#one of the most telling lyricism while being the one with the most allusion that it hardly sounds sensible to the unprepared ear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanfictilltheend · 9 months ago

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❤️‍🔥Violent Heart Part 1: ♪All I've ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you ♫ (or the VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Covict!Joel x Afab!you one)❤️‍🔥

A/n: It's here!!!!!! 18+ Only. This took me 7 freaking months so you mofos better like, reblog, and comment. This is both my most and least personal fic I've ever written and it is dark and relies heavily on plot (no smut until part 2 but i swear it's worth the backstory!!!!) READ ALL OF THE TAGS DO NOT COME FOR ME UNLESS YOU DID THIS FR FR. This ones for my dark joel fangirlies(guys and NBies) and the daddy issues fam ily ❤️‍🔥 (also not me naming my fic in part after hallelujah by leonard cohen but there is a reason!!!!!!!!!!)

Summary: The story starts with Part 1 where afab!Y/N is a child and Joel is her new stepdad and this story explores their relationship. Themes of abusive family, domestic violence, child abuse, daddy issues, physical violence, murder, stepcest (kinda b/c he is divorced from her mom technically but she grew up with him as her stepdad), infidelity, age gap, and more are explored throughout the fic. PLEASE READ SPECIFIC TAGS (part 2 tags will be added with the release of part 2). Part 2 picks up with Y/N at age 20 and how her relationship with Joel has changed and gets steamier. NOTHING SEXUAL OCCURS BETWEEN Y/N and JOEL until Y/N is 20!!!!!!! Also check out this playlist of music that's in the fic!!!!

Tags (PLEASE READ): Afab!you, stepdad!joel, mechanic!joel, convict!joel, no apocalypse au, Mentions of sex (little detail), mentions of male masturbation, infidelity, domestic abuse/violence, sibling abuse/violence (no one ever talks about sibling abuse but it’s very real), physical child abuse, neglect, allusions to past domestic violence, cursing, brief mention of pedophilia and kidnapping (David), allusions to committing future pedophilia (David), threats, cancer mention, Sarah death discussion, Tommy death mention, murder, prison, mentions of god and religion, fights, general violence, alcohol consumption, using music lyrics to move the plot, daddy issues, use of y/n

Word Count: ~15k

PART 2 (coming soon)

Ao3 Link

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

Joel Miller is not a good man, that he knows like the backs of his calloused hands.

He knows loss too, feels it burrowed in the hollow cavity of his chest. Sees it in the face of every little girl he meets.

The memories sting.

He knows pain, deep in the depths of his character, down to the fundamentals of what makes him something that resembles a human being. The belts, the bigger hands, the harsh words, and then the grief. The recent Bring back my babygirl! The ancient ¡Basta, Papí, por favor, no Tommy, no Mamá! ¡Por favor no esta noche! The indignity of begging, always reduced to begging to a cruel man, an indifferent doctor, a cruel universe.

He knows hard work, how to work with his hands. He knows the grit and grease of labor. Sees the cogs turning in the engines he fixes, relates to them. Feels like he knows them intimately because he is one too, chugging along day after endless day. But no one dares fix Joel Miller.

Until…

Her name is Erica and she’d like her front bumper replaced, please. She has long eyelashes and a soothing voice. And she has money too, at least more than he, who is almost broke from the cost of Sarah’s medical bills. She comes with baggage, Joel can tell from looking into her eyes, but then again so does he. And he hasn’t been laid in god knows how long.

She takes him on a date and he lets her. She reveals she has two kids, but Joel doesn’t care. They fuck at her place while the kids are at school and she wants it soft, like her hands, and that’s how Joel gives it to her.

A week later, Joel has moved in, which is good because his rent was due and he couldn’t pay it. He still hasn’t met the children.

***

It’s Joel’s day off and he’s sitting on the couch in his new home. His back hurts, but that’s nothing new. He’s got an excellent view of their nice, big backyard with a wooden fence. The kind of home he would have liked to have given Sarah. He sighs. Technically, nothing is wrong.

Then he sees it. It takes him a second to realize what is going on. It’s a whirlwind. He sees the back gate open and two tumbling forms fall over the threshold onto the manicured grass. One form is bigger, a boy of about twelve or thirteen beating the shit out of a much smaller form, fists flying. The other form is a little girl, no more than eight, defending herself like her life depends on it. Perhaps it does with the way he’s going at her.

This must be the son, Aiden, and the daughter, Y/N.

He’s a good boy, really, but he has anger issues sometimes. He’s been through a lot. That’s what Erica said, but Joel does not see a good boy. He sees a bully. A disproportionately violent one at that. Nothing that tiny girl could have possibly done could warrant the brutality he sees before him.

Anger is something else Joel knows intimately, and that is what he greets when he runs outside to end the fray.

“Stop that!” he roars, pulling Aiden off of Y/N.

“Who the fuck are you!?” the boy screams, fury and hatred radiating off of his entire being.

He continues thrashing and punching at nothing as Joel restrains him.

“I’m gonna kill her!” he screams, his eyes bulging.

“What the hell happened?” Joel growls, still holding onto the livid boy–verging on young man.

“She ripped up my paper!” he bellows. “For no fucking reason! I worked hard on it!”

“It was a lie,” she says with so much conviction Joel almost flinches.

He looks down at the little girl, her nose bleeding, her right eye turning purple. She has tears streaked down her face, but she is not crying. Her shirt is ripped. The first thing he thinks of when he sees her is Sarah. Of course it’s Sarah, how could he not think of her? But this little girl is different, has a different look in her eye. This look is much harder and feels like she’s lived a thousand lifetimes. He thanks god Sarah never looked that way, but somehow he wants to hear about everything this little girl has experienced. Something twangs in Joel’s chest that he has not felt in what feels like an eternity.

“It was not a lie, you stupid bitch whore!” Aiden shouts angrily, still fighting back against Joel’s unrelenting grip. “Take that back!”

“No, you take it back! Dad is not a hero. You could’ve picked anyone to write about and you choose him? After everything he’s done?” she screams herself.

The sound of her voice is powerful but desperate. Joel feels himself needing to know more and bury himself deep inside her experiences.

“SHUT UP!” Aiden yells, finally ceasing his movements.

A tear falls from his cheek.

“If I let you go, will you stop whooping your sister?” Joel snaps firmly.

“Get away from me, you stupid cuck!” Aiden curses, turning his energy to Joel. “Who the hell are you to me? Fuck you! I’m out of here!”

He wriggles out of Joel’s grasp and Joel lets him go and Aiden storms back out the rear gate, slamming it behind him.

“You alright?” he asks Y/N.

Joel crawls over on his knees, still upright, closer to her.

“Had worse,” she shrugs, running a hand through her messed-up hair.

She wipes the tears and blood from her cheeks.

Joel shudders to imagine what she means.

“He always like that?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “So you Mom’s new boyfriend?”

“Something like that,” he nods back. ”’M Joel. Joel Miller.”

“I’m Y/N,” she says a bit mournfully. “Here,” she continues suddenly, reaching out a small hand to his cheek. She wipes blood (hers) gently off his stubbly face. “Didn’t mean to get ya dirty.”

Joel is nothing short of touched. He wasn’t even aware he could still have such a feeling. His cheeks go rosy pink. His heart pulses. He stares at her delicate hands and notices a long, thin scar on her left middle finger.

“‘S no trouble, sweetheart,” he hears himself reassuring her. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Could even mend your shirt if ya want. Know how to sew and all.”

He reaches out a large hand, but she flinches at the sudden movement. A dull ache wells up in Joel’s chest.

“Not gonna hurt you, honey. Swear it.”

He wants with every fiber of his being for her to believe him, for it to be true.

She takes his hand.

***

That evening Erica is still not home, working late Joel supposes. It is nine o’clock when Aiden slinks back into the house.

Joel stops him from making his way up the stairs. He is more than familiar with the art of creeping.

“Think you oughta apologize to your sister,” he says as gently as possible. Maybe he can impart some manners onto this unruly child now that he’s calmed down some. “You beat her real bad. You’re much bigger than her.”

“I’d do it again,” Aiden hisses, his eyes cold. “It makes me feel better.”

And then, to Joel, the answer is simple. What do you do with a bully who won’t repent? Fight him back. Show him who’s boss, who’s bigger.

He grabs Aiden by the arm in a flash of anger and drags him up the stairs. The boy screams and flails, but that doesn’t deter Joel. He brings him to the room he assumes is his, the walls covered in sports posters and memorabilia.

“Take off your shirt,” he growls, a familiar fury pounding inside his chest.

When Aiden protests, Joel does it for him, ripping the kid’s shirt nearly in half. Rage floods through Joel’s veins and he can’t exactly place why, but the feeling is very real and bouldering through him at an alarming speed. He knows this feeling, feels strangely at home there.

He undoes his belt and brings the leather end down on Aiden’s back, not the buckle like his father used to do. Joel does have some decency buried deep in his chest. And then he loses himself to the unyielding anger.

“You get ten,” he snarls. “Don’t you lay a hand on your sister again. Is that understood? Now you answer to me.”

No response except for a scream.

“I said , do you understand?” Joel roars, bringing down the belt.

Rage consumes him like a drug. He barely registers what he’s doing. The belt goes down again and again. And somehow, through the screaming and the pain, and the intoxicating feeling of being completely in control for once, Joel’s line of vision wanders to the bedroom door. In all the excitement, it was left ajar and out in the hallway, sitting on her knees is Y/N. Joel immediately expects fear, despair, revulsion. When Tommy would watch him take a beating his face would betray the most acute sense of hopelessness and terror and the waterworks would begin. But Y/N just stares at him unflinchingly, at what he’s doing. She doesn’t cry, she simply sees. Too much for a child, and yet, she watches. She does not intervene, doesn’t even try to. And for the tiniest moment, her and Joel’s eyes connect, and he feels a sense of calm, of comprehension, of recognition in that uncannily knowing gaze. Her irises sparkle and Joel feels…something that he cannot entirely articulate. Seen? Accepted? Understood? Joel knows logically what he is doing is an ugly, vile thing — he has never claimed to be a good man. Practical maybe, but never good. And yet, Y/N sees it — sees him — and she doesn’t look away. She cocks her head slightly, and images of Tommy grimacing in revulsion and fear as Joel mercilessly beat up their childhood neighborhood bullies to the point of unconsciousness pop into his mind, of the haunting look in his brother’s eyes. Even Sarah could not stomach his violent heart when she witnessed him beat up some pervert with a camera that had looked at her funny at the mall. Even though it was for her — to keep her safe. She had stared at him in disgust and pity. She had not seen him then at all.

But now, looking at Y/N, for the briefest moment, Joel can swear he sees something resembling a smile flicker over her serious face. And though it goes as quickly as it comes, he feels the familiar sensation gnawing at the bottom of his stomach: primal and untameable, soft and vulnerable, but fierce and loud at the same time. He feels an inexorable, inescapable sense of care and devotion to this child. But most of all, because she sees him, truly sees him, and does not turn away in disgust, Joel Miller feels the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love deep in his chest. For the first time since Sarah died on that hospital bed, weak and unwell from the chemo he could not afford, he feels alive .

***

Things fall into a tentative routine. Every morning, Joel wakes up in bed beside Erica. They fuck the night before more often than not, but always in that same slow way that doesn’t do much for Joel. It’s enough to get off, sure, she isn’t an unattractive woman, but he’s mostly there for the meal ticket and roof over his head. He goes to work at the auto-body repair shop, Erica goes to her job at her law firm. The kids ride the bus to school. He gets home in the evenings before Erica and spends time coexisting with the children. Usually, he kicks back on the sofa, rubbing his sore back, and watches television, minding his own business. Aiden mostly avoids him, doing god knows what in his room. He bullies his sister cruelly and Joel punishes him when he sees fit. Erica knows what he does to Aiden and either doesn’t care or approves. He never lays a hand on Y/N though. She warms up to him slowly, cautiously. Most evenings she sits on the far end of the couch and Joel on the other, but as she gets used to him and sees that he’s not a threat, at least to her, she scoots closer.

The children’s father is no longer in their lives from what Joel can tell, which is perfectly fine with him. When Joel’s heart does not feel full of lead, he plays the guitar. Y/N sits and watches him. She is a quiet child, but unrelentingly brave. When Joel lets the TV blare, he rarely cares to pay much attention these days, she stays and watches with him, no matter what is on and never complains or asks to change the channel. Blockbuster zombie apocalypse movie? She watches. News special on America’s most dangerous serial killers? She watches. Documentary on venomous snakes? She watches. Should Joel be letting her watch this crap? Who the fuck knows? He isn’t her father. And plus, he won’t admit this to anyone, hardly even himself, but he likes having some company. It makes everything feel…less. And he likes that she doesn’t try to make him speak. Sometimes there are no words and he thinks Y/N understands this. Unlike Erica who yaps every second of the day. But Joel stays polite and plays along. He has to.

But he will not lie, Aiden gets on his very last nerve. There is something that Joel cannot quite place that makes him feel like he has known this boy his whole life even though they are as familiar as perfect strangers. All siblings fight and rough-house. That is normal. Hell, he and Tommy used to fight rough and tumble all the time. But the way Aiden bullies Y/N is something else entirely. And most times, it is unprovoked. And he is so much bigger than she is, growing bigger by the day.

Joel’s beatings have not stopped Aiden’s anger and sadistic attitudes, but they do make sure that he takes some kind of physical consequence for his crimes. It makes Joel feel better and he thinks it makes Y/N feel better too. And some days he gets so fucking mad at Aiden that he thinks not even god could stop his wrath even if the boy turned into Mother Theresa herself! Okay, maybe that’s extreme, but another part of Joel thinks maybe it’s not. The truth is, though he is loathe to admit it, some days, he is not in control of his anger. Some days he punches so hard, his knuckles bleed and he has to stop for a second to come back to himself. Others he goes so roughly on Aiden that he causes the kid to become bloody and he feels ashamed of what he’s done. But there are other days, very dark days, where he wishes he could do it over and over again. He convinces himself he’s doing it for Y/N and not some other sinister ulterior motive he does not care to dwell on…

One night, a few months into Joel’s new living arrangements, he walks through the upstairs hallway to his and Erica’s bedroom, passing the closed door to the bathroom that the kids share. He has done this what feels like a thousand times before and doesn’t think anything of it until he stops and realizes he hears Y/N singing.

♪“ Someday, my pain / Someday, my pain will mark / You…”♫ she sings softly.

He can barely hear it over the crash of the water from her shower, but her voice is beautiful. It pulls at Joel’s shrunken heart, deep inside his long-dead chest. Her voice has an eerie quality to it too, almost haunting. He’s not sure of what song it is, but he finds himself wanting to know. Eventually, she stops, and Joel goes to bed, but her voice echoes in his mind for hours as he lies awake in the dark.

The next day, Joel is sitting on the couch when the kids get home from school. Y/N joins him on the other side of the sofa as usual. They watch reruns of some unfunny family sitcom.

“Heard you singing last night,” he finally grunts unceremoniously.

Y/N goes very still.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be quieter next time.”

Joel looks over at her. He realizes she looks terrified.

“Ain’t no problem with it,” he tries to explain, confused. “Thought you sounded nice is all.”

“You tryna trick me?” she stammers, tears collecting in her shimmering eyes.

“What? Trick you? What you crying for, honey? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel is genuinely flabbergasted.

Tears trickle down her cheeks. What has he done this time? he wonders. But he is concerned more than anything. Hell, he hasn’t seen her cry like this since the day they met. Not even last week when Aiden slammed her head into the metal oven in the kitchen (luckily it was off or Joel would have really killed him that time).

She sniffles, looking conflicted, then collects herself as best she can manage.

“M-my dad didn’t like when I would sing. ‘Specially if he was in a depo…I forget the word…deponition? Deposition? When he was on the phone for work, I mean. If I was being too loud. Or too shrill. He didn’t like that one bit. He’d get mad…” she trails off.

“The way Aiden gets mad?” Joel asks very slowly, not truly wanting to know the answer.

“Yeah,” she nods after a while. “Except he’s a lot bigger. And stronger. He…he broke my arm once. But it was on accident I think. He got me ice cream after.”

Anger, red and hot, pulses through Joel’s veins. What hadn’t this child endured at the hands of angry men?

“What did your mother do?” he bites out, almost unnaturally calm from trying to control himself.

“Well, most of the time he’d kinda like hit her around, I guess? But the time he broke my arm was the time she made him leave for good and they got a divorce and all. Aiden says it’s my fault he won’t come around anymore. He was so mad. He loves Dad so much. I don’t understand it though because even though Dad likes him a lot more than me, Dad would still be so mean to him sometimes. Mom says I don’t even know all of it...Promise I won’t bother you with singing though, okay?”

“Sweetheart,” Joel says as softly as his blinding rage will permit. Somehow, when he’s with Y/N, he finds he can control himself better. “I’ll never get mad at you for singing. Or being too loud. Or anything. Never gonna put my hands on you. I’m sorry if what I do to Aiden scares you or made you think that I would ever do such a thing to you.”

“It doesn’t scare me,” she shakes her head. “When you get rough with Aiden, you do it because he did really bad, to protect me. It’s like with you there’s rules that make sense. Aiden chooses to be mean and violent so you choose it back to him. With my dad, it was different. It was like I could breathe wrong and I’d get in trouble. Get in trouble for things I couldn’t control or help. Sometimes I did bad, I know I did, but I also know there were other times where I wasn’t hurting anyone and he’d still hurt me so badly. My dad never got mad at Aiden for hurting me though. He thought it was funny, I think. Sometimes he’d kinda like sick him on me. Kinda how you could a dog.”

Joel doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know the right words. He figures he can only show her with his actions who he is and she will just have to learn to trust him. If her father ever enters the house though, he will wring his neck. That’s for certain. Thank God he doesn’t come around for his sake, Joel’s, and the family’s.

“I was just thinking,” Joel finally says. “If ya want, I could learn how to play that song you were singing on my guitar and maybe you could sing it for me sometime?”

“M-maybe we could sing it together?” Y/N asks tentatively, her eyes wide. “Singing in front of other people is kinda scary.”

“I haven’t sung in a while,” Joel sighs. “Might be rusty.”

“That’s okay,” she grins hopefully.

Joel wants to take a photo of that rare sight and keep it close for as long as he lives, torn in his pocket or snug in his wallet, he doesn’t care.

“Joel?” she asks a little cautiously, breaking him from his thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course, kiddo,” he says as gently as he knows how.

“Who’s Sarah?”

His heart stops. His blood runs cold.

“What? How did you–”

“You were talking. In your sleep yesterday,” she says, shrinking away a little and Joel feels sorry for scaring her again. “When we were watching Dexter . Well, you fell asleep right before. You were snoring and all, but you were also talking and mumbling that name. You sounded sad and scared.”

Joel should definitely not have allowed her to watch that! But that is hardly the point right now.

His heart squeezes so tight it burns. What was there to say about Sarah – the entire reason his life had had any purpose? His perfect babygirl? The light of his life?

He could lie. So easily too and Y/N would never know. He could say nothing at all. Hasn’t even told Erica about her yet. Hardly ever speaks to anyone about her these days.

And yet…

“She was my daughter,” he hears himself say softly. “She…got sick. Died of leukemia a while back. She was twelve.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wallet he was just thinking about. Inside is a tiny school photo of Sarah – the last one she ever took. It’s faded a little, but she’s still smiling so big she could block out the sun. He shows it to Y/N.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” she says and she really does look sorry.

Not the way his co-workers and customers say it – almost as a reflex – to fill the void in the conversation. Her eyes are shimmering.

“Nothin’ to do about it now,” he shrugs, running his thumb over the photo paper, softened with age. “But she was so damn special. My whole world.”

He has learned to repress the tears, not to show weakness, that is not hard. Not anymore. But the anger that broils up inside him – the injustice of it all – how he was unable to help her. Unable to save her. He feels almost like a child again, powerless in an unforgiving, unrelenting world. He wants to fight back!

He is so angry he begins to shake and his hands clench into fists.

He wants to flip over the fucking coffee table – fling it across the room! He wants to punch in the glass of the flickering TV screen until his fist is broken! He wants to–He wants–

He just wants his babygirl back…

A sob, small and foreign rises in his throat, but he pushes it down.

He thinks Y/N knows though. Can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

She reaches out a small hand and touches his fist, pushes it down gently into the soft fabric of the couch so he’ll stop shaking. It doesn’t entirely work, but he thinks he appreciates the effort.

