmare: I can give you a bigger room?

Horror: But you can’t! Cause if you do, it’s not fair for the others! You’ll have to give a bigger room for Dust and Killer too!

Nightmare: Ugh, you’re right, that IS a hassle…

(Killer: why can’t I have a bigger room?!

Dust: my imaginary bro an I would also like a bigger room)

Nightmare: Here, you can take him back to his AU. I have other things to do

Horror: W-Wait! Where did you- Aaaaaaand he’s gone. Great.

(Later)

Farmer: *doesn’t remember what happened*… Did I fell asleep?

[autism-calzone]

Golf ! ! !⛳

[shannaniganss]

Got to play BG3 over Xmas with my sister and I am mentally unwell about Astarion

[sleepdeprivedsimp234]

~Gov headcanons cuz I just realized that I don’t think I’ve done anything for him~

=======================================================================

-he is trans (ftm).

-he is a "straight" up coffee addict and it’s f*cking concerning

-attachment + abandonment issues. Don’t try and prove me wrong. Just don’t. You’ll fail miserably/silly

-gay gay homosexual gay-

-he practically raised himself with a bit of help from a few other states (MA, CT, DE, ect…) cuz Pennsylvania paid a lot more attention to his sister when they were growing up.

-he’s incredibly easy to scare and the other states have tried to not scare the living crap out of him when they walk into a room, but they fail miserably.

-he is autistic, but nobody knows cuz he never told them cuz he got belittled for it in the past.

-he’s actually really f*ckin good at singing but he doesn’t. Hell will freeze over before he tells someone that he can sing (although, depending on how long you’ve been around my blog, you’ll know that somebody does in fact know that he can sing and they also know that he speaks French 👀)

-I can only imagine what would happen if someone were to sit down with this poor boy and ask him any questions about his mental health and well-being….

-this man is NOT, I repeat, NOT allowed in the kitchen unsupervised.

-if you hug him, he will either: 1, break down, or 2, fall asleep instantly

-he dreads going back to the White House, cuz he isn’t treated well there.

-he has one red eye and one blue eye, and they used to be a lot brighter, but now they’ve dulled to an almost grey and brown color. You can, however, still see the lively colors in his eyes if the light hits em’ right.

-this man is the equivalent of a wet, terrified, and sad kitten.

-he doesn’t get too angry too often, but when he does…. Hehe RUN-

-the only time he gets really angry is if somebody hurts any of the states.

-he may be scrawny as sh*t (cuz he obviously has no idea as to what an eating and sleep schedule is-), but he will f*ck. You. Up. If needed. And he’ll do it with a sadistic smile in his face too.

-the closest thing to a father he ever had was Pennsylvania. The closest thing he had to somebody that treated him like a father should would probably be Georgia.

-I’m not gonna say that he’s a cryptid, but I’m not gonna say that he’s a human either (same goes with every single state-)

-if somebody is yelling at him, he’s learned to just zone out completely (unless it’s the president or another important government figure-).

[girl-archie]

[bitterborne]

❝ you deserve so much more than what you were given. ❞ from @hazardes !!

THE MAIN STAGE IS EMPTY, FOR ONCE, THE ANIMATRONICS OTHERWISE OCCUPIED. Michael — Mike, he tells himself firmly, though it’s hard to shed his father’s strict dislike for nicknames — chooses the corner to sit anyway, broad back pressed against the thin wall and knees brought up to his chest. It feels a little more bearable like this, everything that’s happened, though the sight of the empty pizzeria while NOT being in the security office is still incredibly unsettling. Not for the first time, he wonders how Vanessa copes with it: and then is instantly reminded that they’ve been in the exact same position. Though his father doesn’t often let him in the pizzeria past closing time unless it’s to keep watch, which he always does from that same office. The sight of the half empty drink can and the faded, festering posters are more familiar and comforting than anything he’s seen here in this timeline […] though the knowledge that the oldest Afton child cannot escape their father in any universe is disheartening.

“I dunno,” he says, evasive, and focuses on twisting the cheap metal ring around his middle finger, unable to look at Vanessa, “I’ve done— I’ve done a lotta bad things. Sure, life was shit, but—”

But he loved me, at least. I don’t know if your father loves you.

It’s complicated. Mike’s eyes burn with it all, though later he’ll blame the stage lights. He’d never believed his father loved him until he’d arrived here, in this timeline where so much is different but so much is the same — no Charlie, but a missing Garrett. No Michael . . . But Vanessa instead. He doesn’t quite know what to make of it all, and sure, things had been awful, but had they been this bad?

In fairness, maybe this is what other people see when they look at him. Isn’t it always easier to see the flaws in someone else’s relationship than see the flaws in your own? Headache forming, one hand lifting to rub insistently at his forehead and sweep away the thoughts and dark floppy hair he hasn’t managed to make presentable in years, Mike continues:

“I got out.” Mostly, anyway. Though his father asks and Mike still comes crawling, switching from thirty-three to thirteen again in an instant at the sound of his father’s orders. When he meets her eyes, there’s an earnest kindness, a world-weariness beyond his years— “You’re still stuck cleaning up after him. You don’t deserve that. When was the last time he even thanked you, huh?”

[letrashbag]

Me realizing I am never going to be in a “traditional” heteronormative relationship or even any “normal” (whatever that means) romantic relationship, because I’m on the aroace spectrum:  I’m definitely open to the idea of QPRs and other nontraditional relationships because I still desperately crave human connection.

My brain after my best friend brings up the fact that our friendship might be within the realm of a QPR, and asking to discuss the idea of it:    Achievement Unlocked -  You Have ✨COMMITMENT ISSUES ✨      For your next action would you like to   1) flee the country and restart your life as a farmer in New Zealand   2) say something horrifyingly rude and disgusting to your friend so he will never speak to you again   3) curl up into a ball and cry for the next three hours slowly drowning in a spiral of self-loathing

[wlwreader]

hi yall :3

[hellcifrogs]

Students' students AU Part 1

Part 2

Hear me out... Anko taking Sasuke under her wing right after the chunin exams!

It's very simple, Kakashi asks for her help with sealing the cursed mark and instead she takes it one step further - She starts teaching Sasuke. That way they can keep an eye on him, the last Uchiha and the one Orochimaru is after, and she can work some of her own issues and traumas and basically become an actual developed character

Anko could also keep him safe from Itachi (by not letting them meet) and kick the Sound four's asses (by finally unlocking her cursed mark's second stage) when they show up to take Sasuke. So Sasuke doesn't leave Konoha and killing Orochimaru becomes their new goal. (They team up against him and Kabuto in the future) And it can be a big and dramatic moment of freedom for both of them.

And of course I have some ideas for Naruto, Sakura and Sai as well, but for now we start with Sasuke!

I like to think Anko is a bit more of a rebel against Konoha so she wouldn't keep as many secrets from Sasuke, she would actually encourage him breaking rules and increasingly evade the system, and help guide him towards Itachi and the truth about the Uchiha massacre - she can also investigate a little on her own.

And on the topic of Itachi, he can be an actual spy! Working for the village and actually reporting back about the Akatsuki - and doing this mostly to keep Sasuke safe, since Danzou's still out there and Sasuke was his one slip up in the massacre.

I don't know if I want Itachi to survive or die in the end, but he and Sasuke will make peace before that. Also before that (and before they kill Orochimaru) Danzou's gonna put Sai on team 7 to watch Sasuke - and of course they're all gonna become bffs and join forces (maybe even with Itachi) to end Danzou <3.