“I don’t know if this is the right thing to say,” she begins a bit skittishly, still not entirely trusting the hulking, raging man above her. “But I think I would have liked to have been her friend.”

And for the first time since Sarah died, Joel sobs .

Y/N pops up from the couch and Joel’s heart cries out louder in his chest for her to come back, don’t leave me too as he tries to suck the tears back in. It doesn’t work though and liquid gushes down his cheeks. He doesn’t think he can take the rejection, the loss of her. But thankfully, she returns just as quickly as she went with a handful of tissues stuffed into her small fist.

“Here, Joel,” she offers. “Here. Don’t cry.”

Joel does cry though. He’s ashamed he’s broken down in front of this literal child, and he doesn’t let out much noise, but he doesn’t take the tissues either. He can’t.

She’s so sweet though, or maybe it’s because she is truly afraid of him now, of his wrath, he’ll never really know, but she frowns and reaches out a little hand, the one with the scar on the middle finger, and tries to wipe up the tears.

The paper of the tissue tickles his cheeks.

“Shouldn’t havta…” he tries.

“Didn’t mean to make you…” she answers.

A pause.

“You didn’t, honey. That was all me,” he assures her finally.

She lets out a sigh of relief and soaks up the last of the salt water from his face, brushes the tissue gently against his nose. It tickles, causes him to snort. He smirks a little.

She smiles back shyly, she can’t help it, he can tell.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully after a few moments of silence, sighing deeply. “I reckon she would’ve wanted to be your friend too…”

***

A few months roll by. Things are virtually the same except Y/N seems more comfortable around him now. Maybe it’s because she saw his weakness up close and personal, his Achilles heel —— knows how to coax it out of him now if she has to. Or maybe it’s because she truly trusts him. Whatever the case, she sits closer to him on the couch now, still giving him a respectful foot of distance though of course.

Once in a blue moon, she sings for him and he tries to keep up with the lilting sound of her high voice. She says she likes his low, deep voice just fine, it’s just she still gets nervous singing in front of other people so it’s still a rare occasion. His favorite is when she sings solo and he gets to strum along for her and really listen. Sometimes her voice cracks in a very specific way that some might find to be a flaw, but Joel would never.

Aiden makes fun of them and calls them the ‘Von Trapp Family Singers.’ Are they a family? Joel wonders.

One day after work, Joel goes to the library to find some sheet music for a song Y/N likes. She treasures the photo-copied paper like a gift as Joel deciphers the notes he can actually read for her. She color-codes each one carefully in magic marker so she can remember the differences between them.

The next day, Aiden burns it up with a lighter he has acquired from God knows where. Joel confiscates it – the last thing he needs is this particular child setting fires – and It doesn’t end well for Aiden. He limps for damn near a week. But some days, when Aiden is calm, he joins Y/N and Joel in front of the TV if a sports game is on. He doesn’t sit on the couch though, just the floor. He doesn’t say much to them but does get invested in the good and bad plays of each game, gets sore if his team is losing. On one particularly good day, when the Rangers hit a grand slam, and Joel was actually paying attention, he and Aiden actually high-five.

Things are going…well? Is that the right word? It is a foreign concept for Joel. For Christmas, he gets Y/N guitar, Aiden a book on boxing so maybe he will redirect his anger into somewhere productive, and Erica a spa-day kit for 20% off that he saw at CVS (he never claimed to know what women want). Aiden is neutral, surprised, he thinks, that Joel even got him a present. Erica is actually appreciative and returns the favor with some new socks and underwear.

“A practical gift for a practical man,” she says, kissing him on the forehead.

Joel supposes he appreciates the gesture.

Y/N, though, is thrilled.

“Thank you, Joel! Got you something too,” she says excitedly, bouncing up and down in her red and white pajamas.

“That’s not necessary,” Joel chides, leaning over to pick up the wrapping paper that was strewn across the living room floor.

But secretly he is curious. He didn’t think she even had any money of her own…

Aiden opens the cover of the boxing book with disinterest, eyeing the new guitar distastefully.

Y/N jumps up, leaves the room, and returns with a small plastic baggie in her hands. Inside are little, different bits of colored plastic clumsily and haphazardly cut into tiny, sharp-looking, badge-shaped pieces. One he recognizes is from the top of a yogurt container he put into the recycling the other day, another one from the top of a Gatorade bottle.

“Here ya go!”

She shoves the plastic bag into his large hands enthusiastically.

“Thank you,” Joel responds, still unsure what he was given.

It reminds him of when Sarah was young and would come home with some sort of abstract macaroni painting from kindergarten and he would nod and smile knowingly when she explained that of course it was Two dinosaurs getting married, Dad. Duh!

“You could try one on my new guitar,” she offers, a little disappointed when he doesn’t have more of a reaction. “You said you lost most of yours…”

Joel immediately feels guilty and then it clicks. She tried to make him guitar picks! His heart clenches with emotion he can not quite identify.

He pulls a little orange one out of the bag and accidentally nicks the edge of his finger. Because of the way it was cut, no doubt with uncoordinated child’s hands and a pair of scissors, the edges are much too sharp to serve as an actual guitar pick without damaging guitar strings or apparently Joel’s finger. Dumb kid. But he’s beyond honored anyone would take the time to do such a thoughtful thing for him.

He hisses softly and sucks the blood off his finger.

“Oops,” she says, horrified. “Shoot. Sorry, I–”

“‘S no trouble,” he interjects dismissively. “Love ‘em. Was my fault anyway. I’mma be honest with you though, sweetheart; don’t think the guitar strings can handle these babies.”

“Oh,” she says softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Oh, yeah, okay...”

She deflates, looking down at the carpet.

Joel selfishly lets her be sad for a beat before swooping back in to be the one to save the day.

“But here’s what I’ll do…”

She looks back up at him with an intoxicating kind of hope in her eyes.

He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and slips the orange pick into the photo slot next to the picture of Sarah. He returns the wallet back into his pants.

Y/N positively beams. Brighter than the sun, even, Joel thinks.

Aiden yawns purposefully loudly and rolls his eyes. Erica looks touched and maybe even a little proud of her choice in men. But Joel didn’t do it for them. The only reaction in the world he cares about is hers.

Y/N is still grinning, bouncing on the balls of her feet again. But then she does something new: she leans in and hugs him, wrapping her little arms around his waist, burying her face in his flannel shirt, pressing against his tummy.

The world stops for Joel.

At first, he just hangs there limply, awkwardly. Literally forgets what one is supposed to do in such a situation, but then instinct kicks in and he wraps his arms around her too and squeezes ever so slightly. It’s a more cautious hug than Sarah would have given him – she would have squeezed him half to death – but Y/N is still holding him. Someone small and warm is holding onto him for the first time in what feels like an eternity. And just like that his past is rhyming with his present and it is the most beautiful sound Joel Miller has ever heard.

Joel Miller is not a good man, no, but maybe, just maybe, he thinks he could be one for Y/N.

***

Joel tries to be good. He does. His first order of business is stop beating on Aiden – especially in front of Y/N. No amount of violence towards the kid seems to do any good anyway – he still hurts her. And Joel is sick of bandaging her up and wiping the blood from her cheeks; something has to change. Not that he wouldn’t do it a thousand times if he had to. He’d do anything for the girl, that he is sure of. And the truth is, Aiden is close to getting big enough to really fight back. And Joel knows if Aiden really lays a hand on him, he’s not sure he will be able to control himself enough to not inflict permanent damage. And he doesn’t want that. Truly.

So at first, Joel thinks about having Erica send him away to a wilderness camp for troubled children or some such program he sees mentioned on reruns of Dr. Phil. She has the money to do it too. But she won’t send him away. She refuses, loves him too much. Protecting Y/N seems as far down on her list of priorities as ever. She is useless at disciplining him, always has been, so it is up to Joel to find another solution. So the next thing he tries is to set the boy up in boxing classes. This is risky since it might just teach him new ways to hurt Y/N, but at least it will be a place to direct his anger.

It works for a while, to his and Y/N’s immense relief, but that leaves Joel nowhere to take out his anger. He tries to ignore it at first and shove it down, but it starts to come out in little ways. At work, he barks at a customer who locks his keys in the car he’s trying to fix. At home, he shouts at Erica for missing Y/N’s school play. The rage leaks out of him, pours off his entire being. He tries jerking off more to increasingly violent porno magazines to calm himself down since Erica is sure not satisfying him. It doesn’t do enough though, not really. Finally, he tries boxing at the local gym himself, but it is not enough either. Boxing has rules. The first sorry sucker he gets in the ring with, he beats to the point of unconsciousness. Two men have to pull him off to get him to stop. They kick him out immediately.

So Joel tries going to the bar after work with the guys from the shop and drinking a little to take the edge off. That actually helps somewhat. He’s careful about it, never comes home drunk, never drinks in front of Erica or the kids. But what helps the most are the bar fights. He’s careful about that too. Only fights the assholes, which there are many of. Switches up the bars he goes to. But some motherfucker slaps a girl's ass without permission? Joel’s on him in seconds, watching like a predator from the shadows. Some dude throws a drink in the bartender’s face? Joel clobbers him half to death. And sometimes? People in the bar applaud him, even cheer him on. It’s probably because they’re intoxicated, but that’s how he justifies it to himself like he’s some kind of goddamn vigilante. Deep down he knows he is something much, much uglier. But at least he’s not doing it to Aiden, a child. And more importantly, at least it is away from Y/N.

***

One day, Y/N falls sick. It starts out as what seems like a cold with a nasty cough. Kids are little germ factories, Joel knows that. He tells himself it is nothing to worry about – that all kids get sick sometimes. The first few days she lies on the couch like a zombie, coughing incessantly into her elbow and sleeping a lot. She snores ever so slightly which he finds charming. Joel stays home from work with her because Erica has to be in court and they watch lots of nature documentaries and daytime talk shows.

Then the coughing gets worse and Joel’s brain stops functioning properly and he has trouble explaining why. He feels more on edge, more agitated. Erica takes Y/N to the doctor and comes back with a diagnosis: walking pneumonia. Nothing too serious, lots of kids get it. She is prescribed antibiotics and is supposed to drink lots of fluids and wait it out. But when Erica tells Joel the news of what the doctor told her he is holding a glass of water and it shatters in his large hand, cutting the skin of his middle finger.

“Fuck!” he yells.

And he cannot articulate precisely why, but he feels good that there is a justified reason to yell.

Erica wipes his hand and cleans the glass up.

“Gotta go to court again today, honey,” she says like everything is fine and normal. “Can you look after her today? Call in sick? She’s in bed. Going through it.”

Joel nods and she is gone like this whole thing is nothing. Like her precious, living breathing child is not suffering in the room above his head.

He climbs the stairs and enters Y/N’s room. He doesn’t often spend much time there. The walls are painted pink and differently shaped dolls and stuffed animals line the white vanity across from her canopied bed. He does not think he has ever seen Y/N play with any of those specific toys, come to think of it, or express any interest in the color pink (no doubt Erica’s secret passion for interior design rearing its ugly head). He vows silently, one day, to paint the walls any color she wants.

But there she is, sprawled out in her bed coughing a nasty cough. Something shifts inside Joel at the sound. She looks unwell and weak and so small.

“Hey, honey,” he says softly, almost robotically.

Something is not right. He sits on the edge of her bed, feels her burning forehead. He takes her temperature gently with the thermometer that goes in her ear. He feels that weird sensation like he’s been here before even though he has hardly ever entered her bedroom. One hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit it reads when it beeps. Joel swallows a lump in his throat that he didn’t realize was there.

She coughs pathetically. She looks out of it, her eyes far away. Joel’s heart throbs painfully.

Y/N is mumbling something incoherent now. Joel leans a little closer so he can decipher the words.

He makes out something like: No, Dad. Don’t. Stop, please. Please, not tonight.

Joel stops breathing.

She must be delirious from the fever.

And then she’s crying. Quietly, but crying all the less. And this time, unlike every time he has seen her tears before, she sobs. Actually makes noise, her chest wracked with it.

Then she coughs so hard she starts to wheeze and it hits Joel so ferociously he practically loses his grip on reality.

When Sarah was sick she had leukemia, a blood cancer. And cancer requires treatment. Expensive treatment. But of course, Joel hadn’t cared. He would have sold every item he owned to save his child, would have traveled to the ends of the earth if he had to, done literally any and everything in his power to protect her. So he paid for most of her chemotherapy with high hopes. Desperate hopes, but high ones. It had been her best shot at getting better according to the doctors. And the thing about chemo is, the side effects can literally be deadly. Joel is not a man of science, but the doctor explained that those drugs kill the bad cells that make up the cancer, but also the good ones. It fucks with your immune system, weakens you. Makes you lose your hair, vomit, and or be so weak you can barely walk. All that happened to Sarah. Joel felt like a traitor taking her to those treatments. Logically, he knew they were necessary, but he always felt like he was the one doing those awful things to her. It eviscerated him, left him raw and empty, and helpless like a child.

But in the end, it was the pneumonia that killed her. Her body couldn’t fight it off. She’d died in a hospital bed, Joel at her side, holding her hand, unable to do a single damned thing except scream .

Y/N coughs again, simultaneously pulling him from his thoughts and throwing him back into them. His heart is pounding in his chest to Do something! But there is nothing to be done, nothing he can do! Why can’t he ever seem to protect her?

She looks up just then, notices him for the first time since he entered the room, still crying feebly.

“He hurt me,” she whispers up at him, her eyes glazed over and glistening with tears. She reaches out for a handful of his dark blue work shirt and pulls it tightly to her. “He hurt me. And I couldn’t–I c-couldn’t…”

And then he is holding her, not quite sure how, but he is holding her trembling body to his chest and he will not let her go. Not for the world, not for anyone. He will not lose this child. He wraps his arms around her, holds tight. He will keep her safe, no matter the cost.

“It’s okay, babygirl,” he whispers. “I got you.”

***

Joel and Erica get married that spring. They agree on a private ceremony in front of a judge with only Y/N and Aiden in attendance. When Aiden hears the news, he throws a fit, He breaks dishes and punches a hole in the TV set which sets Joel’s teeth on edge. But Y/N is overjoyed. In the end, he and Joel adorn what Joel considers monkey suits and Erica wears a beautiful white dress that accentuates her figure. Y/N wears a frilly pink dress and carries a basket of pink roses. Joel never thought he’d be a married man and yet here he is. He imagines Sarah in attendance too and his heart aches. This is his life now.

He refuses to wear a ring.

***

Time passes. Long stretches of time where things feel–dare he think it–normal.

Aiden doesn’t beat Y/N, but begins to get into fights at school. Joel saves his violence for the bar scene which he begins frequenting more often.

Erica starts working later, gets promoted in her job. Fucks Joel less and less, not that he cares very much.

Joel goes to back-to-school nights and family cookouts. He teaches Y/N to play the guitar and how to fix car motors. In both these activities, she is no natural, but she tries her best and listens well. She smiles more than he’s ever seen. He drives her to sleepovers and Aiden to boxing practice. He paints her bedroom walls orange.

Things feel stable.

Two Christmases pass.

And then things take a downturn.

***

One evening, Joel returns home from work later than usual. When he arrives home in his truck, he notices an expensive sports car in the driveway. Erica has affluent friends, sure, but he’s never seen this particular car before. Something about that doesn’t sit right with him.

He opens the front door with a creak and Erica intercepts him before he can make it to the dining room table for dinner. She presses a hand to his forearm bulking with muscle.

“Don’t freak out,” she whispers urgently.

Joel stops and hears the sounds of people eating dinner and a man’s raspy voice speaking.

“Freak out about what?”

He makes his way past her to the dining room. He sees a man he does not immediately recognize sitting at the head of the table, Y/N is flanking one side of the table next to him and Aiden the other. He is conventionally handsome and wearing an expensive pinstripe suit. When he looks up, he smirks at Joel. Joel thinks he looks kind of like Aiden if you were to squint. And then he understands who he is.

“The fuck are you doing in my house?” he growls, lunging forward.

“ Your house?” the man smirks again, unflinching.

He looks Joel over, examining his mechanic’s uniform, the grease stain on Joel’s cheek.

Erica grabs Joel. She pulls him back out into the hallway.

“Tell him he’s not welcome here,” Joel snarls, trying to get a look at the man over Erica’s shoulder.

She pushes him backward gently. Instantly, he is worried for Y/N, for all intents and purposes alone in there with the man who abused her and this entire goddamn family for that matter. He catches a glance at her and she looks terrified . Aiden, conversely, Joel sees, looks like he just won the lottery, staring up at his dad in adoration. Joel doesn’t think he has ever seen him look so happy.

“This is important to them,” Erica snaps quietly. “That’s their father. He has a right–”

“Get him out of here or I’ll kill him,” Joel says deadly quietly. “He what? Doesn’t show up for over three years and you think that–”

“I know that he has a right to speak to them. I am their mother and they need a sense of closure. Aiden needs this. So you will sit down at that table and have an amicable dinner or so help me God, Joel.”

Erica never speaks to him like this. He is shocked.

“Fine,” he snarls after a while, his chest heaving.

He can hardly think straight while Y/N is in there alone with that excuse for a man. Better he be close to protect her instead of thrown out of the house.

He walks back in with Erica, who sits next to Y/N, leaving Joel nowhere to go but next to Aiden.

“I’m Derek,” the children’s father says, leaning over the food Erica has prepared to shake Joel’s hand.

Joel doesn’t take it.

“And you must be Joe? The new husband.”

“Joel,” he replies shortly.

He looks over at Y/N who is trying to be brave, he can tell, but deep in her eyes, looks petrified.

They eat dinner in tense silence until Derek breaks it and begins bragging about his golf club record, the latest client he’s been representing, his new girlfriend, Sylvia.

“See, she’s helping me become a better man,” Derek insists with a forkful of steak. “I know I haven’t always been…the greatest of fathers or partners, but she really convinced me coming here would be a good thing. That it would be healing. You guys will meet someday, I’m sure.”

Joel leans forward toward Derek, reeling at the idea that this man could possibly be back in the picture of his family’s life, but Erica reaches under the table and squeezes his knee in a death grip and Joel holds himself back.

Aiden hangs on his father’s every word. Erica looks somewhat intrigued after she lets go of her husband’s leg. Y/N screams silently at Joel, who tries his best to communicate without words that he will keep her safe.

“And I know I’ve missed quite a bit,” Derek continues. “Which is why I brought these. Sylvia’s idea, really.”

He reaches down toward his feet and pulls out a fancy golden gift bag and takes out two presents. He hands one to Aiden and the other one to Y/N. Aiden rips his open excitedly. Inside is a hunting knife with a red handle.

Great, Joel thinks.

Y/N doesn’t move though, stopped like a deer in the headlights.

“Open it, girl,” Derek sneers.

She looks over at Joel.

“Go on, baby,” he says softly, heat pumping through his blood.

She unwraps the pink wrapping paper and finds a Barbie doll in a clear plastic box. Joel has never seen her play with dolls at all come to think of it.

“Isn’t that thoughtful?” Erica smiles cautiously.

“Thanks, Dad,” Aiden says enthusiastically. “Can’t wait to show the guys at ROTC.”

“Good for you, son,” Derek grins. “Serving our country is the highest of honors.”

Joel suddenly tries not to think about Tommy blasted to bits halfway across the world in Afghanistan, his body in such bad condition all that he got left of his baby brother was a finger and two bent dog tags.

Aiden beams.

“Well,” Derek barks, eyeing Y/N distastefully. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he taunts.

Joel sees where Aiden gets it from. This arrogant, bullying behavior. He shifts in his seat, ready to strike if necessary.

“Thanks,” she says very quietly.

Derek grins in a kind of satisfaction that makes Joel want to go over there and punch his daylights out. He almost does too until Erica kicks his shin beneath the table and he controls himself.

Y/N frowns. She looks over at Joel, then back at her father. Something ripples across her face, but it goes so quickly Joel cannot assign any meaning to it. But she looks ever so less scared somehow, more angry almost, but not quite.

And then after about ten minutes of somewhat peaceful eating and Derek making Aiden and Erica laugh with stupid anecdotes from his court cases while Joel and Y/N exchange looks, it happens.

Y/N’s hand reaches forward and knocks against her glass of coke. It goes flying over in Derek’s direction and drenches him in the sticky liquid, staining his suit.

“Sorry, Dad!” she squeaks immediately. “Oh my god, I–”

“You little slut!” he roars in response, almost like a reflex, backhanding Y/N across the face with lightning speed and accuracy. “Do you know how much this fucking suit cost!?”

The force of the blow is so strong it knocks Y/N from her chair onto the ground.

Before a coherent thought can even go through Joel’s head he is on the other man, slamming him up against the wall behind him by the throat.

“Joel, don’t you dare!” Erica yells, but it is too late.

Joel sees red and can’t exactly recall what he does next, but it goes something like this:

He squeezes around Derek’s throat and bangs his head backward against the wall a few times. The other man tries to get a punch in, but Joel ducks and kicks him in the balls. Derek crumples to the ground and Joel gives his chest another hard kick. He whines pathetically.

Aiden gets up then, but Erica uses all of her strength to pull him back before he can get involved in the mix. He resists, shouts something that Joel cannot make out, but Erica manages to keep him from the two men with a great amount of effort and struggle.

Derek is on the floor now and Joel is straddling him, landing punch after ruthless punch down onto his head. His nose begins to bleed, but Joel keeps punching.

“HOW DARE YOU?” he roars down at the trembling, gushing man on the floor.

There is so much blood splurting all over his face, dripping down onto his expensive stained suit, and the floor that Derek almost stops looking like Derek. Joel sees Aiden’s face in his features. And then there is so much blood that it could be anyone’s face screaming back at him for mercy. It could be those creepy, asshole men at the bar. It could be the much bigger kid who always used to beat up Tommy every day in the schoolyard. It could be that damned head doctor who let his babygirl die. It could even be his no-good, bastard, alcoholic papá .

He turns his head ever so slightly while still delivering punches. Erica has Aiden in a bear hug. She is screaming for Joel to stop. Aiden is bellowing something that sounds like, You bastard, I’ll kill you! Get off of him! I’ll kill you! And then Joel sees Y/N still on the floor from where she was knocked. Her face is still turned in the same direction it was slapped into, but she is not crying or screaming. Her eyes are dancing.

They connect with Joel’s.

He knows he is supposed to be a good man for her, but she doesn’t seem to mind his deviant behavior. He stops then, though, because otherwise he thinks he will kill the man and he doesn’t want Y/N to experience that. He steals a glance at her again and she looks ever so slightly disappointed, but her wide-eyed expression tells Joel that Christmas has come early this year. She sends him a look of gratitude and Joel thinks that maybe he did act like a good man for her after all in the case of this vile, pathetic person who is supposed to be her father.

Finally, Joel stands up. He walks over and reaches out a bloody hand to Y/N and pulls her gently from the ground. Even after she’s standing upright she doesn’t let go of him.

Derek gets up after a while, wiping his sleeve over his face to try to tame the excess blood. Joel thinks that maybe he broke the man’s nose. He feels not a shred of remorse. The other man spits on the ground at Joel’s feet and leaves without saying goodbye to his ex-wife or children, slamming the front door behind him.

Erica is not pleased with Joel’s behavior. Aiden is shouting and screaming. He breaks a plate by throwing it onto the floor with a loud crash. Joel leans over and grabs the knife his father gave him and sticks it in his front pocket so Aiden doesn’t feel tempted to use it. Y/N’s small hand is still in his.

When Aiden is coherent enough to listen to instructions and all screamed out, Erica sends the children upstairs to bed.

Joel tries to walk Y/N up to bed to tuck her in, but Erica stops him.

“ Not you,” she growls at Joel.

She is livid in a way Joel has never seen before. For a moment, he seriously wonders if this is the end of their relationship.

The kids scamper upstairs and Erica yells at Joel for ages.

At a certain point, he stops listening. He doesn’t try to argue back. Doesn’t care to. He is actually calm now, though his chest is still heaving from the exertion, more calm than he’s been in ages. He knows that she will never understand why he had to do what he did to Derek. She lives in another reality where his violence is not acceptable if she has to bear witness to it. She doesn’t care about Y/N the way she is supposed to. Never has. Doesn’t know or see her. Not the way Joel does. Has too big a soft spot for Aiden. Tolerated Joel’s violence toward him though like a coward. Maybe deep down she knew he needed some kind of discipline? But when Joel lays a hand on her scumbag of an ex-husband that’s what’s too far? When he hurt her own daughter? When Joel himself was responsible for hurting her own precious son? Where was her outrage then?

But he voices none of this. Pushes it down. He cannot lose her. Not this house, not the kids, not the financial security. Never Y/N.

Erica banishes him to the couch for the first time in their relationship. Joel doesn’t mind.

Hours later, late into the night, he hears soft footsteps walking down the stairs. He rolls over on the sofa to see who is approaching. He wonders if it is Erica there to apologize because he knows her well enough to know by now that she will forgive him eventually. She will forgive anything it seems. But it is not Erica at all.

“Joel?” a little voice asks quietly. “You up?”

“Yeah, baby,” he replies. “You okay? I’m so sorry he pulled that shit on you.”

Y/N shrugs.

“Sorry I…I didn’t stop it before it happened,” he admits like a secret.

She shrugs again.

“‘M sorry she made you sleep on the couch and all,” she replies.

“‘S no trouble. I don’t mind.”

“But it’s my fault you got in trouble in the first place.”

“Y/N, you ain’t done nothing wrong,” Joel tells her seriously.

It’s hard to see her in the dark, but he thinks she’s grimacing guiltily.

“I just wanted to say…” she begins hesitantly. “Thanks for like sticking up for me and all that. You…you’re the only one who does.”

Joel hides a smile from his babygirl. Something inside him likes being that person for her, he cannot lie to himself. Likes being the one she can count on.

“You were like some MMA fighter,” she continues. “But then all the blood was like in The Shining .”

One day, not long ago, Joel had fallen asleep on the couch when The Shining came on and Y/N had watched the entire thing out of her own free will. That movie had frightened the shit out of him as a kid!

“I’m sorry if I scared you, sweetheart.”

“You didn’t,” Y/N replies matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t scared of what you did for a second…I know that’s messed up, but I kinda wanted you to…”

She trails off.

Joel understands.

“I kinda, please don’t get mad, but I sorta knocked the cup over on purpose,” she admits.

Joel’s eyebrows go way up on his forehead in surprise.

“It’s just,” she babbles quickly in self-defense. “Mom and Aiden were like giggling and hanging onto every dumb thing he said and it scared me. I thought they might let him keep coming around and start liking him again. And I also knew he hadn’t changed too. I could tell on account of how he was looking at me in that same mean way he always did. And I also knew you’d save me like you always do and you had this angry look in your eyes. I knew what you would do. I could feel it in my gut…”

“You little shit!” Joel smirks.

He has to give her credit where credit was due – that was incredibly shrewd. Dangerous, but oh so clever. She played everyone in that room like a fiddle. Joel is honestly kind of proud.

“You mad?” she asks tentatively, biting her bottom lip.

“Nah,” Joel grins. “At you? Never. You shouldn’t have had to let him hurt you to get him away from you, but you protected yourself and that’s the most important thing. If I had to do it over, I would.”

Y/N smiles.

She’s a fucked up little girl, but Joel is a fucked up man, and they both live in a fucked up world.

“Got your back,” he grunts. “Remember that. Now scurry along back to bed and get some rest.”

“G’night, Joel.”

***

Time passes.

Erica forgives Joel of course and Derek never comes around again.

Y/N and Aiden grow bigger.

They go on camping trips and Joel teaches Y/N and Aiden how to fish. Never thought he would see the day where Aiden was willingly listening to his instructions, but the day comes anyway. Of course, the boy’s favorite part is cutting up the bloody fish guts like Joel’s used to be as a child. Y/N likes the part where you wait for the fish to bite. She sits next to Joel on the grassy river bank, the sun shining down on the lazy lake they are camping by, and smiles softly to herself.

Another two Christmases pass.

All the while, Joel is visiting the bar more and not necessarily to drink. His violent streak is getting worse somehow. He thinks, though he’s no goddamn shrink, that it might have something to do with the fact that he and Erica are not having any sex. Their relationship is still amicable and she is still sweet to him, and he tries his best to be to her too, but in the bedroom is mostly crickets. Joel jerks off, of course he does, but his fist is no substitute for a warm body.

Joel causes such a scene at the bar he frequents the most, that the cops have to be called. He ditches the place before he can get arrested, but he’s getting worried about his behavior. Something must change.

So then come the women. They practically throw themselves at him. Never has he thought he was that attractive until women literally offer themselves up to him on a silver platter after saving them from some drunken creep. Joel had always declined until now. But Joel is only a man. He fucks them rough and dirty (with their permission of course – Joel is not a good man, and a lot of things, but he isn’t a fucking rapist) in the bathroom stalls, in the alleyways. In the moment it feels good and helps him let off some steam, but after he feels guilty. And it doesn’t satisfy him much more than with Erica if he really thinks about it. One thing that Erica has over these women who let him act out his violent self is the look of devotion in her eyes. That’s always the thing that gets Joel to cum in the end when he does get to fuck her.

He would leave her, she isn’t that special to him if he’s honest, but she offers him a twofold sense of stability he has never known in his life. The first fold is the financial stability that has evaded him all of his days. The second is the feeling of family . Something so mundane and normal. And despite her flaws, she treats him so well – better than Sarah’s mother ever did. And most importantly, he doesn’t think he could leave Y/N. Not now. Not when she looks at him like he is the universe. Not even Aiden whom Joel has (begrudgingly) begun to see the traces of himself in.

***

This particular muggy, summer day begins normally. Joel goes to work, fixes a Chevy Impala’s fluid tank. And then he walks in with an old, beat-up Honda Accord.

His name is David, and Joel has heard of him through murmurings and bar stories and whispers at community barbeques. He’s a notorious neighborhood legend, whose house kids cross the street to avoid. He is the boogeyman at the end of the cul-de-sac.

The story is, though through the many versions Joel has heard some of the details get muddled, that he kidnapped and raped a twelve-year-old girl (that part all versions agree on). Some say he was supposed to have ten years in prison, others say twenty, but whatever the number he got out in one for “good behavior.” In jail, he supposedly devoted his life to God and became a preacher.

Joel doesn’t want to help him, but his boss hisses at him that money is money and he’s going to serve the man whether Joel likes it or not.

There’s something wrong with the exhaust pipe, so Joel bends down and takes a look at it. He opens the trunk and sees a box of Bibles next to a plastic bag of zip ties. His blood runs cold.

“The fuck is this shit doing in your car?” he growls, referring to the zip ties.

“The Bible is the word of God, Mr. Miller,” David replies, eyeing Joel’s nametag. “Would you like one? I’m always trying to spread The Good Word.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he spits, looking over to make sure his boss is not watching.

“If you must know, though it’s none of your business, those zip ties are for my garden to help hold up my plants. They are remarkably useful,” David smiles sickeningly politely.

And that’s when Joel loses it just a little.

He picks up the ties and pockets them.

“Listen here, you pedophile piece of shit,” he snarls. “If I hear about you stepping one goddamned pinky-toe out of line–”

“Hey, Joel!” A little voice calls.

The breath is knocked from Joel’s lungs.

Y/N bounds up to them holding a brown paper bag out of nowhere.

“You forgot your lunch! Mom dropped me off so you could have it. It’s tuna though. I hate hate tuna. But you’ll eat anything so I hope it’s good for you at least,” she babbles.

“Baby,” Joel says very quietly, his heart thrumming in his ribcage. “Right now’s not a great time. Why don’t you go on home and I’ll catch up with you later?”

Then she notices David. By the fact that she doesn’t immediately leave, Joel determines she has no clue who he is.

“Hello, young lady,” David smiles, eyeing Joel knowingly. “I’m Pastor David.”

“Uh, hi,” she says.

Joel thinks he might actually kill him.

“Would you like something to take home with you?” he asks.

Y/N blinks in confusion as Joel steps in front of her.

“She’ll be going now, won’t you Y/N?” Joel suggests dangerously.

“Here,” David says before she can respond.

He hands her a black-covered bible.

Y/N takes it, looks at the cover, and laughs. Joel and David both look down at her in surprise.

“No offense, ‘Pastor David,”’ she smirks. “But I don’t believe in that shit. Here, you can have it back,” she offers.

He takes back the book somewhat defeatedly. And Joel grins internally.

“Bye, Joel,” she tells him, still smirking.

She side-hugs him quickly and returns to Erica’s car.

“How dare you even look at her–” Joel booms at the sad, pathetic excuse for a man once she is out of earshot.

His hands are clenched into fists and they are shaking. Every part of him is on fire.

“I think I’ll be going now,” David interjects lightly. “I can see my business isn’t welcome here. You have a beautiful daughter, Mr. Miller. Quite a mouth on her. Shame if something were to happen to her…Oh, the things someone like me could make her believe…”

Joel reaches back his fist to punch, to pummel, to kill, but suddenly, another hand grabs his and holds it in place. Joel’s boss has materialized behind him and is holding him back. Good thing too. It’s probably the only thing that saves Joel’s career and David’s life.

David winks and drives away as the boss begins to reprimand Joel who is still shaking and fuming.

All he knows is this: If anyone touches his babygirl he will not hesitate to put them six feet under, no matter the cost to himself. He will not hesitate to get blood on his calloused hands. He will not hesitate to kill. And this time? His baby will not sustain a single scratch . He will not wait for her to get hurt before he acts.

***

Joel wants nothing more than to go home and spend time with his babygirl and wife and even his step-son if he will allow, but there is blood popping and oozing and broiling and churning under his skin like billowing, bubbling lava. If he doesn’t do something about it soon he will explode worse than a volcanic eruption so he heads to the seediest bar he can think of. He makes his way inside and sits right up at the bar, already occupied by a few people. He orders a drink (his usual: whiskey on the rocks) and waits for the impending opportunity for violence he is sure is lying in wait.

He cannot believe the shit that came out of ‘Pastor-fucking-David’s’ sick, perverted mouth and that he almost lost his job over it. He lets that thought charge him up into a rage, his fists clenched so tightly they are beginning to ache in the joints. He cannot believe that disgusting little fucker had the audacity to say that horrible scummy bullshit in his presence when he would do anything to protect that innocent child. He takes a drink of his whiskey and knocks it back in one gulp. He would do anything , ‘Lord’ only knows. He snickers to himself sinisterly.

And while he’s on the topic, fuck God! When had He ever done a single damn good thing for Joel his entire miserable life except maybe to give him Sarah and then take her away like she was nothing and not the entire light of the universe wrapped into a small, vulnerable person? Joel doesn’t know much about the bible, truth be told, but he remembers a few things from his Sunday school days. He remembers that people are created in the image of God and the stories he remembers most are from the Old Testament which heavily featured a God of absolute rage. Maybe that is the way he is god-like, built of anger and revenge and wrath and the sick, pathetic hunger for power that lurks inside most people.

But he also remembers Jesus being meek and mild. Joel never understood that desire until he had Sarah and then Y/N in his care. If Joel could snap his fingers and make himself some fundamentally kind and caring man he would, but he can’t. Joel Miller is not a good man. He tried to be for Y/N, he truly did, but look at everything he’s done in the time he’s known her: he used Erica to get financial stability and roof over his head, he’s cheated on her numerous times, he beat Aiden, a child, and everyday the weight of that guilt grows greater as he begins to truly understand how wrong that was, and he beat his babygirl’s pathetic excuse for a father (but still her father) in front of her. He also beat people in bar fights and that time at the gym. And the thing is: is he even a little bit sorry about any of it – except for maybe what he did to Aiden? No, not even a little. And he’d do all of it again if it could mean getting to spend time with his babygirl, Y/N, again. His babygirl who FUCKING DAVID tried to threaten!

And the problem is: who knows what that fucker is capable of? The police and the judicial system let him out after one year which can only be described as a colossal moral failure and a massive miscarriage of justice. It wouldn’t take much for David to really figure out where they lived and grab Y/N and throw her in his trunk like he did that poor other little girl. Maybe that’s paranoid, but Joel knows better than most that when a man wants to do a dark thing he will find a way to do it. Joel does not want to live his life constantly looking over his shoulder as some horrendous pedophile lives freely.

And then he turns his head to look down at the rest of the fairly busy bar and he sees him . None other than David himself, drinking a beer. Joel cannot believe his luck. It is like all of the light in heaven has aligned to give him such a gift. A part of him is screaming to not engage because Joel is sure he could kill him for what he said about Y/N. But the rest of him is already standing up and grabbing David by the shoulder and–

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the fuck out of here now ,” he snarls. “Almost lost my job because of you, you sick fuck. You’re lucky I give you a warning and don’t wring your neck on the fucking spot.”

David turns around, Joel’s fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Proverbs 24:1 and 2,” he quotes calmly. “‘Do not envy wicked men or desire their company; for their hearts devise violence, and their lips declare trouble.’”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means perhaps I will be leaving. I don’t care to spend my time with wicked men such as yourself. And I have many preparations to make for what is to come. How is your daughter doing since we last met?”

Joel’s heart runs cold.

“Get my baby’s name out of your goddamned mouth .”

“Hope we run into each other soon,” David grins as he gets off the barstool and dislodges himself from Joel’s grip. “There is a lot I could teach her.”

He turns to leave. Disgusting coward, Joel thinks. He could let the man go. But then what? Live in fear of him? Let his precious Y/N live in fear of him? Joel is tired of living in fear, of resigning to a cruel man in a cruel world, and he will never do that or let Y/N do that ever again.

And then David leans in so close that Joel can smell the alcohol on his breath and the sweat on his skin.

“Can’t stop thinking about her pretty little hands around my–”

Joel doesn’t let him finish. In that moment he knows what will transpire. He picked this seedy-ass bar for a reason: so that no one will bother to stop him.

He lands the first punch with ease, doesn’t even feel the pain till minutes later. The force of the blow to David’s head is so strong he slams down into the ground. It is so violent that David’s eyelid starts to bleed and the skin around the impact spot becomes puffy and dark.

David shouts for help, but no one in this place gives a fuck and even if they did everybody knows who he is and what he did so they don’t give a shit two times over.

Joel continues the assault. Punch after punch reigns down on the other man as blood begins to coat his features. David tries to get a punch or two into Joel’s stomach, but Joel straddles each of his biceps and holds him down so he can continue hitting. The longer Joel hits, the better he feels. This time is different. This time he does not see the features of every man he’s ever hated in the face of his victim. This time he sees only David’s disgusting smirk in his mind’s eye. This time he only thinks about how he is saving Y/N from a lifetime of fear and cruelty. This time Joel will not let his adversary get a strike in first. This time he will be the one to stop the fate of impending devastation that lies in the palms of David’s shaking and broken hands. This time he can save her .

When Joel is done with his hands, he is panting heavily. He moves on to his feet, kicking the man’s gut sadistically, his trembling hands, his face. Crunch , goes David’s skull. And then he is not moving or breathing.

Joel stops.

A lick of fear trails against the inside of his stomach, but the rage, always the rage warms his stomach like a rush of flames.

So he keeps going. He bends back down and squeezes the man’s throat just to make sure. It’s good he did too because David’s bloodshot, viens-having-burst eyes snap open and David makes a pathetic little squealing noise and Joel squeezes harder, rougher, with more conviction.

In the end, it takes longer than he thought it would.

Joel only stops when he hears sirens blaring in the distance. He looks up for the first time since the assault started and sees all of the patrons staring at him in revulsion and fear. The bartender actually has the phone in her hand. Joel guesses she was the one to finally call the cops. He guesses he was so sadistic and violent that even this shitty place had seen enough. He thinks to run, briefly, but where would he run to? Everything he has ever wanted in life is now going to be closed off to him. But he saved Y/N and that makes everything worth it. It has to have been worth it.

Joel puts two scarred, calloused fingers to David’s pulse point, as blood (his and David’s) drips down from his knuckle onto the wooden floor and feels nothing.

When the cops handcuff him and take him away, he doesn’t resist. He comes quietly. He cannot ever really be a good man for Y/N, he understands that now, but at least now she and he may know some peace of mind after what he’s done.

***

The time leading up to the trial is a blur.

Erica pays for an excellent lawyer, but divorces him on the spot. It seems there are some things even she will not forgive, and apparently murder is one of them. She allows the children to see him one last time in cold, sterile police interrogation room. A court-appointed child advocate social worker must be present. They allow him to have his handcuffs taken off for the first time since he was arrested. The kids are told he accidentally killed someone in a bar fight and for legal reasons he leans into the “accidental” part.