[peachdues]

work is hell rn. have a future look at some whoredom (and a slight little hint at some angst to come!)

You shuffle toward him on your knees. “You mean like experiment?”

Sanemi’s smoldering gaze drops to your mouth. “Yeah.” His faint smile makes heat pool in your stomach, honeyed and rich. He leans toward you, the blanket around his hips dropping a little more to reveal his sharp v-line. “We can try anything you want, til you figure out what you like.”

He cups your jaw, his thumb gliding over your lower lip. “Not like I’m in any rush. I get to see ya naked regardless, so it’s a win for me.”

Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips and Sanemi’s eyes darken. “So if I said I wanted to try it in the shower —“

“Tch. Slippery, but can be fun.”

“Against a wall?”

“You can get more creative than that.”

“In the store?”

A grin. “Now we’re talking.”

Sanemi dips his head low, catching your lips in a soft kiss. Even when he breaks away, he lingers, mere centimeters separating your mouth from his, his palm cradling your cheek.

“Tell me all the things you want me to do to you,” he traces the slope of your nose with the tip of his, his breath warm as it fans across your face. “Or what you want to do to me.”

“I —“ your eyes dart to his lips and back, your lashes fluttering with the urge to recapture his kiss. “ I — I w-want —“

The hand cupping your face slides to the back of your head. Gentle fingers twist in your hair and Sanemi pulls your head back, exposing the column of your throat.

“Go on,” he murmurs between the slow, open-mouthed kisses he places down the side of your neck. “Tell me.”

One hand massages your breast as Sanemi’s tongue flicks out against the fluttering pulse point. God, the things he did to you felt so fucking good, and this was no exception.

Snapshots of the bodice rippers you’d spent countless hours pouring over flip through your mind, until their pages blur together. The sheer possession exhibited by the brooding love interests had always made your belly flip, a tantalizing blend of passion and raw desire.

And if there is one thing you’ve learned since you’d begun sleeping with Sanemi Shinazugawa, it’s that he knows how to be possessive.

Trembling fingers latch around the wrist of the hand palming your breast, and shakily, you bring it to your throat.

“I want you to — to hold me like this while you fuck me.” You align his fingers with the side of your neck, his thumb resting somewhere over the hollow of your throat. “Hard.”

Sanemi freezes.

new trauma unlocked!!

[brain-rot-central]

Home

Rating: E, but a soft E Pairing: Spawn!A/Fem!Tav CW: 18+, dry humping, breeding kink, non-penetrative sex, trauma mention, intimacy issues, soft Astarion (emotionally, not physically), possessive Astarion, verbalized consent Word count: 1.9k Summary: Astarion and Tav have resumed being intimate, though sometimes, Astarion can't quite commit to the full act. Not to worry, there are still other activities to enjoy!

They barely make it up the stairs of the Elfsong Tavern and back into their rented suite.

Articles of clothing come peeling off in a flash as soon as the door clicks shut behind them. With the elf’s deft hands, the lock is sealed, now steering the couple back toward the bed. 

His human partner’s knees bump against the edge of the bed, and both bodies are suddenly toppling over onto the sea of silken sheets adorning the mattress below.

The human’s legs instinctively bend at the knee as the elf slots himself between them, grinding himself down into her warm, inviting center. He lowers his head, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that speaks to the depths of his lust.

Teasing his tongue into her mouth, his rutting grows more heated and desperate. The woman moans softly against his mouth, inviting his tongue to a dance as hands find purchase in the silver curls atop his head.

Bare from the waist up, they continue grinding, the human hooking her ankles around the small of the man's back for leverage. He groans in response to the added friction, cock now straining against the front of his pants.

Physical intimacy is still something they’re easing back into, though tonight it’s taken a leap into new territory.

The elf breaks the kiss as he pushes himself up onto his hands, saying, “Scoot a bit higher, Tav, darling. I need more leverage for what I have planned for us.”

A shiver runs across Tav’s body, and she nods her head in agreement. She unlocks her ankles from around his hips and drags herself back until she’s in the center of the bed. 

He follows close behind, bringing himself up onto his knees between her splayed thighs. His arms wrap around the underside of her thighs.

Tav moans again as he sinks his fingertips into the clothed flesh, pulling her roughly against his crotch. She can feel the evidence of his desire with every roll of his hips into her center, a familiar heat and pulling sensation filling her abdomen with every press of his clothed length against her.

“These need to come off,” the elf growls out, and within seconds his fingers hook into the waistband of her trousers. Pulling them down her wide hips and off her legs, he throws them across the room to join the pile of previously discarded clothing, promptly returning to his place between her legs.

She’s left in just her underwear, bearing a deep wet spot at its center on full display. A rich, ruby blush sits high across her face as she watches her partner survey her clothed sex. She feels exposed like this, and yet, incredibly fulfilled. She knows the effect her body is having on him, as well.

The pale elf growls in anticipation above her as his hands make quick work of undoing the laces of his own leathers. He slips a hand down the front of his pants, a soft sigh escaping his lips, eyes rolling closed for a brief moment as his hand wraps around his erection. He adjusts his length, now laying up against his abdomen, and groans as he unwillingly peels his hand away.

Tav’s eyes fall upon the bulge now straining against the undone laces of his pants. A small dark spot can be seen on his underclothes, where the head of his cock lay hidden.

“Can I touch you, Astarion?” she asks, shyly. Her hands begin to trace the outline of his biceps, gently stroking his skin with the tips of her fingers.

Astarion hums, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips before replying, “Oh? Where exactly do you have in mind?”

Tav meets his gaze, eyes traveling between his and the spot between his legs, raising an eyebrow in silent question. 

The elf huffs, sitting up on his knees. He narrows his eyes, looking at her from under his lashes. “Cheeky pup,” he purrs, “at least offer some assistance first.”

Her cheeks burn at his bold invitation and she rises from her position on the bed, placing one finger on his sculpted chest. 

Astarion's eyes look to the single digit pressed into the center of his chest, rising and falling with the uptick of his breathing. He allows Tav to begin pushing him back to the edge of the bed. He stands up off the bed, his crotch now at level with her hands.

Tav hooks her fingers into the hem of his leathers, tugging them down his toned thighs until they pool on the floor around his ankles. Astarion kicks them briskly to the side to join the other articles of clothing littered about the room.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She knows the challenge that physical intimacy imposes on him. She wants reassurance that he’s still comfortable, still willing to continue.

“Quite,” he replies, voice husky, watching her finger trail down toward his underwear. His undergarments do little to conceal the outline of his cock, her finger settling on the small wet patch gathering right at the tip of him. Laying her palm against his clothed shaft, he sucks in a sharp breath as she squeezes him gently.

With genuine concern, Tav inquires, “How far can we go?”

Hips twitching into her touch, he answers, “T-this. This is, aahh, good.”

She smiles before asking, “Can I ride you?”

Entire body seizing under her touch, he moans, loud and uncaring as to who might hear. “Fuck, darling,” Astarion huffs out, hips bucking involuntarily. “There is nothing I'd like more.”

Tav’s gives him a few more pumps along his length. “You should lay down, then,” she states.

He nods, cautiously climbing onto the bed. She gives him space to make himself comfortable, which doesn't fall unnoticed.

Suddenly, he feels small, anxious - his stomach churns as she climbs over his hips to settle herself in his lap. He's slept with countless others in the past, including her. Why feel this way now?

Because this is Tav, Astarion tells himself. 

Something about this being with her makes it… different. 

She's careful not to apply much pressure too soon, testing the waters as she sinks down onto his lap.

The elf hisses as her clothed center envelopes his covered cock, biting his lip to stifle his moan. His hands find purchase atop her thighs, keeping her steady.

“Is this okay, Astarion? Please, tell me,” Tav says, beginning to grind slowly against him.

Astarion's mind is a battlefield, filled with shame, lust, disgust, desire, but above all, love. 

He loves this woman. He's known this for quite some time, though too afraid to admit it.

Love has always meant pain. Attachment meant control.

But, with Tav…

Love is safe. Attachment is freedom.

Free, and safe, to be his own person. To live life for himself.

“I'm okay, dear,” he affirms, holding the hands she has over his chest. “I'm still here.”

Tav smiles down at him as she grinds over the length of him again, bending over to capture his lips in a chaste kiss. “Good,” she tells him, “I really like when you're here.”

Astarion tangles a hand in her hair, holding her close. She relaxes under him as he rolls his hips up against her core, a moan escaping his lips.

“I- I want-” he chokes out between broken moans.

Tav hums softly against his ear before asking, “Want what, Astarion? Tell me.”

“I… I want to come inside you,” he tells her, punctuating his statement with another thrust of his hips.

She moans against his ear, meeting his thrusts with her own. “...Right now?” Tav asks.

“N-no,” he admits, “not now. Eventually.” His other arm wraps around the middle of her back, holding her tighter to his chest. The pleasure begins to coil like a spring, tighter and tighter, eyes falling closed as his head falls back against the pillow.

“I… I want to feel you around me as I fill you.” Astarion opens his eyes, turning his head to meet her gaze through heavy lids. “...I think about it often,” he further admits.

Tav giggles, grinding down harder before saying in a sultry voice, “That can get me pregnant, you know.”

Eyes closing again, Astarion groans, hips bucking against her core. “I don't care,” he growls out. “I would show you off to the entire world, everyone knowing what we've done.”

“You want to knock me up, Astarion?” Tav asks, more in acknowledgement than in question.

“Fuck, darling, yes,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

Tav pushes herself upright in his lap, bending back to brace herself on his thighs. “Would you still fuck me, Astarion?” she questions, continuing their prior rhythm.

“What a silly question,” he replies, placing a hand on her lower abdomen. “I would lavish every change of your body as it swells with my child.”

Humming, Tav tosses her head back, losing herself as he bucks up into her from below. Her own arousal is quickly mounting, threatening to spill over. 

“Lucky for you,” she tells him, her voice strained, “I, too, wish the same.”

Tav feels his cock twitch under her as she confesses. The waistband of his underwear has slipped under his glans from their activities, pre-cum starting to pool against his lower abdomen. 

“But,” she adds, breathily, “only when you're ready for it.”

Astarion’s hands quickly drag her back down over him, and she holds her arms out just in time to brace herself above him. His hips buck up into her heated center as he holds her face, bringing their lips together with a throaty groan.

“Gods, I love you,” he tells her, breaking the kiss momentarily. He tugs at her bottom lip with blunted teeth before capturing her lips again, their tongues intertwining.

They find a rhythm to their seemingly ceaseless rutting, breaths hitching. They're panting now, hard, Tav running her hands through silver curls as she nears completion.

“Astarion, I’m almost there,” she pants against his neck.

His arms wrap around her lower back as he brings his face to her ear. “Tell me what you need, darling,” he purrs, nipping at her earlobe with a fang.

“My… my neck,” Tav says. “K-kiss my neck, please. Your favorite spot…”

Astarion's lips descend upon her neck, suckling at his usual spot. He's fed from this particular spot enough that she's beginning to develop scars - the same scars that he himself bears.

She's given so much to him, he realizes. Her blood, her body, her trust. Never once has she doubted him, even if it was the more reasonable thing to do.

Astarion teases her skin with his fangs, applying enough pressure to feel like he's going to bite, without actually piercing. Tav’s body shakes above him.

“Gods, fuck, Astarion-!” Tav cries, toppling over the ledge. Her hips grind messily over his crotch. He quickly follows her, ropes of his spend shooting between their stomachs as they lay pressed together, mouths agape as they drift softly down from their high.

Astarion groans softly against her neck, planting soft kisses against her jawline as her hands play idly with his hair.

They lay together for some time before Tav speaks up, “Hey, Astarion?” 

He hums in acknowledgement, giving her the confidence to continue. 

She lifts herself up by her arms, looking into his eyes and she tells him, “I love you, too.”

A relieved smile fills Astarion's face as she settles back against his chest.

Neither mind the mess between them as they continue to lay together, enjoying the genuine peace of co-existing.

I'm finally safe, he reminds himself.

This is home.

[takeachillpillshawty]

I think Riddle is the type of person to accidentally trauma dump out of nowhere and just unlock new lore about him.

Prefect: Hey Riddle, do you want any sweets?

Riddle: oh no thank you, my mother doesn't want me to any of those.

Prefect: oh! For health reasons right?

Riddle: no, I was just never allowed to have any. Whether inside the house or not.

Prefect: ahaha, you're kidding right? What about ice cream or smoothies?

Riddle: what's Ice cream?

Prefect about to call cps and fill out adoption papers with Trey: We can try some when I get back from this call.

I think there are some vignettes where he was with Vil and his general reaction is "what the fuck is wrong with this kid"

Riddle: And that's why I was not really allowed to watch tv or be on my phone at home.

Vil that just wanted to ask what movie he wanted to watch for dormleader movie night: ....Is your mother apart of a cult?

Riddle: VIL!!!

Vil about to call his father wanting to know if he wants another child to raise: You didn't answer the question Rosehearts.

[ash5monster01]

Cold Spring Harbor

Chapter One - She’s Got A Way 🎶

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, instant attraction, invisible string theory, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, coping mechanisms

Summary: Just when Steve figures he’s bound to be alone the rest of his life, somehow he finds you, and for some reason just being near you makes him feel much less alone in the world.

word count: 2k

→ Two

Masterlist

Spring 1985

She's got a way of showin', how I make her feel

Steve hated being sad. Yet for the last six months that was all he had felt. He should be over it by now. He wished he was over it, but everyday he went to school just to see Nancy with Johnathon and know everything that he lost. He had given up his friends for her, and when she gave him up for Johnathon, he had no one left. No happy family to come home to, and no friends to spend time with, especially no girlfriend to love. Maybe that was why it was so hard to get over her, because she was the only person he had left and she left him too.

So he woke up on the first day of spring break, no parents, no plans, no one at all. It didn’t matter that the first warm sun was shining through his window and the birds chirped happily outside. He figured he would always be alone and he was still just as miserable as before. The only person he did have was Dustin but how many times can you ask a middle schooler to hang out before it gets weird? Steve didn’t want to find out.

He wasn’t going to last all of spring break like this so he was going to do the only thing that made him feel better. The only thing that gave him enough motivation to get out of bed and get ready for the day. So it’s not long until he is walking out the front door and towards his car. Yet before he unlocked it he stopped, eyes glancing into the bright blue sky, and deciding against the drive. It was sunny and almost seventy, plus a walk would be good for him. So he stuffed the keys back in his pocket and started down the road.