Aiden comes in first. He knew who David was and tells Joel he did the right thing. Joel is surprised. He reaches out a limp hand, dirt caked under his fingernails, and shakes Joel’s for the first time since they’ve known each other and they part ways on good terms.

“You’re not my dad,” Aiden tells him quietly. “But you always put up a good fight to be there.”

And he leaves.

Joel is more touched than he wants to believe.

Y/N’s visit is much more difficult.

“How could you!?” she screams, standing by the door the second she sees him as he sits at the interrogation table, his chair turned toward her.

At first Joel thinks she means how could he killl another human being. Y/N didn’t seem to know who David was after all. But that’s not what she is mad about.

“How could you leave me!?” she shouts, tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be taken away from me! Mom is leaving you because of this and that means you aren’t like my dad anymore. You’re going to forget all about me and never get to see me again because you killed some dumb man who tried to give me a bible?”

“He was not a good man,” is all Joel can say.

He can’t be the one to tell her more, hasn’t told anyone how David had threatened her. Not even his lawyer. He doesn’t want to scare her, doesn’t want to admit to anyone he let those words even get to leave that shit stain’s mouth.

“I don’t care!” she shouts again. “I want you!”

And then she bursts into tears and runs into his chest and Joel holds her against his orange jumpsuit and starts to feel tears trickling down his own cheeks.

“Never gonna forget about you,” he nearly scolds her into hair. “How could you ever think that, baby? You’re my babygirl. I’ll get out one day and come right back to you, understand?”

“But Mom–”

“You’ll be grown by the time I get out and won’t have to worry about what she says. But I’ll tell you this: you might feel different about me by the time your grown up and however you feel I want you to know I’ll respect that. But I ain’t gonna forget about you. Not ever.”

“Your time is up,” the court-appointed social worker states.

“No!” Y/N shouts, burying herself deeper into Joel’s embrace. “NO! I’m not leaving! I won’t leave you!”

Joel hugs her back tightly, crying into the top of her head as she sobs softly into his chest.

In the end, the social worker has to pull her away as she screams.

“I love you, Y/N!” he calls to her as the social worker drags her from him. “Never gonna forget you, babygirl. Remember that.”

All Joel can hear back is a broken wail.

***

Erica attends the trial; the kids are forbidden. Joel’s defense claims it was a drunken accident and goes for manslaughter. Because he killed a known child molester he has no trouble while he waits in jail. He is even considered a hero by some. No one tries to fuck with him and that’s how Joel would prefer it since if he gets into too many fights it will just add to his sentence and he must get out and get back to his babygirl if she’ll still have him. His lawyer tells him not to mention the threats that David made toward Y/N because it will look like more of a reason that Joel would have had to intentionally kill him as opposed to accidentally like the manslaughter plea would have the court believe. Joel listens. He does exactly what he’s told because this lawyer is good and he needs to get out someday for christ sake.

In the end, he gets ten years and his lawyer tells him he could get eight for good behavior.

Eight years, if Joel can manage it.

They take him away to prison in handcuffs. Erica sobs. It is the last time he sees her.

***

Joel always wondered if his temper would land him in prison. Now that he’s here things go surpringly well. He gets a reputation for being the murderer of a child molestor and people respect him, listen to him when he bothers to speak. He keeps things in order and people start to refer to him as the “pod boss.” He also reads a lot in his cell, tries to help people with their cases and appeals if he can. And if someone steps out of line, Joel is more than happy to put them in their place so long as he can avoid attention from the guards, who he actually mostly gets along with to their faces, but behind their backs beats people to a pulp. No one ever dares to snitch on him and he is considered on the right track to get out for good behavior early.

Time passes — painfully long stretches of time.

He has a lot of time to think, to read. He reads every book in the prison library over the time he is incarcerated. He reads parenting books, self-help books, books on trauma, books on abuse, books on anger management, books on meditation, books on spirituality (nothing sticks in that regard though, he is still furious like God, but less so these days). Somehow his anger has started to simmer down a notch.

But he worries his babygirl will forget about him, or worse grow to hate him. He’s not sure he’ll survive that.

Luckily, or he might have withered away and died, somehow Y/N convinces Erica to let her write him a letter once a month and have one call with him on Christmas.

Christmases quickly become his favorite day of the year.

Y/N writes him religiously. She talks about how angry she is at him, how she misses him, how she finally fixed the motor on Joel’s old pickup truck, how some boy gave her a love letter on Valentine’s Day, how she thinks of him every day.

Joel never tells her what David said about her, lets her believe he is just some violent, drunken idiot. He writes back how much he misses her, how he read a new book this week, how prison food is shit, how he’d probably greet that boy with a shotgun if he thinks he’s getting anywhere with his babygirl, how his whole heart beats for her.

She’s allowed to send him one photo a year, her most current school photo, and Joel hangs them on the wall of his cell so he can see her beaming at him at his highest and lowest moments along with the tiny picture of Sarah he managed to save from his wallet.

Aiden even sends him a card each Father’s Day. It never has anything written in it except for whatever stupid pun or text the card came with, but Joel reads between the lines with that one. Each one seems to whisper to him louder and louder, I love you and I forgive you. Joel writes him back, “Thanks, kiddo. -Joel” He hope that conveys the thousands of sorrys he wants to scream from the rooftops and say straight to the boy’s face. He will someday when he gets out. He makes himself promise. He hears from Y/N when Aiden joins the marines.

When Joel gets to actually hear Y/N’s voice on the old prison phone it’s like the most beautiful sound he has ever heard except for maybe Sarah’s voice. She babbles away about her life and what’s she’s up to and he hangs on every word like gospel. He barely gets a word in, but prefers it that way. Wishes he could hear her singing. Once, when she’s sixteen, and sounds so woefully grown up it hurts Joel’s entire heart, she hums a little absentmindedly and he can’t get the sweet sound out of his head. Her love for him never seems to waver and that is a blessing that Joel will never forget, the only thing he would thank this cruel God for. And of course, his love for her never wavers either. She is the only beacon of light for him in this dark and mundane existence. She is his everything.

***

When Y/N is eighteen and no longer under her mother’s control, she comes to visit him in person. This is the first time they have seen each other in six years. Despite their loving correspondence, Joel is nervous to see her for the first time since her childhood. He worries about how awkward it might be.

When he sees her walking into the dinky little family meeting room, his entire mode of existence changes.

She looks so beautiful, so grown-up. Sure she had always been a cute little kid, Joel always thought that, but now she is a woman. Tears come to Joel’s eyes. When her eyes connect with his, he feels so seen .

He tries to get a word out, but before he can she is running to him, into his arms and Joel has never felt something so perfect in his entire life. He knows he has never felt a love like this before. Not even with Sarah…something about this is different somehow? Joel is not too in touch with his feelings, but he’s trying to be more attentive to them these days with nothing left to do but read about such topics as “emotional regulation” and “mindfulness.” He’ll come back to this thought later though…

Y/N begins to babble into his ear, something about missing him and not wanting it to be awkward, but this is the furthest from awkward Joel has ever felt.

Joel has never been a man of many words so all he can think to say is,

“Missed you, babygirl.”

She grins at that, brighter than all the suns of all the planets in the universe (Joel has been reading about those too) and he laughs for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

She laughs too, wipes tears from her eyes, and says,

“Missed you too, Joel. More than you know.”

Joel thinks that can’t possibly be true for that is all he has known for the last six years and possibly his entire life: missing her.

She comes once a month, drives an hour just to see him, and she tells him about college and later her very own shitty apartment. Her mother has thrown herself into her work and Aiden is serving his second tour. She makes good grades and has a stable boyfriend that treats her well, she swears. Joel couldn’t be happier for her, except the boyfriend business does make him want to crush that little fucker’s head in for some reason.

***

The last time Y/N comes to visit before his release (eight years to the day for good behavior) (she is 20 damn years old already!) something feels different to Joel. When he hugs her to greet her, he’s suddenly very aware of her body, the curves of it, her softness. Her hair smells so good, he doesn’t want to let go of her and then to his intense dismay and shock he feels himself getting a little excited down south. Immediately, he lets go of her, feeling like a pervert, praying she didn’t and doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see any obvious signs from her and the two sit down (Joel rather quickly) at the flimsy, nailed-down table and they talk of Joel’s impending release. All the while, Joel is trying to stay calm. He convinces himself it was just an accident and that he hadn’t been around any women in what felt like an eternity and that’s what led him to get worked up. But when Y/N leaves to go home he feels a kind of dull longing in the bottom of his gut. A different kind of longing then what he had felt for a younger Y/N. Joel tells himself not to repress for the first goddamn time in his life and let himself feel. And he does. He feels butterflies and yearning and need, a great big need inside himself. And then he knows what else he feels: the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love and beneath that, primal, base, and self-loathing: desire .

In his solo cell (that he has acquired because he is the pod boss and respected) he jerks off to those thoughts, touches himself to those feelings. When he cums unusually hard, he feels an overwhelming amount of shame. Of this, Joel knows, he will never ever tell another soul. Joel also knows he will not hurt his babygirl any more than he already has, intentionally or not, not ever. But then again, being a good, upstanding man has never really quite been in his arsenal, has it?

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PART 2

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

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star-girl69 · 1 year ago

Text

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i don’t have an explanation for this either. enjoy it while it lasts. i hope you all enjoy!!

side note but this is the chapter that started it all!!!!!!!!! it’s gonna be a long one. i thought of the title ultraviolence and then what happens and this chapter title is what came from it.

*if you’re curious, the title comes from the lyric “jim taught me that loving him was never enough”

warnings: reader gets punched (sorry i had to give y’all a true y/n moment), lottie gets brutally beat up by shauna, mentions of blood and such, i’m sure you all remember this scene….., swearing ofc, kissing, allusions to hot and heaviness lol, mentions of infant death, then actual described death, knives, attempted murder, like a lot of violence, cannibalism!!!!!!!, ritualistic sacrificing, ITS HERE Y’ALL, Y’ALL KNOW WHATS HAPPENING, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Thirty One - Loving Her Was Never Enough

—-

1996-

The days after the birth are startling. You know what is should feel like. You should be fussing around the baby, you should be complaining when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, but it’s just not.

The cabin is silent, you think maybe for the first time since you’ve been here. Silent. Eerily silent.

Shauna lays in the same bed she gave birth in, Tai sits next to her, and it’s all shrouded in this hazy layer of grief and anger and death. Everyone is just silent.

You sit on the chair by the window, Natalie at your feet, laying her head in your lap and you run your fingers over her blonde hair. Her roots are so bad now, but there is really nothing you can do. You wonder if it bothers her. She’s always hinted that she dyed her hair for a reason. You wonder if it haunts her now.

You watch Tai mutter forget Shauna about drinking something, but she turns around, he’s still in her arms, and she’s still silent. She hasn’t spoken a word since she woke up and held his little frozen body.

“Lottie?” you hear Tai ask. You look up from Nat’s blonde hair. “Do you see something?”

Lottie stands from the chair next to Shauna. “The snow. It finally stopped.”

Everyone sits up, now slightly eager to at least get out of this cursed and death-riddled cabin.

Travis and a few other girls quickly move, grabbing onto each other and the door, pulling and pulling while you grab Nat’s hand and wait for it to finally just burst open, like a bird waiting for their cage to open. Even if the hand coming in only brings food, you will bite and bite to get out.

And it does, it cracks open with a sickening crunch, snow spilling out like a tsunami.

“Holy shit,” Nat smiles, and you squeeze her hand, someone mutters about grabbing a bucket, and God at least you’re out. At least you can flap your wings, even if they’re not strong enough to get you out of the wilderness.

—-

You spend most of the day just floating around with Natalie. It’s peaceful, as much as you can get out here, your feet crunching through the snow and her hand in yours. Shauna buries her baby. Lottie, Misty, Akilah, Mari and Tai go out to search for Crystal after Misty conjures up some speech about their duty to find her even in the wake of his death.

You can’t do it, you can’t do anything except for ignore it and be here with Natalie.

—-

Much later, you’re all gathered around the fire, the search efforts abandoned for the day. Your hand is in Nat’s lap while she stares into the fire, and you’re listening to Misty go on about Crystal.

It made you feel bad for her, her cries and her speech, no matter how many looks Tai sends you about entertaining her, you can’t stop. Can’t take this from her. Even if the rumors being spread are that Misty murdered Crystal are true… you can’t. Because you don’t know.

If the rumors are fake and she’s really hurting… it doesn’t kill you to let her talk.

“And she was always singing,” Misty coos. “Always singing.” She starts humming along to a song you don’t recognize, but it is catchy.

“I’m sorry, Misty,” you say when she done. “Crystal is so wonderful… I hope you know that we’re here for you, and I’m sure she’s out there.” Lies taste bitter on your tongue.

She presses her hand to her chest, suppressing another cry, grabbing your hand and squeezing. When she moves onto the next victim, Natalie bumps your shoulder.

“You’re so nice to everyone. It makes me sick.”

“I’m just an angel, really,” you hold your hands above your head in a circle, a faux halo.

She smiles and grabs your hands, kissing your knuckles. “My angel. My nightshade.”

You grin stupidly because this girl really is your everything, and draw her in for a sweet kiss. Her mouth against yours is the same and yet wildly different every time. The way you fit together is always the same, like puzzle pieces, like you were made for each other. But the way she makes you feel each time your kiss varies.

Some times, like this, you’re just so happy you smile against her and your heart is just warm. Other times, your clash together hot and heavy, mouths open and teeth smashing, and she makes your entire body feel hot. Sometimes she just holds you so tight you know that there will never be anyone else for you- you just feel so completely and utterly hers, and better for it.

Van makes a gagging sound on the other side of the haphazard circle. You pull away with matching smiles, Nat shooting Van an unimpressed look.

“You and Tai are just as bad.”

The two girls look at each other before dramatically grabbing each other’s faces and pretending to roughly kiss, making you laugh. You adjust to turn towards them and not just Natalie, accidentally knocking over your cup of water onto the floor.

“Oh, shit,” you murmur. There wasn’t a lot in it, but still enough for you to warrant grabbing a spare rag to soak it up.

Nat rubs your knee as you stand, the door opening as you do and Shauna filing in. She obviously doesn’t want to be talked to. You feel bad, but you won’t force her to do something she’s not ready to do.

You stand up, humming Crystal’s song to yourself, heading for the rag on the table Melissa sits at.

“Why are you singing that?”

It takes you a second to realize Shauna’s talking to you. She’s turned completely towards you, something like hate festering in her features. It scares you.

You look towards Natalie, who looks just as confused as you.

You stare at Shauna like a deer in headlights.

“Where did you hear that song?”

“Um, uh, Crystal,” you breathe. “Misty was telling me-”

She comes towards you so quick no one can do anything to stop it. Her fists connects with your cheek, hard and uncoordinated because of her anger, and God does it fucking hurt.

You yelp and curl in on yourself, pressing your hand to your face and falling against the door.

“You killed my fucking baby!”

The sentence is the most terrifying thing you have ever heard. You barely even helped. You barely even helped.

Natalie is next to you in a second, you’re crying, she’s yelling and Shauna and whispering- Stop, Shauna! She did everything she could- Y/N, Y/N, baby, are you okay? Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Where does it hurt?

She presses her hands against your face, you hear the rage in Shauna’s voice and you’re terrified, you can’t catch your breath.

“No, shut up! You all fucking ate my baby!”

Shauna is beyond rationality. You look past Nat and see the pure hatred, the insanity in Shauna’s brown eyes. Van and Akilah are trying to hold her back.

She’s making no sense.

“I saw you! You were covered in blood!”

“Shauna, stop it!” Tai screeches. “You’re acting insane!”

Van suddenly yells and pulls her arm away. “Ow! God, she fucking bit me!”

Akilah let’s go of her, but Lottie is in front of Shauna now.

There’s tense moment. The entire room breathes heavily. She stops for just a moment.

Shauna grunts and punches Lottie in the face.

You flinch on principal and Natalie presses herself closer to you.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says, craning her neck to watch. You stare past her, entranced by the piece of rage that seems to have taken over Shauna.

Where did it start, you wonder? Her heart? Her lungs? Her liver?

Lottie brushes her hair out of her face and locks her hands behind her back.

“Travis, take Javi to the bedroom.”

You realize what’s about to happen.

“Lot?” Van asks, but she knows too.

“Shauna…” Lottie breathes, “I know there’s a lot of pain right now. Let it out.” No one moves. “Shauna, we need you, let it out.”

She swings. She meets her mark. Lottie staggers back but comes right back for more.

You breathe in.

Shauna hits her again and Lottie falls to the floor. She kicks her in the back. Again, again, again, again and again and Lottie jolts each time.

Natalie’s hands are shaking against you. Her nails dig into your sides where she now holds you. You’re breathing so much and not enough you don’t know how your lungs are still working.

Shauna climbs on top of Lottie and flips her over. She hits her. She hits her. She hits her. She screams and screams. And she hits her. She hits her. She fucking hits her until Lottie is passed out and unrecognizable, her face is bloated and bloody.

And no one does anything.

Finally, Shauna falls next to her, breathing heavily. She lays there and breathes. You’re not sure you breathe. Shauna sits up and looks at her.

“Lottie.” She doesn’t move. Of course she doesn’t. “Lottie.”

Lottie spits out blood. Then she breathes in. Laying on the floor, covered in blood, you swear you see the shape of white antlers in the fire behind her.

Shauna stands up and walks towards you. Natalie throws you behind her, but Shauna doesn’t look at you, she just walks past you and out the door.

Everybody rushes towards Lottie.

“What the fuck,” Nat breathes. “What the fuck.”

You press your burning face against her chest, cheek still imprinted with Shauna’s knuckles, and you cry. You cry.

—-

Akilah finds a mouse. She talks to it and it brings her comfort. She cries when Taissa shows her it’s not real.

—-

There’s blood everywhere. This wasn’t like Jackie. This is raw and disgusting. It tastes so bad and feels so good. You don’t stop until you’ve eaten what must be his entire arm. You’re all eating, you’re all moaning and groaning like you did that cold night with her.

There’s no smoke in the air this time to hide your sins.

Shauna runs in, there’s blood on your face and metallic in your mouth. She knows what happened. You don’t bother to wipe your face.

Shauna screams.

You wake up screaming, everyone is annoyed with you and groaning. You cry into Natalie’s arms. She says your name over and over again.

“I’m sorry, Shauna. I’m so sorry, Shauna. I’m so sorry.”

—-

You lean against Nat, the two of you sitting on the long bench against the wall, Coach Ben on the other end. The two of you have felt like a package deal lately. Sometimes you look at Shauna and you remember her rage and you feel your aching cheek- and you’re scared. You’re so scared.

Natalie looks at Shauna like she’s poison.

You don’t know why, you don’t know how, but you know the dream you had is not just what your mind conjured up. Somehow, someway, you know you saw what Shauna saw.

And that scares you so bad you don’t even tell Natalie. But she doesn’t ask, she just holds you through the nightmares, she holds you when Shauna’s near, she holds you when you remember.

You feel useless and stupid but you can’t get it out of your head. She doesn’t make you. You savor it a little longer until the next tragedy happens.

Nat squeezes your side unknowingly. You follow the sight line of her harsh glare and find Shauna picking up a blanket at Gen’s feet. Nat grabs your leg and hooks it over hers, she brings you closer.

“Sure,” Gen says sarcastically. “Go ahead.”

“You’re not using it and Lottie’s cold.”

“Now you give a shit about Lottie?” Melissa asks.

“Hey!” Van shouts, standing slowly. “Lottie took it from her to protect us. Don’t let that be for nothing.”

Shauna looks down. She looks at Gen and Melissa, and then she walks away.

Natalie’s voice is hushed when she speaks.

“Maybe Lottie dying wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

She moves her hand from your waist to the side of your head, pressing you further into her shoulder. Like she can just fold you into her, eat you up and keep you safe from this cruel wilderness. You wish you could do the same to her.

You know she’s not talking to you. You listen anyways.

“I mean, if she’s in pain, then… yeah. Maybe for the best,” is Coach Ben’s answer. The wilderness has forced you to talk about life and death like it is nothing. You wonder what special hell awaits all of you for squandering this gift.

Nat scratches your scalp. “Everyone’s just so… I don’t know. They’ve changed, because of her. It’s like she has some weird control over them or something.”

“Sounds like you’re jealous.”

“Right,” she says, and you could almost smile at the sarcasm in her voice. “Even Javi’s gone to the dark side.

“Oh, come on, Nat. He doesn’t even talk.”