Town was half empty once he got there, signs showing that the new mall being built was already taking away business. It was sad to see the town that once was so busy become a shell of nothing. Kind of like him he supposed. Yet the sight of the familiar blue door eased his mind as he pushed in the one place he hoped would be here forever.

“Hey man, long time no see” Ron, the owner smiles from behind the register. Steve matches the smile right back even though he doesn’t feel it. He wished he did.

“Hey Ron, how’s business been?” he asks, eyeing the various shelves throughout the room.

“I wish I could say busy, but ever since word got out that Sam Goody was being built in the mall, no one really cares about Ron’s Records anymore” he says and Steve nods, his throat tightening at the thought.

“I’m sorry about that man, you know I’ll be a customer for life” he tells him and Ron nods, smiling at the boys kindness.

“You and your Grandpa both” Ron says kindly and Steve has to look away before tears form in his eyes.

“I’m gonna check some records out” Steve tells him and Ron nods as he moves to the section he knows it will be at.

Finally reaching the B’s his fingers start skimming the records. It feels like he’s passed a hundred Barry Manilow records by the time he reaches exactly what he’s looking for. Smiling to himself he scans which ones are there, determined what would be the best to listen to. Something that for an entire forty minutes could make him feel much less lonely in this world.

“Billy Joel huh?” Steve looks up and nearly freezes. There you are, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and something about the world stops. He’s not one to be shy but it’s as if the words somehow can’t leave his mouth. There was just something about you. “Since when do boys your age listen to Billy Joel?”

“Hey, he’s still rock n’ roll to me” Steve defends, and it’s cheesy. He knows that, but it doesn’t stop you from laughing. You’re wearing the most perfect smile he’s ever seen and he wants to make you do it again.

“I’m not saying he isn’t, just most guys these days don’t know good music anymore” you say, pulling the record out of his hands and he almost gasps at the way your fingers feel against his.

“Well good music to me is just Billy, always has been” he says and you give him a small nod, smile still on your face. He briefly wonders what it could be about you that makes him suddenly so content.

“Cold Spring Harbor? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it” you say and Steve’s heart clenches.

“It’s his first album, he was only 22 when he wrote it. It’s one of my favorites” Steve tells you and the mischievous grin you give him makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“Well let’s listen to it” you tell him, hand grabbing his own, and leading him to the front of the building. In the front window there’s two chairs and small record player in between. They had been there for as long as Steve could remember, he had sat in them hundreds of times. He sits in his, the one chair he always sat in, and you sit, well in the other. His throat dries as he sees you sit across from him in the chair that had been empty for many years.

“What’s your favorite track?” you muse, hands delicately working to pull the record from its sleeve and place it on the player.

"The first one, She's Got A Way. It was my Grandpa's favorite, the first Billy song he ever played me" Steve says, looking off onto the rows and rows of records. Remembering a time when he was just short enough to be the same height as them. Rushing around and looking for the most colorful covers while his Grandpa went straight to the B's. Then he'd sit in the very chair he was now, ankles just barely hanging over the edge as his Grandpa played him song after song, in the very seat you were sitting in now.

"So that's where it comes from" you muse, the record spinning as you turn on the machine. Steve watches as you set the needle on the record, sratching till it finds its groove, and fills the silence between you both.

"Why is it his favorite?" you ask after a few moments, watching the boy as he let's the words sink in.

"He claimed it was the only song he ever heard that perfectly described how he felt about my Grandmother. How the right women could completley turn you around and heal you when you least expect it" Steve smiles fondly as he repeats those words he hadn't in a very long time.

"A charmer, I'm sure you are too" you say and the shocked look Steve wears has you laughing lightly. It takes Steve only a second to laugh along with you, realizing just how quickly you had revealed him. It's when your laughter calms he realizes the smile on your face has eased his heart more in the last six months than anything else.

"If you must know" Steve says and you giggle again which has Steve wanting to spend more and more time with you.

"Where is this Grandpa of yours, I have a few questions for him?" you ask and Steve freezes, not expecting the words to leave your mouth. It takes him a moment to respond and you sense the discomfort and place your hand on his own. Steve nearly jumps at the electric touch that comes from it.

"He passed away when I was fifteen, right before high school" he tells you, throat tightening around the admittance.

"I'm so sorry, that's awful" you try to comfort but Steve just smiles.

"You would have loved him though. Everyone did. He was my best friend, the only family I really had that spent time with me. Since my Grandma passed when I was ten, me and him made sure to spend all of middle school together" Steve isn't entirely sure why he is telling you this, he just knows your the first person he has been this comfortable around since his Grandpa and he didn't even know your name yet. He didn’t know what it was about you but he figured there didn't need to be a reason.

"That's so sweet, he sounds so special" you tell him and Steve nods, recalling memories he hadn't allowed himself to think about for years.

"He was, just wish he was still around. He was the only person to ever be there for me, front row at every swim meet and basketball game. Was hard going through highschool knowing he was no longer in the stands, but Billy. Well that's all me and him ever talked about. So sometimes, on days like today when I miss him a little extra, I find him in the lyrics of a song" and your heart soars for the boy in front of you. A boy with a deep sadness buried within him. A boy the world hadn't given a chance yet.

"Is he there right now?" you can't help but ask, the last few lines of the song coming through the speakers on the machine. Steve listens, can practically see his Grandpa yelling at him for not making a move. ‘At least ask her name’ he groans and Steve chuckles lightly to himself.

"Yeah he's here. He always is" Steve says and you give him a smile that somehow heals him. "I'm Steve by the way"

"Nice to meet you Steve" you tell him before offering your own name and Steve finds it rattling through his head, the most beautiful name in all of existence, and somehow it belongs to you. The very girl who showed up while he was feeling down and has inspired him without a sound. The beginning notes of You Can Make Me Free fill the silence between you both and Steve sits up, realizing your hand is still atop his own.

"Sorry for spilling my guts" Steve says and you shake your head, wanting him to know that he had done nothing wrong this entire time.

"Don't be, it actually happens a lot. I seem to make people very comfortable. Guess I just got a way about me" and Steve agrees because somehow in just this short exchange you have inspired him to keep on going, reminded him that this is not the end and it won't be all bad. It is like you have some bright light around you and it gives him the strength to keep going.

"Would you maybe want to go get something to eat?" Steve finds the confidence to ask and you beam a smile brightly back at him.

"I'd love to Steve" you tell him, using his name like it now somehow belongs to you and Steve wishes it does. A million dreams of love surrounding you and for the first time since Nancy he finds himself feeling something for a girl he never thought he'd feel again. He just knows he no longer wants to live without you.

"Have fun you two" Ron calls out as you both exit, the record still playing as you both leave it behind. You talk the whole way to the small diner in town, Steve just smiles and listens, loving how everything sounds the way it comes out your mouth. It's as if every word lifts him up as you are walking.

For the rest of the day Steve does his part getting to know you. Making you laugh and flirting where necessary which never fails to make you blush. The sight of your red cheeks alone make his heart soar for you. It's cute the way you show it, exactly how you feel about him. In return you do find yourself charmed by the very boy you couldn’t resist talking to. You wondered where a sweet boy like him had been your whole life and for the first time you aren't as embarassed by the blush on your cheeks as you normally would be.

"I really like you Rosy" he says matter of fact, the nickname falling easily from his lips. You blush at his words again, shaking your head at the boy you figure you aren't getting rid of anytime soon.

"I like you too Steve"

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[urfavlarry]

If you're comfortable with that, maybe female reader getting the stars tattooed on her forearm sh scars? Like the "you drew stars around my scars" line by taylor swift. And some of the stars are just normal stars, some lines and some are stars drew by joost. And also maybe before tattooing them, her asking joost to draw stars on a piece of paper

You drew stars around my scars

Joost Klein x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of sh scars, swearing, some school trauma, back stabbing/fake friends, most likely bad grammar

genre: fluff/hurt comfort

summarry: Joost has never really noticed your sh scars despite being with you for almost half a year. You got used to covering them but you decided it would be a cute idea to get a tattoo on the things that caused you such sorrow in your high school years

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Joost kept asking you about what the stars were for all week, following you around and trying to get at least the slightest bit of information out of you. You never gave him a straight answer or you avoided the question completely. Joost was going mad, staying up with his thoughts and questions running through his mind like mathematical equations. What could you possible need him to draw stars for? A week ago you came up to him with your beautiful and sweet smile which lit up his day all the time. He hugged you, kissing you on the nose before letting you speak your mind. “Could you pretty please draw a few stars for me? Different sizes please.” You ask and he raises a brow at your mischief, but did as you told him, drawing you quite a lot of stars, circling the ones he like the most before handing the piece of paper to you. You smiled and kissed his forehead before going off somewhere.

A week later he was home alone while you were off somewhere in another country visiting a friend you haven’t seen for quite some time. Joost would’ve gone with you but he had important plans for the day of the departure which you understood. He texted every day, asking you how your day was and sending you videos or voice messages of him telling you and showing you how his day way and what he did. He missed you dearly but you were coming back tommorow night, which gave him so much energy he couldn’t even sleep from the pure excitement of seeing you again. You on the other hand were nervous. Of course, excitement filled your body from even thinking about going back but it was the first time you would be telling Joost about your high school years. Well it could go many possible ways, but you mostly tried to think about the positive outcomes. Joost wasn’t the type to get angry at someone for this, he’s going to be there for you and you’re confident in that statement.

Around 5:38AM you got to the airport, the plane was supposed to be departing at around 7:40AM. You texted Joost the whole time you were waiting for the plane, saying your goodbyes once you were supposed to board the plane. The hours felt like 15 minutes, getting off you took a uber home so you wouldn’t bother Joost. Once you got there, you walked to your shared apartment and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Anxiety filled every single part of you, but you tried your best to shake it off, unlocking the door and get greeted with the warmth of the apartment. A quiet curse could be heard in the room and a few crashes, which alarmed you but then again you’re living with Joost Klein, so you weren’t that scared. You walk to the living room/kitchen and see Joost there holding your favourite flowers and what looked like a hand made gift. You smile softly, walking over and hugging him, not letting him go for a few minutes. He looked tired but happy to see you, leaving kisses all over your face.

Spending the day with Joost was all you could’ve asked for, but he still didn’t notice the new tattoo that was on your upper arm. That’s where the scars that haunted you during your high school years were. You hoped he would notice them first because you didn’t have a clue how to even start that conversation. What would you even say? Hey so I hurt myself in highschool and got this tattoo! Cool ain’t it? Of course not! Little did you know that Joost noticed the tattoo, he was just trying to approach the subjest in a not ignorant way. He understood how you felt, life gets really tough and he’s sad to see you went through something so bad you had to go to that for comfort. He decided to run his fingertips along the scars, making you gasp slightly and put your hand on top of his. You look at him, beautiful ocean blue eyes looking at you with nothing but sympathy. “I.. uh, how do I start this..” You say, trying to explain yourself but Joost just brings you into a warm embrace. “You don’t need to explain yourself my love, I’m sorry you had to go through something so horrible to make yourself do this.” He says with comfort but hesitance, choosing his words carefully. It was clear he cared but he had no idea what to even say in this situation. “I think it’s time you know.” You say and he nods, kissing your forehead and grabbing your hands, and interlocking your fingers.

And so you tell him everything, from start to finish. How school overwhelmed you and never finding the right people at school, all of them always stabbing you in the back in some way. You felt like it was a silly reason, something that wasn’t as serious as other peoples problems but he made you push those thought away. “Everyone has their own struggles, none are bigger then the others. They are all the same. It’s something that bothers you and just because someone had a ‘better reason to do it’ , which is totally not true and nobody should say or think, you should never think they aren’t important and don’t need help because the internet says they aren’t valid.” His soft smile was intoxicating, slowly making your frown turn into the smile he so loved.

“Thank you, thank you so much Joost.” You say, tears threatening to fall. They weren’t sad tears, of course not they were the tears of pure relief and joy. He wiped your tears, kissing your cheek and then looks at you with his signature, cute smile. “Live the tattoo.” He says and you giggle, showing it off to him. His eyes light up when he sees the stars he drew, along with other stars. You told him about every single one and who they were from and what they had to do with it and why you even let them draw a star for you. He listened to every single word that came out of your mouth, asking about your silly tales every now and then, which made you even more excited to talk about it. Joost couldn’t stop looking st the tattoo, tracing both the scars and stars, taking multiple pictures and showing them off to both his fans and friends. “So proud of her.” He would say to everyone, which made your heart melt.

That night he made a promise with you. “I promise on our never ending love i’ll always be here whenever you feel down, unworthy, unloved, sad. I’ll always be here no matter the situatuon and promise to listen to your problems.” He says, kissing your soft lips and embraced you for what felt like the 100th time that day. You stayed like that in each others comfort, letting all the bad emotions wash away into the stars of the night sky, miles and miles away.

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!! do NOT copy or repost any of my work on other platforms !!

[loliwrites]

II. Strength | Edelweiss

pairing: joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni  warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early to mid 30s], joel lives forever fight me, reader being a bona fide badass, canon compliant violence, hunting mention, infected and terrible humans present, mention of death, blood, and murder, hunger, passing mention of trauma-induced menopause, DUBCON [mention of a previous event], quick flirting bit with jackson!male oc, female reader, no physical description, protective!joel, joel’s really just a big softie, no use of y/n. word count: 5.2k series masterlist

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate all they were trying to do for you. You did. Truly. In a time when not giving people the benefit of the doubt and becoming entirely xenophobic was not only the norm, but easy, Tommy and Maria encouraged the others within Jackson to treat you like one of their own. At least for this month. During your trial period. Probation. And you appreciated their patience with you as they tried to assimilate you into the culture. Dina hadn’t grown frustrated when your lack of upper body strength made feeding and watering the livestock difficult. Seth only made mildly offensive comments toward you when you fumbled orders at the Tipsy Bison and poured a pint of beer that was nearly all foam. Maria managed to hide her disapproval of your lack of enthusiasm to what you could only refer to as Jackson beautification. In reality, just a small handful of the townsfolk delegated to cleaning up the commune. Landscaping. Trash pickup and disposal. General maintenance. And of course there was Wendy who never balked or complained when your greenhouse shifts turned less into an act of work, and more into a study of the edelweiss.

The real problem was that you knew you could never serve them in the capacity they hoped for like this. Maybe in a different life under different circumstances, you could’ve played this role perfectly. A yearning for something else wouldn’t have been present, and you could live a somewhat normal, happy life in Jackson. And with just a week left of your trial run, you told Tommy as much. Told him that you really did appreciate him, but this wasn’t working out. Told him that you’d never been good or reliable at anything except with the use of your gun. Told him that the men in the other group hadn’t brought you along on scouts only because you were a good lay. You didn’t need to be a good lay, it’s not like they cared one way or the other. It was because you were a sure thing with your gun. Told him that he was right – you didn’t miss very often. And told him that if they wanted you to be useful to the community, they were going to have to trust you enough to get you out on patrol. That you wouldn’t go rogue and shoot your partner.