Remembering Javi and everything he’s been through makes you feel sick.

“He doesn’t have to.” You feel her turn to look at Coach. “I saw him, like, bowing to a symbol tree the other day.”

“Which tree was it?”

“Hm, not far from the creek.”

You can feel Coach Ben realize something that terrifies him.

—-

Mari hears the dripping again, the dripping she’s been hearing for a while. Mari sees something. She screams. She says they’re dead. She cries when Taissa tells her nothing is there.

—-

When Natalie tells you of her plan to make Javi gloves, you say the first words you’ve said in three days that’s not panicked whispering in the middle of the night after a nightmare.

“Let me help.”

You do one glove and she does the other, managing to scrape together the materials- you’re grateful for Home-Ec classes now.

Faintly, you realize that Nat was in your class too. She sat in the back and was barely there, to be fair, but she was there. She was there before you knew to look for her. And that should seem sweet but it’s cruel, because it’s less time you could’ve spent looking at her.

You sit by Nat’s feet as she gives him the gift.

“They’re not that pretty.”

They’re beautiful because they were touched by her.

“And they don’t change color in the cold or anything.”

There’s magic in just being able to make Javi smile.

“But they might help.”

You watch him smile as he puts them on. You gesture towards him and he holds out his hands, letting you admire your handiwork on their final resting place. You smile. You smile and he smiles back. You turn his hands over before folding them up and squeezing them.

“Beautiful,” you whisper. Nat smiles.

You look up at her, but she’s not smiling anymore. She’s staring at him. At Travis.

“Need something?” she says. He leans against the doorway.

“No.”

He brushes his hair back and sits in Javi’s old place. You hate how uncomfortable Nat looks.

“You’re a good person. You’re both good people. And I’m sorry for… for ever making you feel otherwise.” Nat stares off over your head.

You stare at him. You grab his hand. Travis, Travis and Nat and you. That’s it.

It takes her a second, but she places her hand over yours and his.

—-

Not quite asleep yet, not quite awake, you lean against the wall together while you wait for someone to turn off the lantern. Nat is already asleep, her head in your lap, your hands again in her blonde hair.

Misty creaks down the ladder, Akilah scrambles from her sheets.

“Hey, how’s Lottie?”

“She’s, um…”

Your stomach drops, everyone sits up. Nat sits up, your hands fall from her hair.

“She said, um, if she dies… she wants us to make use of her. To stay alive.”

“Did she really say that? She must be really fucking sick.”

“I can’t imagine being here without her,” Van says, like it’s final. Like she won’t accept it.

“Me either,” Shauna says.

“Then let’s not.” Mari sits up. “Lottie isn’t gonna die. The wilderness won’t let her die.”

“It may not want her to, but if she’s starving… there’s no way she’s gonna live,” Travis says. He’s now sitting up next to you. You look at him.

“The same is true for all of us.” Nat says, her hand finds yours.

It’s for you, the way her fingers intertwine with her say. It’s for you, it’s for us, it’s for what we have.

Taissa sits up after a moment.

“Okay. We need to find a way to stay alive.” There is a deadly sort of focus, of a promise in her eyes. “And it can’t be her.”

—-

They set up the bone, the candle, the knife, all of it the same way they did during Shauna’s birth. That time, you were trying to save someone. This time, you’re trying to kill someone.

You watch them. You lean against the wall with Natalie.

“Nat,” you whisper, and it startles her because it’s been so hard for you to talk. “I’m scared. Why are we doing this? I… I dont want to die, Nat-”

“Shh,” she whispers, her hand on your face. “Not you. Not you, never you.”

And for some reason it comforts you.

Going into this circle means the chance to eat and the chance to die. But the hunger, hunger that you never thought a person could feel before, it hurts so bad you would do anything to stop it. It’s not you, it’s survival. It’s the primitive part of your brain your starving body reverts to, the part that would do anything to stay alive.

Most of the time that means fighting and killing animals. But there’s no animals to kill in these woods. There’s only humans. There’s only your friends.

The circle forms. Van flips through the cards before finding one. She holds it up. It’s the Queen of Hearts. The implication is silent but deadly. Whoever draws that card is the one who dies.

You watch her shuffle them. You’ve never been religious, but fear will turn you into whatever you have to be. You pray, even though some part of you thinks it’s no use, and a bigger part of you is too desperate to stop.

The circle is eerie and silent.

Some deep part of you screams to stop this. Screams for rationality, screams for any other way.

But you are beyond rationality. Nothing about this is rational or normal. This hunger is nothing short of a God-like experience- how can you want something so much that you would kill for it? How powerful could an emotion be that you would do this?

You’re staring down the jaws of death, the scent hitting your face, and you’re throwing someone else into the endlessness of its throat.

Van holds out the cards, face down, and Misty steps forward. She grabs the card at the top, her head level, eyes pointed down, she smiles and breathes in.

Misty spins around with her card, and everyone can see that she’s safe, this time, that it’s not the Queen.

Misty grabs the deck from Van and turns to Akilah. She stares at Misty, innocence in her eyes, but she grabs the card.

She doesn’t outwardly show what card she drew, not until she flips it around and places it over her heart.

Misty turns to Van. She isn’t subtle about it, she doesn’t wanna wait, she grabs the card quick and shows it to everyone. Not the Queen.

Shauna’s turn.

You can’t breathe. The hesitance is gone, everyone just wants to get it out with. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. You find Nat’s hand and you squeeze so hard it must hurt, but she just squeezes right back.

Shauna does not draw the Queen.

Travis’s turn. You’re scared. You’re so scared, you love Travis- but he doesn’t draw the Queen either.

Tai doesn’t.

Melissa doesn’t.

Javi doesn’t. He runs to Travis, who hugs him and says it’s okay, but it’s not okay. You all know this is no okay, this is insane, but you’re too far in it to stop.

Misty holds out the cards to you. Oh. Oh, it’s your turn.

Natalie shuffles closer to you. You take it, you take it and you pray and pray that you’re not the one who’s throat will get cut today. You want to live, you want to live so bad it’s like a fire in your bones.

You flip the card over.

Eight of Hearts.

You hold the card up to your chest, you feel Natalie let out a breath. Your lips quirk upward. You’re safe. And Natalie will be too.

Misty holds out the cards to her. You hold her hand. You know it won’t be the Queen. You know it won’t be. It can’t be, because you love her.

You love Natalie, so she can’t die.

She takes her time. She breathes in heavily. She’s slow to draw the card, like she’s pushing through something invisible in the air. But she’s not fighting to get it, something is pulling her back, rationality.

She draws the card close to her. She flips it. You can’t see it. She holds the card up to her chest.

You love her and it can’t be the Queen. You love her and it can’t.

Everyone gasps in horror but it takes a second for it to sink in for you. Time doesn’t work in the wilderness. Your lungs don’t work now.

The theory that oxygen is poison that takes a hundred years to kill a human? It must be true. And the origin of that poison must come from these woods, because you can’t breathe.

“No.” It’s the only word you can think to say. “No, no, no, no, no, no,” you repeat, frantic, you’re climbing up the walls, you press your hands to your face.

Natalie doesn’t look at anyone. She accepts it, she takes a step forward.

“NO!” you yell, you grab onto her, she grabs onto you. You thought it wouldn’t be her. You knew it wouldn’t be her. What is the point of this mess of the future being slowly revealed to you if you can’t save the girl you love?

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she’s shaking and crying, you’re sobbing against her warm body. “It’s not you, it’s not you.”

You dig your fingers into her shoulder’s, she has to keep you standing.

“It’s not you. It’s not you. It’s not you.”

“I won’t eat you,” you cry into her neck.

No one bothers you for this one moment. They let you have this.

“Yes, you will.”

“I won’t!” you shout, but it fades out and you’re just crying again.

Van and Mari grab your arms. Natalie let’s go of you. It’s the worst betrayal you have ever felt.

How can she do this to you? How can she do this?

“Please, please, please,” you cry, but their grip on you is too tight. You watch her walk forward.Shauna meets her in the middle. You can hear her breathing heavily, it’s silent for a moment, your mind hasn’t realized this is happening yet.

“Turn around,” Shauna says.

“I love her,” you cry. “I love her, I love her and you can’t do this, please don’t do this, please don’t-”

Nat turns around and looks at you. You can barely see her through your tears.

Shauna wrap’s Jackie’s gold necklace around her neck. She grabs the knife.

“I love her,” you say, almost resigned. “I love you.”

She looks at you. Shauna brings the knife to her throat.

“Wait. Wait,” she grabs the knife. She turns around. Her words are shaky. She’s scared. She’s scared too.“You’re gonna have to look me in the eye.”

Shauna presses the knife to her throat, they’re both crying, you really truly can’t breathe. Your mind catches up.

“Travis! Travis, Travis please, please, I love her you can’t- you can’t-” he stares at the floor and doesn’t look at you. You dissolve into sobs. That’s all you are. Sadness, grief, rage, insanity.

Misty walks over in front of you, you can’t tell what she’s feeling. You can’t decipher her face through the tears clouding your vision.

“I love her, I love her… please…”

Misty’s face hardens. “It’s not enough.”

Your heart breaks, you swear you can feel it break.

“We need food more than we need love.”

“You sick, twisted bitch! You fucking psycho! I know what you did, I know what you did!”

The sound of metal breaking. Misty’s labored breaths. The sound of a body hitting the ground. Screaming.

Who am I? You have no answer. Not anymore.

“You stupid fucking bitch,” you laugh, you cry, “You stupid, stupid girl. They’re gonna know, they’re gonna find out-”

“Shut up!” Misty yells, slapping you and you’re suddenly silent by the shock of it. “Shauna, go.”

You cry. You cry, because Natalie is not here to hold your cheek. She held you until the next tragedy happened, and you never expected this next tragedy to be her.

The knife is at her neck. You love her and the knife is at her neck.

Travis yells and barrels into Shauna. The next moment is a whirlwind, Van and Mari let go of you in favor of Travis, Misty takes their place.

Nat meets your eyes in the second of chaos.

“Run!” And she does.

“No! No, she’s getting away!” Misty screeches.

She runs right out the door, Travis fights and fights, but eventually the girls manage to pin him to the wall. Mari holds the knife to his throat. They all run out the door. Misty drops you and you fall to the ground.

There’s a sound.

You realize they’re howling. This is not a chase, it’s a hunt.

Travis is breathing heavily, you’re slumped against the ground, you look at Javi.

He survived. He survived for so long.

You stand up, you stagger towards him, you place your hands on his face.

“You know, Javi. You know, you know where she can hide, under- under the tree, you have- you have to-”

He looks into your eyes. He looks at Travis.

“Javi,” he breathes.

And Javi runs out the door. The girls don’t even recognize the danger. They don’t stop him.

There is an advantage to bring so young. You are never perceived as a threat. You are never really seen, not for what you are.

“Y/N, w-what’s under the tree?”

The girls holding him to the wall are frozen in time.

You stare at the floor.

“Sanctuary,” you whisper.

—-

You wait outside. You hear her footsteps. “Natalie, Natalie,” you day her name over and over again, running into her open arms.

“I knew it wouldn’t be you. I knew it wouldn’t be you.”

You press her so close against you it’s like you’re glued together. You breathe out and look towards the wilderness.

“Natalie!” Travis shouts, you here his footsteps behind you.

You watch as they carry his body like a dead animal, hanging by a stick.

Natalie presses her hands against the back of your head. “Travis. It… it’s happened so fast…”

“No,” he whispers. You can’t look at him but you can feel him.

“The wilderness chose,” she breathes.

“No. No! No!” he runs past you and towards where they have dumped his frozen body.

He was wearing the gloves you made for him.

You press your face against her neck. You can hear her breathe. You can feel her arms around you. For right now, that has to be enough.

Travis screams and cries as you and Natalie go inside.

—-

Natalie feels guilty. That’s the only emotion she can name. She feels more than that, of course, she feels this deep devotion to Y/N that’s more than love, she feels grateful but not quite that she’s still alive, and she feels scared but also knowing.

Y/N keeps saying that she knew. She knew it wasn’t Natalie. And Natalie doesn’t know why but she believes her. She’s starting to realize that too much has happened in the wilderness for there not to be something more. Something here.

She doesn’t tell Y/N, but she talks in her sleep. Little whispers, so only Nat can hear them. She talks about antlers. And you’re scared, you’re shaking, but you never quite wake up. And most of the time Nat just touches her face and wonders what she’s dreaming about.

She needed to be out here in the cold woods, gathering firewood. She needed to be out here, away from everyone in that cabin who tried to kill her.

When she offered to go and you grabbed her hand, looked up at her eyes, she suddenly realizes that she almost lost herself- and you almost lost her too. She would go crazy if you had been the one to draw the Queen card.

But she needs to think.

She tells you she loves you, because she heard you, while Shauna had that knife to her throat, she heard you. She wraps the blankets around you and leaves and says she’ll come back and she will.

She makes her way back to the cabin. The smell of blood is so strong, she wants to turn back but she doesn’t.

She hears him just as she sees him. His breathing is terrified. He turns around and starts hobbling as fast as he can, away from the cabin.

“Coach,” she breathes. “Where have you been?”

His eyes soften. “Natalie. W-what happened?”

She stares at him. She knows he sees the horror in her eyes. The memories in her eyes. She can’t say it.

“O-Okay, okay, okay, listen. I figured out where Javi was hiding, all right? I-I think that you, me and Y/N together could probably survive the winter.”

She looks him up and down.

“Hey, do you hear me?”

Her face hardens.

“You don’t have to stay here. You’re not one of them. Both of you aren’t like the rest of these girls.”

“Actually, I’m worse.”

It feels good to say it.

“How can you say that?” he says, genuinely confused, almost betrayed.

“I let him die in my place.”

There are tears in his eyes.

“It was supposed to be me.” He stares at her. She feels guilty, guilty for shattering her perfect vision of him.

“F-fine. Fine, fine. You don’t- you don’t have to go. Y/N and I-”

“She knows things, Coach. She knows things. Doomcoming, Lottie told me that soon, we’ll all see if the way she sees it. She whispers in her sleep about antlers, she gets scared when nothings there, and she… today, she told Misty that she knew what she did. And Misty was scared.”

She can see everything crash around him.

“You’re a good person, Coach. You really don’t belong in this place.”

She stares at him and he stares right back. Something breaks, the friendship they had.

Something breaks.

—-

1997-

Your hair is knotted, matted in places. You cannot remember the last time you touched a hairbrush. They made you shower but there’s still dirt under your fingernails and in between your toes.

You keep your head towards the ground, the flashing lights of cameras ringing in your eyes and ears, feeling her hand in yours and someone’s hand on your shoulder, guiding you forward, shouting for everyone to step back.

But they don’t listen. The are journalists. Paparazzi. They want this new story like you wanted meat. They are hungry, just like you.

You don’t even realize you’re climbing the steps of a plane, just like you did that day in 1996. The worst has already happened to you.

Lottie screams and you do not even flinch. Even while the cameras stop flashing, everyone falls silent. It doesn’t scare you, not anymore.

You have heard this scream a thousand times before. From a thousand different mouths.

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydoki @happysparklingshadows @zhivaxo @maraudeerrs @karsonromanoff @onlyangel-444 @subastronaut @iheartnatscatorccio @yourlocalloser-core

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

#natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #nat scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you

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merp-blerp · 6 months ago

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Kaylor, Arial, and Belle: A Strange Deep Dive... Thing 🌼🐚🥀🌈

So Mr. Christian Siriano had mildly rocked my world by posting the infamous rainbow dress again, plus a new rainbow dress. However, him posting the rainbow dress with yellow/gold dresses, plus the purple top on the most recent rainbow dress, has me and others pondering, so here's my two cents. Come clown with me if you'd like.

This post inspired this.

Naturally, Siriano posted this dress for a mystery person to wear for NYC Pride 2019, that mystery person theorized to be Taylor originally before the master heist potentially ruined that and Billy Porter wore it instead:

Fast forward to 2024, where Siriano posts this infamous dress once again, first on being on 6/3/24, the second time with a new rainbow dress on 6/28/24, once again imploring others to guess who the dress is for:

It's worth noting that there are other rainbow dresses by Siriano (and at least one more time he posted the original rainbow dress pro-2019, but that wasn't significant here), but they don't seem to have as strong of a connection to Taylor outside of being yet more rainbow dresses:

On 6/30, Siriano posted this photo with a male model (Kyle?) wearing (half, technically) of the 6/28 dress. In the same post, he writes "Oh and everyone don't worry it was not for Taylor but we love her!!" It recognizes that every gaylor associates his rainbow dresses with Taylor and the story of "Diva who we made this for can't come to pride anymore", which lines up with the NYC Pride coming out theory. This is not the first or biggest time he's acknowledged the theory, but it is always very affirming for Siriano to be so open on it:

I personally wasn't expecting Taylor to actually wear the 6/28 dress at any point (I mean, I clowned just in case so it could potentially be manifested, but I wasn't getting my hopes up). Still, the allusions of her associations with Siriano's dresses are present in the new dress posts and interesting to think about, especially when Siriano himself plays into them when he really doesn't have to.

So I just wanted to piece together this idea of Taylor + Karlie = Arial + Belle symbolism from my perspective as a fairytale and Disney nerd.

Theorizing time!

Part 1: Belle = Karlie Kloss 🥀

With this makeshift theory, I'd like to start with the most interesting side first, which might not seem as obvious. I think Karlie might represent Belle in Taylor's music and that's at least a part of why the rainbow dress(es) is pictured with yellow/gold dresses, as that's often Belle's main color outside of blue. As to why:

Belle's dress being gold (in the film itself) or yellow (in merchandising) could easily parallel Taylor's lyrics about associating her lover with gold and the sun, like "Gold Rush", "Daylight", etc. It also fits Tay saying Kar was the sunshine emoji in their Vogue Best Friend video.

Belle as a character was allegedly inspired by Katharine Hepburn's portrayal of Jo March in Little Women (1933). Katharine Hepburn was a queer woman and Jo herself has been interpreted as a queer character.

Belle could arguably be a "static character", as in one who doesn't change throughout the story. That doesn't make Belle badly written, it's just the type I personally think she, at least somewhat fits into. Karlie, for as long as she's been reflected in Tay's music, from what I can tell, has not really changed in her role. She's always been Taylor's beloved muse.

While I sadly can't find a source— if you can, please share—I've heard before that Belle's blue village dress was inspired by Dorothy's dress in The Wizard of Oz (1939). This nicely complements the theory that Karlie is Dorothea in Taylor's song by the same name and that Dorothea is a reference to Dorothy Gale, who herself is a queer-coded character and is associated with the queer slang phrase "Friend of Dorothy". Both Belle and Dorothy yearn for a life that's beyond the one they're living because their peers don't seem to understand them. Many of Taylor's songs have this yearning in them, like "Down Bad" and "I Hate It Here". They aren't the ones in their stories learning the lesson; Dorothy helps her friends learn that they had their gifts all along and Belle's presence in Beast's life inspires him to be better. They're also very accepting of those who are different from society's expectations, Belle with the Beast and Dorothy with her various friends.

Lyricist Howard Ashman wrote the songs for both Beauty and the Beast and The Little Mermaid with Alan Menken. He was also gay and unfortunately died of AIDS in 1991, Beauty and the Beast being the last project he worked on (he technically worked on Aladdin in 1988 before it was released in 1992, but a lot of his songs were cut from the film because the story changed over time, so I believe Beauty and the Beast is typically considered his swan song).

Beauty and the Beast did NOT come out the same year Karlie was born, 1992, but almost did, on November 22, 1991. In the "...Ready For It?" MV, 89 and 91 are on the wall in red and yellow, kind of like Arial and Belle, though the 91 is likely just a beard red herring in the song about bearding. This isn't really a point, I just thought I'd mention it.

Belle is a similar enough name to Betty. Belle means beauty (in Spanish) and the old slang term "Betty" refers to an attractive woman and someone who "...has a smile that can light up a room, and a laugh that could change anyone’s mood..." according to Urban Dictionary. Both names in Hebrew mean God's oath/oath of God.