Tommy nodded. Diplomatic. And said you were right. That he’d been denying the thing he knew to be your true talent. That he’d give you a shot and let you take his place on patrol for a day. Joel, however, wasn’t as enthusiastic when his brother told him the news. Something muttered over his shoulder as he pushed past you to get into the armory, like, if she fuckin’ shoots me, Tommy, I swear to God…

You followed him into the armory, where metal cases on the wall, currently unlocked and unlatched, held a line of rifles and handguns. All looked a little different, coming from all walks of life before they ended up in Jackson. Somewhere behind you, you heard Tommy yell back at his brother, at this point, I’d fuckin’ shoot you, Joel. But it all drowned out to nothingness because the very real discovery in front of you was that your rifle wasn’t among the others in the cases. Yours was gone and a fury started to grow inside you. Which one of these scummy, good for nothing…

“Here,” Joel said gruffly, nudging your arm. 

In his hands, outstretched in your direction, was your prized possession. You grabbed it from him without hesitation; fingers running over the wood and metal, searching for anything that hadn’t been there almost a month ago when you’d last touched it. Anything that clued you in to the fact that someone else had put their mark on it. But you found none. And while still examining it, Tommy led you out of the armory and toward the gate with the other patrolmen.

“You and Joel are at the ski lodge today. It’s about a thirty minute ride north. Usually not too many sightings of anything up there, but the infected start to migrate in with the colder weather so you gotta stay sharp,” Tommy handed you the reins to a horse, which you immediately went to mount. And once settled atop it, with your rifle in one hand and the reins in the other, he spoke again, “hate to say this as you’re heading out, but… that’s my brother, so if somethin’ happens to him, I’m comin’ after you.”

“Yeah and if he does somethin’ to me, who’s goin’ after him?” You tugged the reins to the left, angling toward the large wood gates that you’d stepped through for the first time three weeks ago.

In a community yet not part of the community. It was a weird limbo to be in. That hadn’t happened in the last group – even if that was only fueled by their desire to get in your pants. Maybe that was the reason you weren’t part of this community yet. And you couldn’t even blame Tommy. Had you not killed the man who’d obliterated your family three weeks ago? Had you not taken the chance to hunt him when it was presented to you? Why would Tommy be any different?

You weren’t sure if Joel only spoke under the veil of darkness. The most words he’d ever spoken to you were on the porch that first night. Every other time – during the day – it seemed he went out of his way to avoid getting near enough to have to speak to you. But here and now, on patrol, there was nowhere for him to go except the same place you were going. And though he rode even with you (you took it as a great success that he didn’t remain a few paces behind you with a gun pointed in your direction), his eyes remained fixed straight ahead. His lips pulled into a thin line.

“She’s your daughter?” you chirped, almost too happily given that the response you’d get in return was an icy glare. “The one I saw on the first day. When you jammed my gun into my back,”

Joel returned his gaze to the wide open space in front of him. The lodge so close now. The muscle in his jaw clenched; teeth gritted.

“She hangs ‘round the barn a lot. To see Dina. Always has something to say about you. You two in a fight?”

“Drop it,” he growled.

You smiled to yourself, taking his verbal response as a win. You forced him into speaking. “I was a teenage girl once. Nothing seemed to piss me off like my parents could. They weren’t even bad parents. I suppose it would’ve been different if they had been. But that’s the thing about teenage girls,” you dug your heels into your horse and got it trotting away, toward the lodge, “they always run home to father.”

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

It was more spectacular of a place than you ever thought you’d see. A real-life palace. High ceilings. Big windows. You were sure at one point the furniture would’ve been considered luxury. Now it was worn and dusty and showed its age.

Joel approached a small table off to the side and flipped open the cover to a leather bound notebook. He scanned through the pages until he settled on one about a third of the way through. There must’ve not been anything particularly interesting in it, because it was just a quick glance before he closed it.

“So what do we do?” You looked up, inspecting the high-points visible from this great room. Rifle angled down at the floor.

His answer came delayed as he angled his head to the left, seemingly listening for something. When he finally spoke, it was in a hushed tone, “clear it, then post up on the upstairs balcony. You take the second floor. I’ll clear down here,”

“You’re not gonna shoot me, are you?”

Joel turned his back on you and started toward a large doorway at the opposite end of the room, “not on purpose.”

Inspecting your new surroundings once again, you found the stairway to the second level and slowly ascended it, rifle poised and ready. God, it felt good to have it back in your hands again. It had been like you’d had a limb missing for the last month. You were complete again. Restored with the bountiful confidence that maybe was foolish to have in this day and age. Hell, you could turn a corner and a clicker could be in front of your face. Coming back to that reality, you got your head back on your shoulders, your focus on the task at hand, and every one of your senses tuned in. 

Each new room you entered, it grew harder to keep that focus. It was all so grandiose, and maybe even in the very back of your head, you wondered when this patrol was going to take the turn that all previous patrols had taken. You remembered the very first one – with George and James. They’d made you prove your skills by taking down a mountain buck a quarter mile down the barrel of your gun. It was child’s play. Almost insulting that they’d think that was anywhere near a hard shot. And of course you made the kill. An hour later after you walked to it and the men finished field dressing it, James pushed you up against the nearest tree not covered in deer blood, and ripped your pants down your legs. At the time you didn’t know to fight him on it. Maybe fighting him on it would’ve gotten you in the same position as the deer. But if you had known that was going to become routine, maybe you would have.

Now this was your first patrol with a new group. With a man no less. And a man that seemed to wield a great deal of power in the community. A man that, if he went back to Jackson with something bad to say of you, meant that Tommy would be comin’ after you. An eight year sentence had already been served, what was a little bit longer?

Joel called your name from what you assumed was the stairwell; his voice distant but growing nearer. You spoke up to give him a clue of your whereabouts, and only a few seconds later, he entered the room you were in. The sling of his rifle over his shoulder. You’d found yourself paralyzed in thought in what you only knew to describe as a library. A long wall of books, some sad-looking, broken lounge chairs, and a long velvet upholstered couch. Dusty and in desperate need of a cleaning, you figured it was still a better option than up against a tree.

Joel looked up at the wall of books and closed the gap between you, “y’read much?”

You could sense him right behind you. Over your shoulder. The energy was buzzing off of him, and you figured this was it. “Not really,” you turned to face him, and set your gun down at one side of the couch. “How do you guys do this?”

“Do what?” His eyebrows furrowed, ultimately confused.

Hands gesturing between your bodies, you almost felt annoyed at his level of coyness. Couldn’t he just get on with it? “The sex,”

Joel choked on his breath and hacked out a cough, “what?”

“It’s just been a month, so it’s gonna be…” your hands migrated down to your pants and swiftly undid the button. Joel’s hands quickly flew to your wrists and held them still. You caught his eyes on you and the look made you want to disappear into thin air.

“We don’t do that,” his eyes flicked down to his hands where they held yours, and he released them and stepped away from you in one fell swoop. “How many times did they do that to you on patrol?” Joel's entire expression fell.

“Every time,”

“Fuck,” Joel scrubbed his hands over his face. He knew people were terrible before the outbreak. Knew men found ways to press their will onto innocent women. But there was nothing like the apocalypse to make people even worse. He couldn’t relive this memory… of finding Ellie after David and the sheer look of fear and panic on her face. And then when he removed his hands from his face and looked at you again, whatever memory he didn’t want to relive, was emphasized by how much he didn’t want you to relive it.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“No,” Joel cut you off, shaking his head almost angrily. “No one’s gonna do that to you here. ‘nd if they try, you send ‘em my way, alright?”

You nodded sheepishly.

“Alright,” Joel reached past you and picked up your gun from the couch. He thrust it back into your hands, “balcony’s out this way.”

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

“You ever think someone could see your head stickin’ out from above the railing?” The question came with more sass than you thought it would. That type of tone would’ve gotten you something terrible with James and George.

You were belly down on the deck, barrel of your gun positioned between the wood slats of the balcony railing; well concealed. Joel, however, was kneeling next to you, head above the top of the railing, with a pair of chunky binoculars in front of his eyes. And from the corner of your eye, you saw him yank the binoculars away and look down at you with a lopsided grin. 

“When you’re my age, it’s a little harder to get down like that. Might never get back up,” he chuckled and lifted the binoculars up to his eyes again. “‘Sides, don’t you think I’d see ‘em first?”

“No,”

That made Joel laugh a little harder and he relented to abandoning his post as it stood, and turned over, ass down on the ground with his back against the railing. He took a deep breath and set the binoculars beside him. A quick glance to the side at you – which you caught from your periphery again.

“How long have you and your daughter been in Jackson?”

His eyes widened, and at that, you pulled your eye away from the scope and returned his gaze. You thought the new eye contact would send his focus elsewhere, yet you were the one who folded first. Too nervous to withstand more of that ice cold, death stare. You set your cheek back on the gunstock and looked down the scope, scanning the treeline west of your position.

“Ellie,” Joel huffed and turned over onto his stomach. Propped up on his elbows, he picked up the binoculars and looked through the slats in the railing. “Awhile,”

“How long has she been ignoring you?”

“How do you know she’s ignoring me?” Neither of you looked at each other, but in the silence he continued, “not as long as we’ve been in Jackson.”

“And how much longer do you think it’s gonna be ‘til you spot the two runners?”

Joel snapped to attention; the ferocity of his movement heightening as he moved the binoculars vigorously, searching. “Where?”

“Half mile down the edge of my nose,” your sight stayed locked on the two runners, hobbling out from the treeline. It took Joel an extra moment. Time for them to come out into the open. Then the rustling beside you began, and you knew it was Joel scrambling to get his gun. “Don’t worry about it,” you mumbled, pulling off the glove on your trigger hand with your teeth, then quickly chambered a round. But he still kicked and went for his gun, vibrating the old wood beneath you. “Stay still, goddammit!”

Whether it was because no one had ever dared to speak to him that way before, or because he just didn’t expect it from you, Joel did pause. Now standing straight up and holding the binoculars to his eyes, spotting the runners, it allowed you the chance to take action. A slow and steady inhale gave you the opportunity to line up your sight with the head of the first runner. An even steadier exhale as you got ready to apply pressure to the trigger. And then when your lungs were empty, you paused your breathing and squeezed the trigger. Your shoulder absorbed the recoil of the gun, and a second later through the scope, you watched the first runner fall lifeless to the grass. Without much rush, you chambered another round to go for the second, while beside you…

“Shoot!” 

Joel was as good as tuned out right now. Nothing could have rattled you short of your gun being physically ripped out of your hands. Inhale. Exhale. Shoot. Only when the second runner collapsed to the ground, a victim to your skill, did you pull your eye away from the scope, and brush the shell casings away from your side. Clambering up to your knees and eventually into a standing position, you looked out toward the trees. 

“C’mon,” you tilted your head to the side, urging Joel to come with you. “If someone’s out there, they’ve seen my muzzle flash twice from this position. Let’s move,”

You turned to re-enter the lodge, figuring you could just as well post up at one of the upstairs windows. Joel fell in step even with you, holding his gun at his side. “How long’ve you been shootin’ like this?”

“Twenty-some-odd years,” you mumbled coolly, re-entering the library. “How long’ve you been hard of hearing in your right ear?”

A smirk flashed over his face. It was there and gone in an instant and was quickly replaced by something resembling pain. “Twenty-some-odd years,”

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

The rest of the patrol was quiet. Thankfully. Though you had complete confidence in your skill, it was always a better day when you didn’t have to rely on it. Having to rely on it meant you were in, or were shortly going to find yourself in, a sticky situation. As the mid-afternoon sun beat down hard, you were relieved by Jesse and Astrid – two people you’d only happened upon in passing in Jackson. Before leaving the lodge, Joel showed you how to fill out the log book, writing down your names, and documenting what had happened. When he noted “two runners spotted and downed at treeline”, you insisted he write your name there, clarifying that you had been the one who killed both infected. He begrudgingly agreed.

The ride back to Jackson was even quieter than the rest of the patrol had been. Whatever camaraderie had been established at the lodge seemed to have been put on ice the closer you got to the tall gates of the commune. It was almost as if Joel found it acceptable to be a friend to you as long as he wasn’t near the rest of the town. The first words actually spoken on the ride back was when he instructed you to stop your horse. He pulled two flags out of his pocket – one white and one red. Instructed you that white was all clear, and red meant… well, you know… not all clear. Told you that you better wave that flag high and proud when you were coming back from patrol. More than once in his early days in Jackson, someone on lookout on the wall had taken pop shots at him when his waving of the white flag wasn’t up to snuff. You glanced up at the wall and took stock of the guards there – two on either side of the gates, moving to open it up, while their partners remained at high attention, for anyone or anything that might’ve been trailing you back.

It was almost like you had forgotten that the worst part was about to happen. You’d dismount your horse and have to carry on into the armory, whereupon your rifle – which you’d just proved was your best asset – would be ripped from your hands and showcased up on a wall for the taking of any regular joe. Surely that would happen. Because just one foot crossed the threshold before Joel was ripping your rifle out of your hands, steadily moving up to one of the cases on the wall where he replaced his gun. You knew you were about to see yours right up alongside it. But then the strangest thing happened. Instead of stowing your gun next to his, he took yours back deeper into the armory, into another dark room. And too timid to follow him, you remained frozen in place, eyes locked on the doorway until Joel came back through it empty-handed.

He ambled back to you, his arm bumping against your shoulder, “c’mon, I’ll walk you home.”

And he did. And you let him. Trust was always a choice and though not many people had deserved yours in the last handful of years, you chose to give Joel – and Tommy and Maria – the benefit of the doubt. If there were shades of Joel that resembled the men of your last pack, you figured they would’ve come out while on patrol today. Away from everyone else. When you were still new enough for everyone to take Joel’s side instead of yours. But he’d treated you kindly. Like a human. God, wasn’t that just the absolute minimum. The bar was in hell.

Though Joel knew where your cottage was, and probably knew the quickest route to get there. He let you dictate the path. One you were sure wasn’t the fastest one. One that meandered through more of the quiet house-lined streets than was necessary. But it had been your preferred path. Almost like you were doing a neighborhood watch. The sorts you’d done on your family’s land long before George and James scooped you up. It gave you a sense of normalcy; and in it, the strength to turn your head and look up at Joel.

“What’s in that back room in the armory? The one you left my gun in.”

Seemingly catching your gaze out of the corner of his eye, Joel shifted his focus to his feet, kicking up dust with each new step. “Tommy’s got a chest,”

“A safe?”