In the Gaylor world, yellow is often seen as representing closeting/escaping closeting, since the closet room in the Lover house is yellow and Taylor wears a yellow dress after ghosting the prince in the "Bejewled" music video (there could be other reasons too). In the 6/3 photo of the rainbow dress, the mannequin the dress is displayed on and the yellow dresses behind it have a yellow sheer wrap around their heads. For the rainbow dress at least, Billy Porter didn't wear a yellow wrap around his head when wearing the dress, as it's not a part of the outfit, so why is it on the mannequin? My best non-gaylor guess is to help pair it with the yellow dresses better, but why is the dress with these yellow dresses at all rather than with the other rainbow dresses Siriano created or something more similar in concept? It might not be for any Taylor-related reason, but who's to say? It seems as if it's a random choice (and I like how in the og rainbow dress post Siriano's profile picture just happened to be of a yellow dress. Fun happenstance).

Yellow daisies are associated with Kaylor due to their presence in the Big Sur trip and Taylor referencing them in "Don't Blame Me". Daisies are also associated with queerness, being a slang term for gay. Wow, Ms. "Now I'm your daisy", that was bold to say now that I think about it.

Roses play a big role in the general story of Beauty and the Beast, including Disney's. Some of the strongest Kaylor songs mention roses, like "Maroon", "The Lakes", somewhat "The Albatross", etc. The rose is often out of place, like in "The Lakes" where it's growing out of snow, as if it was magical that it happened or seen as not something that should happen, yet it did. Carnations are mistaken as roses in "Maroon", to me representing how Kar and Tay's love isn't always like the norm, so not always a rose, the most common love flower, but carnations still mean love (and have a queer history attached to them). It's "A rose by any other name" and "is a scandal" like in "The Albatross".

Certain songs have been theorized to be from Karlie's perspective towards Taylor, like "TTPD", "Renegade", "Cardigan", and even "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)". All the songs mentioned depict the narrator as trying to help their lover gain strength, knowledge, or simply better habits. In "Cardigan", Betty is steps ahead of James, knowing his moves before he does them because that's how much she loves and knows him, regardless of his actions. Similar to Belle's brainy personality and Karlie's seemingly matching one. Belle never actively tries to "fix" her beast on her own accord in the Disney film despite popular interpretation. She notices that Beast is making an effort to change his ways and supports him through it, as seen in the film's song "Something There". Belle never stomached his bad behavior, running away when Beast pushes it too far and only coming back when he earns it. She never "sees the good in him" before he actually exhibits good. This is similar to Betty (and the narrators of the other songs I mentioned), who lets James come to her when he's ready, rather than stay with him after he did something wrong and is clearly dealing with some baggage in an unhealthy way. I'd say "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)" was the only exception, but the song ending with "Whoa, maybe I can't" acknowledges that the idea of "fixing" anyone is often a lie; the narrator knows this and stops (sarcastically/in a tongue-in-cheek way IMO) sassing that they can. But the narrator describing her lover with lines like "The dopamine races through his brain" and "Softly traces hearts on my face" communicates to me that the lover, Taylor, wants to improve on her own accord. Taylor and Karlie are always working together to get to a better place, like Belle and Beast, not one trying to fix the other.

Part 2: Arial = Taylor Swift 🐚

This one should take less explaining I guess. I have less to say about this one.

Disney's The Little Mermaid was released in 1989, the same year Taylor was born. Arial is 16 years old, the same age Taylor was when her first album was released.

Taylor dressed as Arial for New Year's Eve in 2019 (or 2018 if you want to be technical about it...).

Arial has a forbidden romance with a human. Taylor has written about forbidden romances plenty before. Gee, I wonder why—

Of course, the title of Taylor's song "But Daddy I Love Him" is a reference to a line Arial says in the film.

The purple top on the 6/28 rainbow dress is reminiscent of Arial's sea-shell bra.

Mermaids and Sirens are often conflated as the same creatures. Sirens, whether they were half-bird or half-fish people, were seen as evil creatures pulling sailors to their deaths, their voices and songs too alluring to resist. Reminds me vaguely of "Put narcotics into all of my songs // And that's why you're still singin' along" from "WAOLOM". Mermaids have also been seen as victims of men (sailors), promiscuous figures, lucky charms, child-appropriate creatures, and temptresses to men, like Taylor has been seen at times in the public eye.

Many of Taylor's lyrics allude to her seeing herself as or even portraying herself as a monster, beast, or otherworldly creature. "Anti-Hero", "WAOLOM", "...Ready For It", "Don't Blame Me", etc. Mermaids have been seen in many ways over the years, villainous or virtuous. Hans Christian Andersen's original version of the story was subversive at the time for not making the mermaid evil or sexualized. But she's still a half-fish creature, not a natural human, so she could still be considered a "creature/beast" whether she acts beastly or not. Therefore Taylor sees herself as the Beast to Karlie's Beauty.

Andersen's original story ends with the mermaid attempting to jump off the prince's ship after he didn't fall for her back. She expects to turn into sea foam since mermaids have no souls to become angels. This would fulfill her deal with the sea witch. However, the mermaid is saved by these fairy-like creatures called "Daughters of the Air", as they recruit her as one of them so she can do good deeds for 300 years with them and gain her soul without the aid of a man's love. It somewhat reminds me of Taylor pausing the beardings and abandoning men to hang out with her squad. "I picked the petals, he loves me not // Something different bloomed // Writing in my room..." (from "YOYOK").

And Andersen was fairly certainly queer.

As for this line in "Clara Bow": "Beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours // Demanding more..." I think it's mostly a commentary on how painful the demand for women to be beautiful is. But under this lens, it could be slight self-reflection; I wouldn't be surprised if Taylor has personally felt the pressure of trying to stay as beautiful as possible, both in looks and spirits. Inside her is both physical and spiritual beauty, but beauty can be a beast, demanding to stay against all odds despite natural aging or moments of being human and exhibiting more negative "non-beautiful" emotinal traits.

Not really a point, but here is a fun fact: there are ✨13✨ official Disney Princesses currently, starting with Snow White and currently ending at Raya (I don't know if Asha from Wish counts yet or will count). Belle was the next princess directly after Arial in terms of their film's release dates, similar to Karlie and Taylor's birthdates.

#happy birthday karlie!#i guess this is my official kk birthday gift post #i was going to interpret “betty” but i wasn't sure if i had much new to say #i still might idk #i also want to do cardigan #also why does tumblr not allow you to make text yellow #like not even a deep yellow that can be seen against white #i swear it did for a short time #kaylor #late stage kaylor #gaylor #gaylor swift #friend of dorothea #friends of dorothea #lgbetty #lgbettys #gaylor theory

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crystallizedkingdoms · 4 months ago

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Haiii sie & johann *passes by* thank you very much for your kind words (I think in general besides art, your comments are a joy ^_^) OUT of curiosity what’s your writing process like when it comes to Yiik (How you deconstruct these guys in your work is something I definitely envy HA,..)

HAIII FOX :3 nice to see you <3 i will gladly tell you all about it i have been Dying to talk abt how i write yiik bc honestly, my fics for this game have been among my favourite to write! i might even have to put this under a read more lol

SO okay heres the thing. it helps to separate the story of YIIK into layers of reality. my personal layers (because god knows other people interprets it differently): there is Alex’s Reality (the story of YIIK taken completely as factual, delusions and lies and all. the year is 1999), and there’s the Outsider’s Reality (strip away all of Alex’s delusions and try to find what really happened. Michael being years older than Alex and moving away is here. the year is 2016). theres also the 4th wall which is self-explanatory.

so with these layers, there is no really hard line between any of them, including the 4th wall. it’s damn near impossible to ever truly tell how much of the characters we know is part of which reality, especially the Outsider’s Reality. we’ll likely never know Vella’s true name, how Rory actually interacted with Alex, what Michael really thought of Alex. the game of YIIK itself is riddled with allusions to other media that can only be pieced together understood by us the players, and never the characters themselves.

but here’s the thing: it doesn’t really matter. When i write fics and deconstruct their character, i either pick one layer of reality to strongly settle in (december came too fast is settled in Alex’s Reality while the thing about explorers is: is settled in Outsider’s Reality) or i heavily oscillate and obscure the two, similar to how YIIK the game itself mixes both (both my Michael fics deal heavily in that territory).

When you’ve got that fundamental setting built, that’s how you can strongly probe how the characters react to each other and what theyre feeling inside. for example, Alex in his Reality is everything he wants and fears to be, and by god he acts like that. He’s snarky and self-centred, but he also has the mask of a Hero and a video game world that he can hide behind, so there’s a sense of untouchability to him. No matter what, he knows he’s going to be okay, if miserable.

But when i take him out of that reality and into the Outsider’s Reality, where he’s just a helpless kid with a broken family and broken friends, he can’t be the same. Unlike in his Reality where he can try to ignore and bend things out of existence, in Outsider he can’t. hes forced to confront his feelings for Michael and forced to confront his hatred for his sister (obligate nestling soroicide). It traps him. and trapped characters are the easiest to dissect.

Trapping the characters in YIIK is easily the best way to dissect them for me, because what is the game if not a trap? It’s Alex’s trap for everyone around him, including himself. So i explore that trap in a million different ways. Alex trapped in his reality. Rory trapped in grief for his sister, or trapped in a relationship with Alex. Claudio trapped in the chase for his brother, Claudia trapped in the expectation of mourning. All the different ways they react when they are trapped/free play off each other really well.

Anyways, the last and most personal point to me is the 4th wall, and specifically the use of allusions. YIIK is so open and proud about the fact it takes from different media to add and enhance the story, and while I’ve always let my other interests play a part in my fics (song lyrics as titles my beloved), YIIK’s openness to using other stories as blocks for the characters lets me do that with a billion times more confidence than any other fandom. if Alex can be Don Quixote, then he can be Marvin/Christopher Columbus from In Trousers, he can be a cuckoo bird. Rory and Vella can be Orpheus and Eurydice. Michael can be all the dogs in every poem, and he can be the New World.

tangential to the above i also just get really fucking loose and silly with it. Rory drowned his sister in a water well (which is physically impossible) because he believes it, so it is true now. Michael has a leash on his neck because that is what he’s feeling. Rory hooks up with the personification of Death as an allegory for his suicide because isn’t that weird and fucked up? (haven’t posted that one yet but its coming)

ACTUAL LAST POINT I PROMISE: it also really really helps to first understand the character at face value before deconstructing them. that sounds obvious as fuck but Trust Me it’s harder to really study who the character we see first is before we make any assumptions on what the hell is going on inside of them. Studying their speech/reactions/physical body language is something that really helps, and I’ve been procrastinating working on a guide for it.

anyway uhhh sorry for the essay. thank you for the question and if you wanna know anything specific/talk more abt it just shoot me another ask or a dm ^_^

#im gonna main tag this just in case anyone else who’s read my fics are interested in how i break things down ^_^#i can go reallyyyy into details with specific characters and fics and word choices but unless im asked for specifics #im just gonna talk abt all of them and we’d be here all day LOL #yiik #asks #mewfies #synapticconstruction

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spade-riddles · 2 years ago

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I just realized something very interesting about the surprise songs last night. Everyone was expecting her to sing a folklore song in honor of folklore’s 3rd anniversary and at first it seemed like she completely ignored it but upon further inspection I think she actually did acknowledge it by repurposing old songs. To be more exact, I think message in a bottle and tied together with a smile allude to 🎃 anon’s 8th and 9th messages which have a lot of allusions to folklore. Here are some parallels I found:

Message 8:

•Hold on, baby, you're losing it, The water's high, you're jumping into it and letting go // Your ship is docked too far out to sea. You’d swim to it, but the waters are infested with sharks. Your life raft is long deflated…in one swift motion, you replace the solid boards beneath your feet with rushing deep blue water

•And no one knows, That you cry, but you don't tell anyone, That you might not be the golden one // You’re a selfish asshole. So much of your fear is your own. You wince at your cowardice like it is a gaping wound. You so often find yourself unable to meet your own eyes. You scramble into shadows like a black cat. Scared, even, of being scared

•I think her diving into the stage after the surprise songs could represent her jumping into the aforementioned shark infested waters and being tossed out on waves (evermore, cardigan mv). It makes sense why midnights would directly follow this if we look at messages 8-11 which describe how after being attacked by sharks she made it back home and reunited with her lover at 3am (i.e. after midnight). I think the setlist, cardigan mv, and 🎃 messages all tell the same story.

Message 9:

•You are sitting on a beach, cold and windswept. The sea is dark and angry before you. The sun sets in muted colors. You finish scrawling on the parchment. Your pen dries up as you reach the end of a story in 11 parts. None of it makes sense anyway. You're sick of having to dilute everything so far beyond recognition. But a story told through metaphor is still a story told. Even the great poet Sappho is survived by stilted fragments and mistranslated lyrics -> This message pretty clearly describes how she felt while writing folklore back in 2020: the parchment paper which she’s mentioned in her betty speeches, the sun setting in muted colors (august to illicit affairs transition representing gray folklore following the failed lover era coming out which would’ve been daylight), the part about metaphors diluting the truth and Sappho’s story surviving all these yrs later is literally the definition of folklore

•And you're tied together with a smile, But you're coming undone // The flawed, scarred, angry, grateful, nonsensical heart. The one that hides deep inside glittering ballgowns. The one that questions everything, but mostly it questions if the world it has grimaced through so many smiles for would love it for what it truly is

•A message in a bottle is all I can do, Standin' here, hopin' it gets to you // You roll the parchment, slipping it into an empty wine bottle. You may have told the story inside out and backwards, and it may well sink to the bottom of the sea or fall on deaf ears. It may wash up on a sunny beach in Florida, or a rocky shore in the northwest. Either way, someone somewhere will know about that recipe card. And the warm safety you cherish within your fence. And the heist that stole more from you than you ever planned on stealing from the museum. And most importantly, they will know about the human heart // Lost in your current like a priceless wine // Her clinging onto the “folklore” piano in the cardigan mv representing how writing folklore was a coping mechanism and lifeline for her

She said that she picks songs that are related in some way and this is the only connection that really makes sense imo

#🎃#Well thought out anon

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tayfabe75 · 1 year ago

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Thoughts on the TTPD tracklist?

Hi anon! Oh boy, I'm still gathering my thoughts!

First and foremost, I don't think that this album is going to be what anyone expects it to be (in the same way that everyone expected "Slut!" to be a power anthem and it ended up being a 'lovelorn' ballad). From what I'm seeing around on Twitter and Reddit, everyone seems pretty certain that this will be a breakup album full of "tea" about a certain ex, but I'm going to have to disagree.

Now, I don't much care for tabloid culture, myself, so please take this with a grain of salt! That said, I remember reading very early on that Matty had moved in with Taylor, shipping off all his "things that made sounds", since he'd be bunked up with her "to help write her next album". While The Sun is a tabloid, it was the same publication that predicted Matty would be in Nashville on May 5th and that The 1975 would feature on 1989 ("debunked" by most other sources, yet confirmed by several sources on Christmas day…)

If it's true that Matty helped write for the album (he did add "Writer" to his Instagram profile following the "Slut!" leak), I hope we see his name reflected in the credits (again, that is IF he helped write anything). If he has nothing at all to do with it, then it's incredibly likely he inspired several tracks. I could tell you which ones I suspect, but the likelihood anyone agrees with me is slim, because my theorizing includes allusions and parallels to lyrics and themes in older songs or albums, many of which have already been "attributed" to other exes without any further discussion or speculation. I try to keep my answers palatable, but I personally think Matty's been a chief muse for far more albums than almost anyone suspects.

Since it took me a couple days to get to your ask, Taylor has since cleared up that, yep, she wrote TTPD after turning in Midnights, so roughly two years. If you'd like to know who the muse of TTPD might be, let's keep in mind that this happened over two years ago. Whatever people think the timeline is… isn't. That definitely includes me, but I'm at least picking up on inconsistencies that are going largely ignored by many people blinded by personal biases. I'm hoping there are some direct lyrical allusions to the man, himself, to clear up any confusion… or perhaps to cause a whole lot more! They're both fans of chaos, after all. 🤍

#answered #speculation: ttpd

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pluto-the-chinchilla · 1 year ago

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This is for a multichapter slowburn (extremely slowburn) he-said-she-said canon-divergent Red SolNep fic I have a lot of drafting for but will most likely never write. But I wanted more SolNep content so I decided to try and put some music to it. It’s not properly organized yet so the flow is jank but I hope rarepair lovers will like it! :33 💚💛

Track List~

“Falling for the First Time” by Barenaked Ladies

Sollux POV! The perfect song for his conflicting feelings, his back and bird self-contradicting mindset, and how he tries to pessimistically talk himself out of making a move. If you’re willing to be self-indulgent like I am you can see little Nepeta allusions in the lyrics. :33

“Kids Again” by Artist vs Poet

Both about one another. A sort of light hearted song being far more sentimental toward the other for their fears and doubts. Taking it in baby steps and promising to be there for each other and how they care regardless of where those feelings take them.

“Boba Date” by Kimmy

Nepeta POV! Just a cute very in character date idea for Nepeta who most agree would be a filthy weeb — plus she canonically loves tea! This could work for any Nepeta ship. I like to imagine maybe Nepeta eventually makes a little cafe in the new world for artists and writers and people just trying to catch a nice vibe. Bringing Sollux here only to tell him it’s all on the house… what? I said this was self-indulgent!!!

“Hot” by Avril Lavigne

Nepeta POV! Just a song for all of her big romantic shippy f33lings!!! The opening line is “oof” and might give the false impression that this is a more yandere route. It’s best to put “I wanna lock you into a closet” on the same level as “I could just eat you up” or something. The rest is her just gushing about Sollux and how crazy about him she is, wanting to do anything and everything with him. I like to think at this point in the relationship it’s actually been over a year since they’ve hooked up, Sollux is in a much better place in his life and she’s gushing over watching him thrive and how they thrive together.

“Emergency” by Paramore

Once again Nepeta POV and depending on the circumstances this could fit other ships, however this is the first song I feel especially world for them. In my head this is a conflict involving his past loves Aradia and Feferi (particularly Aradia; since while I love him and Fef infinitely more I acknowledge that Aradia keeps him firmly pinned in his grief) and Sollux is still going through the motions. He should be healed and over it by now he thinks but Nepeta knows better. She’s more in tune with her feelings. She knows how Sollux must have suffered and of course she knows she’ll never take the place of Aradia or Feferi and she’s not trying to — she’s never going to replace anyone but nor is she going to be a bandage placed on top of two wounds that refuse to stay closed. She knows he’s trying to move on but recovering isn’t linear and despite how Sollux feels like anybody who tries to be with him is doomed Nepeta both doesn’t see things that way and even if it was a threat that she thinks he’s worth it. He’s carrying a lot of weight but she’s str0ng af and wants to help shoulder it with him. Oofie this one was long.

“Broken Sutures” by Ultrakylstron

Sollux POV. I deliberately went down a rabbit hole of looking at nerdcore music to see if I could find a Sollux vibe. And this one is a little contrived, especially if you don’t know about Honey & Clover (which is a cute, soft, passively sad shoujo anime that I can’t recommend because it does that creepy thing where a child character design gets passed off as an adult to make l0lic0n more “acceptable”) but essentially it’s unreliable guy likes a cute girl who likes someone else. And the lyrics go into applauding him for moving in but how that always falls through and it becomes an amalgamation of loving Nepeta but also never letting go on what he’s already lost. Also the idea of her getting him into anime more his vibe is… 💋 chef’s kiss.

And… more… I’ll come back I swear but I’m on my phone and my eyes are sensitive even with blue light glasses. )X

#homestuck #solnep #sollux captor #nepeta leijon #Sollux x nepeta #rarepair #playlist #Spotify

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simplegenius042 · 1 year ago

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Music Monday

The UnTitledverse, Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, and Life, Despair & Monsters.

Tagged by @cassietrn and @josephseedismyfather thank you very much.

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @shallow-gravy @adelaidedrubman @strangefable @direwombat @jillvalentinesday @chazz-anova @inafieldofdaisies @wrathfulrook @voidika @poisonedtruth @josephslittledeputy and @g0dspeeed + anyone else who wishes to join.

Trigger warning: Allusions to executions in the second song. Also there's swearing in the last song if that's of any concern.