“S’not that high tech. Just a box with a lock on it. If I’m bein’ honest, it’d be pretty easy to break into,” he looked up from the ground and into your eyes, finding you already nodding. “I know not having your gun on you here was a sacrifice. Least I could do,”

Lips parted and ready to speak but nothing came out. You ascended your porch and nudged the front door open. Maybe the action itself caught Joel off-guard because he hadn’t assumed anyone would leave their property unlocked, but when you looked back at him, he was approaching the threshold with a furrowed brow. “Actually, it’s not the least you could do,” you stepped further into the house and left the door open for him, figuring – knowing – he’d follow. “Reckon you could do far less. So… I appreciate it. Thanks,”

And then, pulling open the refrigerator (a true luxury in this day in age), you remembered the hunger. And just how much you were lacking in the ‘ability to host guests’ department. The appliance was mostly devoid of contents. Just a spare apple and a handful of carrots you’d managed to sneak out of the greenhouse. Maybe that wasn’t the way to go about things in Jackson. But to be honest, you weren’t really sure how to go about it. In a rush, you closed the door so Joel wouldn’t see just how struggling you were. But when you turned to face him again, you found him by the modest wood table. Fingers nudged the “Diva Cup” box off to the side.

“You can give that back to Maria,” you mentioned off-hand. So much so that Joel nearly jumped backward. 

He pulled his hand back and shoved both into the pockets of his jacket. With a gulp, he swallowed down a breath. “Might need it. You– I mean– the women– we don’t got any of the other things here,”

You forced a smile, “I don’t need it.”

“‘Kay,” Joel nodded and took another breath. As soon as the fresh air filled his lungs, he had something else to say, “you don’t need food neither, or you’re on some weird apocalyptic diet?” He grinned a little wider when the look on your face turned positively pained. 

“I don’t have anything to trade for food, so…”

The crease between Joel’s eyebrows intensified in his confusion, “when’s the last time you ate a full meal?”

You shook your head, fearing that if he saw you in the slightest bit weak, it’d mean you’d be cast out. “I’m fine. It hasn’t been that long,”

“When,”

You looked up at the ceiling and shook your head again. “Tommy and Maria asked me to eat with them at the dining hall,”

“When?” Joel insisted.

You shrugged your shoulders as if you’d had so many full meals recently that it was hard to pinpoint this one. When in reality… “Last week sometime,”

Before you knew it, forks clinked on porcelain. Porcelain. Another luxury. You couldn’t remember the last time (outside of Jackson), that you’d eaten on a real plate and not some tin container or by picking things off a spit and putting them directly into your mouth.

Yet the tableware was really the least interesting thing about this. The meal – prepared by Joel. The whiskey – real. The setting – his fucking house. How different it was from your modest dwelling. Yours, impersonal, sparse with nothing there that was really yours. But a little bit of Joel was in everything here. The tattered boots being dried by heat from the fireplace. The guitar laying on the couch. The wood trinkets that sat on almost every imaginable surface. After asking about them, he confessed that he’d taken up whittling with all his new free time now that Ellie wasn’t talking to him. 

And through it all, you couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for how domestic this all seemed. Imagined this was what you would’ve been up to at this stage in life if the world hadn’t screeched to a halt and done a 180. You could see yourself at a table just like this with a husband a little bit like Joel. Big. Brooding. Could see yourself sitting in front of the fireplace with your husband. Reading, catching up. How was your day? Oh I just ran a couple errands. And when the catching up was done, you could see you and him going up to your shared bedroom, having some passionate entanglement, and then passing out. In another reality, you imagined you could really see yourself enjoying sex. 

“You don’t have to trade anything for food,”

You looked up from your plate and over at Joel.

“You’re working in the community. Goin’ on patrol, putting your life on the line to protect the group. That’s why you get to eat. Not ‘cause you got something else to give,”

“Didn’t want anyone to think I was bumming for handouts,”

Joel shook his head and scooped through his food despite using a fork instead of a spoon. “You’re workin’. So grab yourself some things from the greenhouse, and I can help you butcher up some meat. You’ll need the strength,”

His mention of the greenhouse sparked your memory. Of something you’d meant to ask him on patrol. But after the embarrassment you’d faced propositioning sex, and then the adrenaline of having to prove your skill, it’d slipped your mind. “You been to the greenhouse lately?”

He shook his head again and looked up at you, reaching for his glass of whiskey, “I’m pretty much on patrol full time.”

“Wendy’s got this flower there. Edelweiss, she calls it. I’ve never seen anything like it. She said Jesse found it on patrol and brought it back. Was wonderin’ if you knew where he found it?”

Joel took a quick sip and set the glass back down, quickly moving back for his fork. “Probably fuckin’ poisonous or somethin’,”

“No, it’s pretty. Little. She said it sometimes grows right on rocks. Kinda weird, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s kinda weird Jesse’s out pickin’ flowers when he should be focusing on a patrol,”

You giggled. Joel had a point. Of all the things of importance in today’s way of life, gardening seemed to be the least of it. And yet… “I think it’s kind of romantic of him. Maybe he picked ‘em for his partner.” Then, staring at Joel from the corner of your eye, “you got a girlfriend?”

Joel coughed at your abruptness. He set his fork down and took up his whiskey tumbler. “Tommy’s tried settin’ me up with a couple women,”

“No one serious?”

He smirked and shook his head. Picked his fork back up and stabbed at a carrot – your only contribution to the dinner. “They all seem to come to the conclusion that I’m cold,”

“No,” you elongated the end of the word with feigned disbelief. “Not with your sunny disposition,”

Joel laughed. Admittedly it was a little shocking at how easy it seemed to come from him. “Big talk from someone who just spent the last eight years with a bunch’a scumbags,”

“Yeah, well, I’m fucked up.”

His smile lasted a little longer. Long enough for you to both get your wits about you and where you’d brought the conversation. “You ever have a boyfriend in that group of assholes?”

You shook your head with a grin. Consider one of those guys a partner? Absolutely not. “Never had a boyfriend, period. Sounds like a feat but it’s actually not hard when the world shits the bed in your adolescence and your entire existence becomes warding off strangers or muddling through some bad dick just so they don’t shoot you.” With one last bite, and now sufficiently full, you leaned back in the chair, satisfied.

“Jesus,” Joel wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back to match your posture.

“But you… I bet you were batting off women left and right before the outbreak,”

Another fond smile swept over his face, “I had a daughter so my escapades sorta tempered out there.”

“Ellie’s not that ol–”

“Ellie’s not mine biologically,” he stretched out and stared at his hands. “Guess she’s really not mine at all. Just a kid I met along the way. Can’t even get her to look at me,” Joel finished off his whiskey in one big gulp and set the glass back on the table with a heavy clink. “Did’ya mean what you said earlier? ‘bout teenage girls?”

Your eyes flicked back to Joel’s face. He looked pensive, almost hopeful that you had. That Ellie would run home to father. And even if he wasn’t actually hers, that she would indeed come back to him. “I did,” you assured and leaned forward in your seat. With hands outstretched across the table, you reached out for Joel though you knew he wouldn’t reach back. “There wasn’t one thing in life I didn’t run back to my dad for. Dad could fix anything. F’I didn’t know how to handle something… if I couldn’t handle something… he always picked it up for me. That’s what good fathers do and I reckon you’re a pretty good father. She’ll come around. Everyone runs back to safety,”