For The UnTitledverse, I've got a good little song for the Twins of Terror themselves, Malcolm and Maddison Darling. One (Malcolm) became a human-cordycep hybrid with mechanical prosthetics for his lower half with a taste of lethal revenge (and projection of an unhealthy sibling-substitute fixation?) against Ellie Williams from The Last Of Us, while the other (Maddison) became a multiversal assassin who failed miserably at her job so ditched her employers and succeeded in becoming a serial killer instead... all the while searching to reunite with her twin brother. Song below:

youtube

"Insane, inside, the danger gets me high Can't help myself, got secrets I can't tell

I love the smell of gasoline I light the match to taste the heat

I've always liked to play with fire Play with fire Play with fire (Fire, fire) I've always liked to play with fire

I ride (I ride) the edge (the edge), my speed goes in the red Hot blood (hot blood), these veins (these veins), my pleasure is their pain

I love to watch the castes burns These golden ashes turn to dirt (hmm, hmm)

I've always liked to play with fire Play with fire Play with fire (Fire, fire) I've always liked to play with fire

Oh, watching as the flames get higher Oh, I've always liked to play with (Mmm)

Right of passage, classic havoc Match in the gas tank, ooh, that's wretched Unstoppable, legendary animal (mmm) Digital justice, now you're gonna know us Hail to the king and queen of the ruckus Yacht Money wired, no denying I've always liked to play with fire."

For Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, I have Father Adam Omar and Oscar Lapis, the former the prophet of the Congregation of Adam's Guard, one of the main antagonists of Silva's Hope (the other being Joseph Seed) and a character I intentionally wrote to be despicable, and the latter the captain of Adam's Enforcers, the right-hand man of Adam and also quite despicable as well. Adam is also Silva and Elsa's biological father, and the reason why they have so many issues, and has also affected Paul and Kamski, while Oscar was an instrument of torment used by Adam against the other characters, plus Oscar also murdered Irene Neon, who was Silva's first love, Kamski's daughter and Persephone's mother. Both were involved in the generational enslavement, oppression and eventual massacre of the Tumultite community. Song below:

youtube

[Note the lyrics that have been cherry-picked out are only because I feel they mostly fit the characters of Adam and Oscar, and there is much more in the song but has been removed down below]

"The temperature's low, but our purpose is much higher What's behind us mustn't blind us to divineness that transpires

And by grace we have been with that most elegant of truth You stand here, not abandoned, but as testament and proof

For a city is its people and its people are its heart Stood together 'gainst the weather, 'gainst the coming of the dark Ne'er a lantern has been build with oh-so righteous a spark When providence claims continents, but provided us an ark."

...

"Brute force and discipline ensures all the citizens Are chipping in sufficiently, under threat of imprisonment Liberty's prohibited, retired, it's mandatory compliance now To keep the fire alight, we need to stamp any defiance out

We can ill afford the price of human rights nor pay the cost of anger So we stifle scrutinising eyes astray with propaganda The only way that we can pull through is under cruel rule If a single person falls out of line, we all do."

...

"I have heard there are those who would defy us Dissidents without repent are bent on questioning the dias Twisted iron fist pariahs and their heretic messiah

Hand in and skin the sinners if you wish to skim divinity Each shiver will deliver us in deliverance in time Burn the innocents for penitence if we preempt the crime

I'm protector of the truth, great erector of the New Faith Defectors and objectors can expect a second doomsday Unquestioning our destiny, relentless we pursue fate Alone I have been chosen to be spoken through by true grace Frozen Omens say we should evoke another crusade"

...

"Infecting desperate residents with false hope Now they've sworn oaths and pledged commitment to a cult No mercy will be shown or quarter given, fetch the coiled rope

And hang them by the necks until it's taut, the lesson learned is certain No measure of faith will keep you warm or sate your appetite So pray, heed the warning, or we may just have to tax your life."

...

"Now the book of laws is closed and its pages shine a light As the people fill the shrines in line with my divine right This battlement of sacraments, as chattel to our rite The sacrilegious and recalcitrant shall vow or face the smite

Nonbelievers shan't deceive us, we shall greet their cheek with grievance In this ceaseless season, we redeem the meek with bleak obedience Seeking each unheeding heathen, see them bleed or plead allegiance Blessed be relief from freedom; lest ye feel the need for treason

Since the precept was decreed, its certainty was predetermined Mere herds of sheep are people, thus, they need to be subservient 'Neath so turbulent a firmament, the worst of men survive Pray their mercy may preserve us once we touch the other side."

...

"Now the book of laws is closed, you've no hope to try and fight As the people fall in line and march in time with iron might Nonbelievers shan't deceive us, we shall greet their cheek with grievance In this ceaseless season, we redeem the meek with bleak obedience

Seeking each unheeding heathen, see them bleed or plead allegiance Blessed be relief from freedom; lest ye feel the need for treason Since the precept was decreed, its certainty was predetermined Mere vermin are the people, thus, they need to be subservient

Turn a leaf in the journal, weep as you read the scriptures The book of laws is closed, it's frozen shut couldn't thaw But should the storms subside it might be time to write a couple more."

For Life, Despair & Monsters, I got a song for Miraculous Miracles. This is for the part of the fic where it goes from "crime-fighting comedic trio consisting of a bi-disaster super-heroine who's got talent, her pun-loving laid back cat hero with abandonment issues and a teleporting inter-dimensional humanoid plant-fungus mentor with magic cards who has to be convinced not to eat anyone" to "Everyone is healing from what Sir Enigma Malvolio did, especially Marinette." Song below:

youtube

"I got my driver's license last week Just like we always talked about 'Cause you were so excited for me To finally drive up to your house But today I drove through the suburbs Crying 'cause you weren't around

...

Oh, and I can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone I guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

Red lights, stop signs I still see your face in the white cares, front yards Can't drive past the places we used to go to 'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe (Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh) Sidewalks we crossed I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing Over all the noise God, I'm so blue, know we're through But I still fuckin' love you, babe. (Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh)"

#the untitledverse #oc: malcolm darling #oc: maddison darling #oh i love my revenge-driven affection-starved maniac with no communication skills and his cringefail girlboss sister who looks up to him #far cry the silver chronicles #oc: father adam omar #oc: oscar lapis #one is a hypocrite in faith who denies being such a thing while the other is a hypocrite in general but is honest about it #life despair & monsters #wip: miraculous miracles #marinette is gonna need a hug #a hug she will receive from everyone even hatter #sir enigma malvolio won't though and that's a good thing

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bookoramaenderteeth · 9 months ago

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Eithet songs or genders for the top 5 thing. I couldnt choose which one to ask you

(In retrospect I don't know why I did the ask game, I'm so bad at picking favorites) If I HAVE to choose five songs, and specifically selecting them so each fits a different niche/genre/space in my brain: 5. Rainbow Connection, by Kermit the Frog. I'm a big fan of the Muppets in general, and this song specifically is partially why. It's sincere, it's deep, and it feels like I can't listen to it without being filled with a sense of wonder, at the world and all its contents. When I listen to this song, the Muppets make perfect sense, with all the frogs and bears and chickens and whatever. They're part of the rainbow connection.

4. Talk About Bones, by Seeming. My boyfriend got me into Seeming. The first time I listened to their album Sol with him was the first time we met in person. We lay in the dark, listening to the whole thing together without speaking, ending with this. The whole album could honestly be on this list, I can't think of one song without thinking about how it flows perfectly from the rest. I can't recommend this album highly enough. It's not music - it's an experience. Dim the lights, listen closely, and open yourself to being banished.

3. Hopes and Dreams, by Toby Fox. Look, anyone who's known me for a while would know there was going to be an Undertale song on this list. Hopes and Dreams is the climax of one of the best storytelling experiences of my life. It ties it all up in a neat little bow, motifs bringing back character moments long forgotten in what feels like both a deadly boss battle and a tear jerking farewell to a world you invested your thoughts and emotions into. Or in my case, less a 'farewell' and more an 'Au revoir', since I will inevitably get sucked back into the game or fandom at some point (over 100 hours of it played on Steam, and at least five Youtube playthroughs watched in full).

2. Natsuki vs. Raven, by Freshy Kanal. Look. I know. This is not what most people would think of when asked to list their favorite songs. But I have a theory, as an English Literature student, that rap battles are the epitome of literature and stories in general:

Stories are based on conflict, and a rap battle is conflict distilled. Two or more characters enter the story, fight for the audience's amusement, and then the story ends, leaving the audience to determine the victor.

All literature and storytelling function based on the context it's in; to maximize the effectiveness of a story you need to understand the allusions and references of the time and make proper use of them. Rap battles are full of references, to pop culture, history, character backgrounds, etc.

Storytelling is all about language. Rap battles make incredible use of language, with intricate wordplay and double or triple meanings.

Also this one just has really good lyrics and an absolute boppin' beat.

Honorable Mentions: - Songs from the Hatchetfield musicals. Extremely good music, very good plays. - Homestuck music. Fell under the same umbrella as the Undertale song, so didn't look for specific ones. - This one song I made up as a kid called Hot Green Bananas. It is terrible. I'm using it for the theme song of the show I dream of making someday. 1. I'm Me, by Vanessa Doofenshmirtz. I dare you to listen to this song and tell me it doesn't deserve the number 1 spot. Pure self-actualization, distilled into a series of metaphors. I still listen to this one if I need a pick-me-up in the confidence department.

#Thank you so much

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straighttohellbuddy · 2 years ago

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Okay, I'm always interested in learning more about 'but you're talking in your sleep'. Obviously lvjy song and the mc's/your interest in literature are two important story details. How did you decide to intertwine those? Like, did you read you are jeff and decide to make a fic off of it, or did was it the songs that inspired it? Why did you decide to do both? Idek if this makes sense, tbh. But I'd love to know your though process, in general, regarding that fic.

oh YO this is perfect I love you im gonna ramble for a bit !!

also context; read but you're talking in your sleep (Wilbur/Sister-Innit!Reader)

So initially I was hyperfixated on Pebblebrain when it came out (weren't we all) and my song flavour was Oh Yeah, You Gonna Cry? and the very first idea I had was about the reader and Wilbur being best friends and former FWB after the reader starts dating a fuckboi, which I realised I've already kind of talked about here, but I'm happy to reiterate that the line 'say my name in her sleep/i thought you knew her better than me' and Wilbur just being the cockiest motherfucker without a shred of self awareness that he is very in love with the reader and that's the main reason he hates her boyfriend (who is also just a tool).

the idea to intertwine the lvjy and specifically siken is so unbelievably self indulgent; he's my favourite poet and has been for years, and Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out has been my favourite poem for a very long time. as for You Are Jeff, i can't remember exactly, but I think I saw the first few lines of the last stanza in like a webweave while I was looking for inspiration and I realised 'you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you he loves you, but he loves you' is the most precious, perfect summary of reader & wilbur's dynamic in the fic. this was also the basis of the part of the reader's characterisation where they always used allusions/implications/other people's words when they were afraid of speaking the truth. a few of these moments that i want to point out;

the first one is of course Do I Wanna Know?

literally all of the lyrics for this song. i tried to pick a few but holy shit all of this song -- the first time the song's mentioned when it's Y/N's karoke choice and then immediately calling Wilbur right after they'd chosen it I think the key lyrics are; 'Have you no idea that you're in deep? / I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week / How many secrets can you keep? / 'Cause there's this tune I found / That makes me think of you somehow an' I play it on repeat / Until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee

the second time the song is mentioned is when Y/N and Wilbur go out to a pub with his flatmates in brighton and she starts humming it when they head to his bedroom, and it's just the whole second verse; So have you got the guts? / Been wonderin' if your heart's still open / And if so, I wanna know what time it shuts / Simmer down an' pucker up, I'm sorry to interrupt / It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of tryin' to kiss you / I don't know if you feel the same as I do / But we could be together if you wanted to

the one that personally might break my fucking heart that Y/N is very familiar with Jubilee Line, which is already a fucking bleak song especially since she lives in London, and later has some implications about how if she didn't leave London she was going to jump in front of a train, but there's a little moment in the first chapter when she's on the phone with Wilbur right before she decides to come visit him -- “I’m everywhere. My mind’s everywhere. The walls shout back, I didn’t realise they could do that, or start the argum- I’m not making sense. I’m sorry.” -- it's such a blink and you'll miss it allusion but she's making a point to hide the truth she knows about Mark and her relationship by reference Jubilee Line and the lyrics 'shout at the walls because the walls don't fucking love you'.

In the final part, when Wilbur comes to pick up Y/N from the french cafe, and she's quietly moved by how much he cares about her in a way other people in her life seem not to -- before turning and beaming at him, thanking him again for coming all this way, adding that he didn’t need to worry; ‘no cause for concern’ is how you worded it, deliberate. -- Because 1) 'We ain't gonna hurt you' but also, as much as there is a more romantic final chorus to that song, she is also like 'you could knock the wind out of my breath / you could knock the teeth out of my head / and still it's no cause for concern' like she loves this boy who drove to another country for her, he can do whatever he wants forever in her books.

and one other one off the top of my head is the fact that the name she'd hidden Wilbur as in her phone is Pandora as a reference to the text conversation when they'd reconnected, yes, but also because He Gives Her Hope.

and now, on this already long post, im going to talk about the lovejoy lyrics that were "inspired" by Y/N in the fic (when its really the other way around)

Sex Sells gets an in-canon one; But the song he’d written about how Mark doesn’t love you he just loves that you’re his, that you hate him but you keep going back to him for reasons Wilbur still doesn’t fully understand, and now on top of it all you know that Wilbur can’t stop fucking thinking about it, about you, even when he’s trying to sleep? It’s accurate, and everything tastes like ash in his mouth for several bitter moments. How’d it go again? How’s it feel to be so loved, yet so alone? He’s got his answer, can hear it in your sobs as you sit on the steps of your boyfriend’s apartment two hours away.

So lets go through Pebblebrain

Oh Yeah, You Gonna Cry? is obviously a huge one lol, with a lot of what i drew Fucking Mark from;

You got the same eyes as your father / And you carry the same kind of temper too / But what a shame for the people of the community -- which ties directly in with another of the songs i'll get to, and this line from a flashback; “It’s a good school, though, I’m glad I got in, and Mark, he’s- he’s really sweet. It’s brave of him to move, even though I’m on campus and he’s not; none of his family’s lived outside of Nottingham for generations,” the face you’re making is close to a smile, to anyone else they might mistake it as such, but there’s a wrinkle in the bridge of your nose, a tightness at the edge of your smile, “he’s training to go into the same line of work as his dad, he’s just glad he can do it here,” you laugh, but there’s no humour in it.

But I quite like your girlfriend! / How the fuck 'd she end up with you? -- i think this speaks for itself

And she told me that she fuckin' hates you -- regarding the moment; Later, he’ll ask the question that’s been plaguing him, ask if you even like your boyfriend. Later, you’ll be wrapped up in his sheets, stretched out on his bed as your whole face scrunches like you’ve bitten a lemon, and he’ll have no idea what you mean when you tell him that that hasn’t mattered in a very long time.

the whole song is about Mark in this fic. the whole song. i love it so much.

Model Buses could also be arguably about Mark in some respects but I've held myself back from putting that thought into the fic.

I don't think Concrete has any real connections to the fic either, however.......

PERFUME, BAYBEEEEEEE

in the context of the fic, it's written mostly after the reader goes home from brighton after their affair with wilbur where they're clearly in love with each other and he's struggling to deal with that in a healthy way by writing the song. i could add analysis for LITERALLY EVERY LINE but i wont. just know it's all Y/N

It's 3:45 (AM) / And I just bite my tongue / Update me on your life / And now you've found the one / But I don't like his eyes -- hence his building almost resentment whenever they call him when drunk and insisting that mark's not as bad as he seems

And I can still smell her perfume -- because it's on his damn pillows.

You say your ex-boyfriend's a policeman / Well, I say you need better standards -- you remember how i said a line in OYYGC links to another song, well it's this, now, because with Y/N talking about Mark training to go into the same field as his dad, we also get this reveal, despite not drawing attention/connecting it to the earlier mention of Mark's chosen career being the same as his dad's; “Mark’s dad’s been chief of police in our town for as long as I can remember,” Tommy says with a sigh.

Why can't you be a dick? / Why must you be so nice? / It's hard for me to move on / When I don't really hate you / (I don't really hate you) -- this one's a lot of things, it's Wilbur fully acknowledging that he should not be cool with Y/N cheating emotionally and physically on her partner but still making peace with it despite the turmoil the situation has caused him. it's also him kind of frustrated at how despite Y/N rightfully calling him out for writing such a spiteful song as Sex Sells, they didn't take it as badly as they could have, and so he acknowledges that he doesn't actually believe what the song is saying about them. it's ALSO a deliberate echo of this moment; “I wish I could hate you more for this, but I don’t,” you mumble, soft and a little forlorn, heart not in your words as his aches. He should have kept that song to himself, like his gut had told him to.

You'll Understand When You're Older is an interesting one because I appreciate the actual meaning of the song a lot, but i also like adding my own to it, so the context here is it's half inspired by the Y/N situation and half by current events;

It must be nice to be the reason / His work, it ain't so bleak / That must be what motivates you -- there's spite here as he considers how little Mark appreciates Y/N and her love and kindness, with the veiled implication of 'if Wilbur were in Mark's situation these lyrics would be sincere'.

All he needs is to see you smiling / And well, you light up his whole week -- that implication and subtext moves straight up to text here. Wilbur is just talking about himself here.

Imagine thе kind of things he'd do to you / If there wеren't so many cameras -- calling back to their almost moment when Y/N had sat in on Wilbur's stream in brighton, refusing to reveal their identity;

“If you’ve got something to say,” insufferably smug, he watches you puff out your cheeks. Averting your gaze, you flip him off, hand in frame for the camera to see, “sook,” he teases, “just say what’s on your mind.” For a moment, your mouth drops open as if you’re about to say something, to call his bluff, but your gaze flicks to his webcam. What’s on my mind, you mouth pointedly when you look back to him; something about your expression has turned bashful for reasons he can’t quite fathom. You glance quickly at the camera again before shaking your head, you wish, you mouth, but can’t quite look him in the eye. There’s a serious moment where he considers ending the stream, because this feels like it could be a moment, a chance. He’s a hypocrite, he can’t begin to say what’s on his mind, won’t give himself the chance, getting back to his stream after another brief moment and a deep breath.

and of course;

And you're keeping a dark secret / But you're talkin' in your sleep -- Y/N loves Wilbur, not her longterm boyfriend. wilbur knows this because she talks in her sleep. <3

The Fall again isn't relevant.

and finally, in the fic, a lot of the lyrics and vibes were completed not too long after Y/N and Wilbur reconnected, before Are You Alright was even released, but Wilbur will never in his life (in this fic lol) admit that It's All Futile! It's All Pointless! was a heartbreaking hybrid of his own feelings/experiences, and kind of who Y/N had become in the two years since they'd seen each other, also what he had seen a little bit of after she reconnected with Mark when she and Wilbur had first met, while wilbur still tries to act like he's not in love with her. but it is, and he is.

HOLY SHIT OKAY THATS SO MANY WORDS but also a lot of that ive been holding onto for SO LONG and im so glad i got the chance to talk about it. seriously anything else abt the fic you wanna talk about because I love it TO DEATH. every day i fight the urge to explain the entire 46 song fic playlist. i lov u.

#wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur imagine #wilbur soot imagine #bytiys #shut ur pretty mouth

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somethingpersonarelated · 2 years ago

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The Phantom Thieves as K-pop Songs (an analysis): Shujin Trio + Morgana

LONG POST AHEAD! There will be more parts! I'm also going to give them kpop groups at some point but that will be later! Using CCL for translation. SPOILER WARNING NOW FOR ALL POSTS :) lets goo

Joker/Ren/Akira: MVSK by Kep1er

Hear me out. Every single time I read the lyrics for this song I wonder if the lyricist was a persona fan. Okay. To the quote:

Are you sure? Are you serious? Maybe you’re living in a different time Are you happy? What are you up to? I’ll invite you to the world I’ve imagined

From a stylistic and a musical perspective I think the connections are pretty obvious (shoutout to the Brave Girls cover, I think it also fantastically fits with the Joker persona). The House fusion in this song just oozes style that I think Joker perfectly displays. I think this first verse is a simple allusion to his role as the leader. Joker is a person that attracts people to him, through his nature as a wildcard and his subtle charisma (that's what I like to think of it as). Joker reaches out to a variety of people throughout his journey, giving them hope, and the common thread between all of his confidants is the conviction they have.

Don’t try so hard to push yourself Into that tiny crack in the door With all the senses in the world stopped It’s not fake, It’s real In the mask colored by the world Show me the real you Babe The Persona hiding in that mirror

Shh I won't insert shuake into this part i promise but if you choose to read it that way I encourage it!!! I have another song that I think also encapsulates Akira, but I think this covers early-game pretty well. In his interactions with the thieves he's there to catch and support them. Key example: Ann, as he supports her to embrace her real self and let herself open up which leads to her Persona's awakening. I also think this describes a theme in the game as well, but Akira is the representation of the game's themes, which is fitting.

Ryuji/Skull: NalinA by BlockB

Okay LISTEN TO IT. TELL ME I'M WRONG. Quote time:

I’m the starting point of all envy and threat from guys I’m a real-time popular searched keyword bro

These lyrics are a lot more straightforward to connect to Ryuji. A constant sticking point for him throughout all versions of Persona 5 is how he just for the life of him cannot shut up about being a Phantom Thief. It's a point of pride for him both that they are acting as the Phantom Thieves for the sake of justice but also that they're popular. Out of all the thieves, Ryuji is probably the most concerned with their popularity. Of course, he learns as a part of his character arc that this isn't the most important part, but he can't help it when they're mentioned in public to make a comment about it.

I bet you’re dying^ – follow me baby – Because everything about me is perfect (gugugaga gugugaga) Just look at me lady, don’t you wanna go crazy? Anywhere I go there are shouts Coming out from people’s mouths

He's also one of the most energetic (and I think one of the hearts) of the PTs. If there's one person you can expect to rally the PTs, it will be Ryuji. His iconic moment in Strikers where he finally gets to curse makes me think of this song. He knows that he's brash but he knows that is the most important trait he brings to the team.

From a musical standpoint, the song is unapologetically loud and taunting in its delivery. Just like him. It's a song I can imagine him listening to regularly, which was one of the most important criteria for making the list.

Ann/Panther: ANTIFRAGILE by LE SSERAFIM

While I feel like softer pop also fits Ann very well, if the dancing games are any indicator, this style also fits her. This song is a description of her ambitions through some interesting imagery:

Walk like a majestic lion Eyes glinting with so much desire Pour more out, gasoline on fire Fly again, rising through the flames

No, I just love the way this describes how she rose through the obstacles that the first arc of the story presented. How she chooses to be strong and to make that choice each day because her promises to Shiho and herself are stronger than one moment of weakness or doubt.

Don’t underestimate the path I’ve walked I go to ride till I die die

Adding this line to apply to those last couple sentences. I just think it's raw and it reminds me of her strong conviction during the first arc.

“Lovey lovey lovey dovey dovey dovey” Defining me however you’d like

Fervent attention, welcome Cute jealousy, go ahead Stringed puppets, no thanks With my song I’ll build my future Yes gimme that

The way these verses are delivered have been a point of contention for many in the kpop community, but in the context of this, we do not care. I think that if Ann sang this song, she would do it the same way and I would be proud of her. Ann has always had to fight against how other have perceived her, whether it was Kamoshida (fervent attention), Mika (cute jealousy), or the general public/classmates (stringed puppets). She wants her heart to grow stronger so she doesn't crack under the pressure, so she can always be there for those she loves.

Morgana: Very Nice by Seventeen

Okay I had to put this one in for the sillies: JK okay but in terms of vibes yes but there's not anything I can substantially analyze here.

The actual answer: Fighting BY BSS

While keeping a similar silly vibe in its genre, this has much more to analyze (not that much but let's pretend):

In the stories (Why do all my friends) Look so cool there (Why me me, only me) Why why why why am I still struggling, why? Why am I getting pushed around? (i-gu i-gu i-gu i-gu)

Morgana makes it clear that the main insecurity he struggles with is being unsure if he is a human. He also struggles to remember why he is with the Thieves in the first place. Not only does he physically feel smaller than the others, but because he feels that without his memories it feels that his goal is unclear, without ambition.

Stretch out my back, my arms and my legs Ooh I feel like I’m seventeen If I live with unhappiness That’s never worth a penny Then I’m just wasting my time, man

Honestly I think that this is just fun! The first line I picked to include just because he's a cat. At the end of the day, Morgana tries his best to be an optimist. Akira struggles without Morgana to assist him throughout the day, and the main theme of this song is learning to come to terms with a life that may be difficult to manage day to day. They're at their best when they can help each other, because Akira gives Morgana purpose.

I had way too much fun writing this, and I hope you got some music recs or fun out of reading this. Thanks! (and stay tuned)

#persona 5 #joker persona 5 #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #morgana #ann takamaki #ryuji sakamoto #kpop #my sillies #i am in a silly goofy mood #i wonder if there's a kpop au out there. probably #thinking emoji

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jessthebaker · 5 days ago

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Ugh, Adira, my heart. So many feels here. I get why this chapter took you some extra time to write.

The subtle homage to the original game cast, that took me how many thousands of words to finally pick up on? Brilliant.

Sheep being called the fluffy shits. Bahaha.

The reverence given to Ellie's knife and Joel's watch.

"Whatcha reading, Ellie?" "oh, just porn." made me guffaw.

This, super Dad Joel knowing all about loving fiercely. Ooof:

Spoilers and Maria Appreciation under the cut

I loved the attack, as hard as it is to envision. The allusion to Abby being scared of heights and not knowing that the Roost is uplifted, yes I also wonder if the teens came with a plan and then had to ditch it at the last minute for a new plan? In any case, fuck them kids. Sorry their families got murdered, but fuck off.

Maria seemingly coming around to Joel's particular set of skills after a year of knowing him, and now that his skills are needed in defense of Jackson, she doesn't disapprove.

Side tangent: Maria is a wonderfully complex character and she gets a lot of flak in fandom for being so judgemental of Joel at first, but I appreciate the hard position she's in. Running a functioning town in the middle of nowhere at the end of the world? Keeping her people safe while also helping them regain their humanity? Seeing an older man travelling alone with a young girl, and that man being Big Bad Joel who she's heard about from Tommy? That's a hell of a situation for her to be put into. And you can't tell me any reasonable person in OUR world would ignore that giant red flag. I appreciate Maria so so much. She feels vaguely hypocritical in this particular plot point, and Lark calls her on it, but she's not wrong. Jackson is vulnerable as long as outsiders know of its existence, and she has to consider the safey of the many over the desire to return to a gentler humanity.

And on Joel's return: "He’s taking his time coming down. Doesn’t want to force himself back into a space so safe and quiet after pushing through one so big and mean." - Your prose is so lyrical. Mate. Love it.

Joel apologising to Lark, her gentle redirection of who he really needs to apologise to, and the quiet way it's done and acknowledged without Lark getting involved, yet she sees the results of that conversation later on.

The shadowbox with the watch inside, ready to be taken off a wrist for good (or maybe just for now?), and still being clearly on display and not shoved in a drawer and forgotten, or mourned privately. Everyone in Joel's family knows who the watch signifies and he doesn't hide it away anymore. I think I love this point the most, because he is allowing Sarah to exist in the world again, at peace with her memory, not hiding it away and lashing out at people out for daring to speak her name. He can lay down the burden of keeping her a secret and just...live. Wonderful stuff, Adira.

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 4: Winter

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: Mature.

Warnings: Mentions of sex but nothing explicit. Canon-typical violence, bodily harm, death, (blood, broken bones, knife wounds, shooting, blunt force) and PTSD.

Summary: Revenge comes calling and you work though it as a family.

A/N: Series set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although it does use some characters/elements from the second game.

I’m so sorry it’s taken this long to get to winter. This one was difficult for me to face writing for reasons that may be made clear. But it was very rewarding. <3

The air is thin and cold this morning, takes your breath and makes a show of it as you quickstep it down to the stables. The sun is just starting to make the frost sparkle and no doubt Goldie will be using up the rest of the firewood at the Roost today.

Good thing you have a Joel who’s ready to chop more.

Although he’s also a Joel that’s forgotten his tea, the “stuff with the things in it” that Willa gave him for the stiffness in his knees. With this cold he’s going to want it today on patrol and the last thing you think you can stand is the tug in your heart when he comes home complaining of the cold and the ache and you sitting warm and cozy with his thermos on the counter when you had the legs to trot it on out to him.

It’s a relief to round the corner and find the patrol party still at the stable gate, Tommy helping one of the teens with their rifle strap, and Joel waiting on horseback, weaving his gloved fingers together, packing them down at the valleys to get his hands all the way in.

He’d laid one of those hands on your cheek this morning. Gentle. First thing you saw when you opened your eyes. Like most mornings now. His thumb rounding the rim of your cheek so he could lean in and take a good long drink of a kiss.

He likes it that way…soft, slow. Likes to pull you in as close as he can, twist his forehead into your temple when he hits his peak, jaw clenched in agonized pleasure, kisses along your jawline when you find yours, his eyes half-lidded and watching you in a hazy awe. He’s quiet but thorough, completely present like he can’t believe he’s got this little slice of warmth, sighs a hushed curse in your ear and calls you sweetheart in the same breath, and then sleeps like a baby the whole night through.

He doesn’t like to talk about the past much, but listening’s your specialty and it comes out in bits and pieces, stuck between the little he does say. You come to understand that he very rarely got to be very close with anyone while Sarah was growing up. There were the years when everything was a nightmare. Then there was Tess and she brought him out of that, thank goodness. But it took time. And there was also denial and survival and means to their ends. There might indeed have been strong love there. But you have the feeling he’s not had this–or anything like it–for a long, long time.

So if he wants it soft and slow, then who are you to deny him?

Maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising that it was him who pulled you in a little closer.

“What if you didn’t move in with Tommy and Maria this winter?” He’d lingered the morning after Christmas, leaning one shoulder against the frame of your bedroom door, savoring the show of you getting dressed for the day.

“And waste the fuel? Why? So we can cuddle up now and then without your brother down the hall? You keep me plenty warm, Joel Miller, but I’m not going to heat this whole house just for me and your more-than-casual visits. Everyone’s got a responsibility here to conserve in the winter. This is how I do my part. And besides,” you purred as he stepped in to button up your flannel for you, freeing up your fingers so they could run through his curls, “I know where you live and your bed’s good as mine.”

“You seem to like it there well enough.”

“I do.” His beard was growing in all but a patch on his jaw that was now your right to kiss.

“Well I was thinkin’ we just make it ours for the winter.”

His hands had circled your hips and his words had stopped your heart, but there was little for to say with his lips pressed against yours.

So mornings often started as they did today, waking to find Joel beside you, roused because you can feel him watching you with that little half smile that reveals the crack in his weary heart where the light shines through. Who needs spring to come with sunshine like that to turn to? Now there are family breakfasts with Ellie and cozy days knitting in the company of Maria and Riley and then warm nights with Joel on one of those pillowtopped mattresses that were all the rage before the outbreak…the ones that are great when you have a stiff back, but even better because the springs don’t squeak…

“Aw dammit,” Joel says when he sees you nearing the stables with the thermos, “Knew I forgot something.”

“Two somethings,” you say pointing to his bare head and passing your hat up to him in the saddle. “Your ears are already bright red. Here. Take my hat.”

“This’s Ellie’s.”

“Huh. Guess I just grabbed one on my way out. Oops. Be a man. Wear a pompom.”

He pulls it down over his ears and smiles. “Matches my scarf.”

You’d had a small batch of deep red wool you’d managed to squeak a hat and scarf out of and gifting the hat to Ellie around Christmas, but the scarf went to Joel. He may not want anyone to think of him as sentimental, but it was worth your while to make it easy on him by giving him something that was also practical. Even if he had his jacket zipped up all the way, it was always there, tucked around his neck; he may leave his ears to the elements but he never went anywhere without that scarf.

The line of horses start making their way toward the Jackson gates and you squeeze Joel’s shin before stepping out of the way, letting him and his horse follow the group. He simply lets a gloved finger glance your cheek as he passes by.

All the way out here on this side of the apocalypse and humans still have a million variations on saying “I love having you around and I’d like to keep it that way.”

________

“Ellie’s more than welcome around here if you and Joel don’t want to leave her home alone.”

Maria’s lightly bouncing a wet-faced and blubbering Riley on her lap, trying to tempt him with a frozen carrot for his teething. He has tommy’s curls and they sproing with every boing.

“Nah, she wants to come out. We’ll be dividing the ewes and driving part of the flock into the old town for the rest of the overwinter and she wants to see how it's done. Should see it, if she thinks she’ll be entering the rotation at any point. Speaking of,” you grunt, leaning down to gather your knitting basket and gather your things, “I promised I’d meet her after school. She’s gotten into collecting cassette tapes and the commissary says she’s hit her quota on goods this week. Gonna give up a couple credits so she can discover the wonders of Joan Jett and the Beastie Boys.”

“That’s throwing gas on the fire. She pick those out herself?”

“Nope. My points, my choice. And I say that girl needs to fight for her right to party and put another dime in the jukebox, baby.”

Maria rolls her eyes, chuckles, goes light on the sarcasm. “You’re the coolest auntie.”

“Don’t I know it,” you laugh, tying up your boots.

“Joel’s gonna just love that.”

Leaning in to bop a quick kiss to Riley’s head, you give Maria a crazed grin. “So much.”

Ten minutes later, Ellie has her doubts, holding up a cassette at the commissary. “But there’s a dinosaur on this one! How can it not be great?”

“Listen, missy. I’m not saying Dinosaur Jr. doesn’t have a place in music history, but I’m telling you that you’re likely to be disappointed. Trust me. Just this once.”

Ellie makes a face but you glance past it, distracted by what you see through the window behind her. Following your focus, she turns to look too. “Who’re they?”

All of the patrol horses coming back in have two people on them–a member of the party, and a stranger. And all the strangers can’t be more than teenagers.

“Dunno, but it looks like you’re about to get some new classmates. I’ll sign these out. You go ahead and make a good first impression.”

“You’re just sending me out there because you know if they’re infected, I can’t catch it.”

“If they were infected, they wouldn’t be on those horses or inside those gates. I’m sending you out there because you have a way of reading people. Go.”

Something in that puts a gasp in her throat and a sparkle in her eye and her ponytail whips behind her as she goes, striving to live up to the compliment.

But really, you just want half a minute to take a good look at the kids without Ellie asking questions. They’re all scrawny and filthy. Backpacks. Been traveling and living rough for a while now. Where’d they come from? What’s their story? Not an adult among them. How have they survived? You’d swear something feels off, but that’s the world now. Can’t be too careful. Everything seems off all the time.

Question is, off by how much?

You find Joel in the group; he’s the only one riding with a kid in front of him rather than hanging on behind. And once he gets down off the horse and reaches up to help his passenger down, you can see why.

She’s pregnant.

Shit. She’s what, fifteen? Sixteen?

Shit.

“There’s a house up near mine has good plumbing turned on.” Tommy’s speaking over his shoulder to the small group and leading his horse to the stable door as you come out of the commissary. “We’ll get you all washed up and fed. There’s at least two beds there and some other furniture fit to sleep on if it makes you comfortable to stay together. Give me a minute to put Lady away here and we’ll walk on up together. Joel? A word?”

Handing off the pregnant girl’s backpack to her, Joel takes the reins of his horse and follows his brother inside, leaving the newcomers to look around them and take in the town.

All but one. A girl with hair that’s neither light brown or dark blonde, somewhere in between. Your mother would have called it dirty dishwater blonde and you always thought that was rude. But your mother also would have said the girl had a hatchet of a face with a strong jaw like that. And it’s that girl whose head whips around the second she heard Joel’s name, quickly scanning the patrol to ascertain who belonged to it, and stands watching the stable door in thought long after the Miller brothers were gone.

Was Joel her father’s name? Her brother’s? Is it hers or close to hers? Is she a Jo or Joelle?

“Abby. Hey,” a boy calls and she turns. “Mel should get a bed and we can share. Manny and Nora can share too…if you’re okay with taking a couch.”

“Fine,” Abby says. Her eyes and mouth all unmoving lines.

“Hey. Welcome to Jackson. I’m Ellie.” Your starling jams her hands in her pockets as all the new eyes turn her way. “It looks like you’ve been wandering. Where you coming from?”

The boy who spoke before blinks and opens his mouth to say something, hesitates. You’d take him for the leader up until the moment Abby speaks for him.

“West of here. QZ. Seattle.”

“Oh. Cool,” says Ellie with a bounce to her nod. Easy. Instantly welcoming. “I came out of Boston.”

Seattle QZ. The same one your dead husband and his sister came from. Not a good place. Warring factions and nothing but oppression and disease, last you heard. Good that they got out. They’re gonna need to be de-loused.

But Seattle’s also much harder than most zones to break free of. You’ve been told the Western Liberation Front makes FEDRA look like a bucket of clowns.

“Seattle?” Now it’s your turn to pull focus from the group. “We’ve had refugees from there before. You really get out of there in one group like this? With no grown ups?”

Abby rips her eyes away from Ellie. “It’s a long story,” she says, shutting the questioning down.

There’s a moment that hangs between you and that stinks faintly of threat, but is mostly just the smell of feral kids. Tension breaks as the men emerge from the stable.

“We all ready?” Tommy says, making his way down the road and waving a hand for them to follow. “New home’s this way.”

Ellie starts to fall in with the group and you pull her back in close, speak low. “Go with them if you want, but keep your distance.”

“What? Why?”

“These are your first refugees. You’ll learn that they sometimes bring things with ‘em.”

Her face screws into a question mark. “What things?”

“Fleas. Lice. Viruses. Just give ‘em some space for a while.”

After the quickest flash of disgust, Ellie’s tried and true compassion kicks in and she gives an understanding nod as she turns to go, tape cassettes clattering in her jacket pocket.

You keep watching her even as you speak to the owner of the hand snaking around your waist. “Where’d you find them?”

“Up at the old crossing. They were under attack.”

“Jesus.”

“Nope. Infected.”

“Been a while since we’ve seen any of those stumble through here.”

“Infected? Or the kids.”

Turning to him in exasperation you look him over. “Both. And the same goes for you as for Ellie, Foxy. Let’s take you home and wash that scarf and hat. Run a fine-toothed comb through that hair just to make sure.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says, stopping when he catches your zero-temperature glare. If it’s something else you love about Joel, he recognizes when something’s important to you and answers a lady with composure and respect. “Yes, ma’am.”

____

“You couldn’t have found her some Cash or Fleetwood Mac or something?”Joel grumbles into the fireplace as he places another log on the coal bed and moves the poker around like he’s doing something.

Ellie sits on a blanket near the fire, reading a comic book, headphones on, Joan Jett’s grinding guitar bleeding out into the otherwise quiet living room. With his face turned to the fire and Ellie facing away from you, she most likely can’t hear the conversation that’s happening around her if you keep your voices low.

“You’re just jealous that she asked me to pick something out instead of you,” you smile on the couch, picking up your feet and swinging them into his lap as he sits down beside you. “80’s rock is good for her spiky little soul.”

“80’s means trouble,” he counters, considering her as his hands absently squeeze and rub at your feet.

You go back to your book. Seemingly anyway. It’s easy to steal observing glances from where you are. The thoughtful concern he has for Ellie. You can see him looking over the wood in the hopper and calculating how many days of fuel he has before you all head out to the Roost. A twist of a lip tells you he’s realized he might be a day short and needs to chop more. His gaze drops to his lap as he lightly massages your feet–just running his hands along their contours, pressing a thumb in here and there to tenderize a muscle. The firelight loves him, plays at the edges of his curls, slides down his nose, kisses the purse of his lips.

You jump as he slides a tickling fingertip up the sole of one foot. “Hey!”

“What you get for staring.”

“I wasn’t staring at you, I was reading.”

“Must be pretty small print you don’t turn a page for five minutes.”

Taking off your readers and closing the book, you sit up and deposit them on the coffee table. From here it’s easy to scoot up to him and lean an elbow on the couch back. “What’s got you so thinky tonight, hmm? You look like you’ve got your worry pants on.” There’s a curl right behind his ear that’s so easy to twirl in your fingers and you indulge. You’ve found a little touch helps him open up.

“I can’t help thinking about those kids, thinkin’ they could just wander out in the world like that. If it weren’t for us hearing the runners….” He goes quiet a minute and you let him, his gaze haunting Ellie’s direction but living somewhere in the past. “They gotta be somebody’s kids. I can’t believe Seattle’s so bad they just let ‘em run wild…let ‘em run away from the best you got for ‘em.”

A faint guitar blares from Ellie’s headphones as she flips a page, purses her lips, absently nods along.

“Yeah, well teenagers rebel, Foxy. That’s what they do.”

“No,” he says, softly, resolutely, a tick of his jaw. “Not all of ‘em. Not if they’re loved. And fiercely. And I don’t know a love that isn’t fierce.”

It’s the look on his face that makes you believe him.

Love isn’t a word that Joel bandies about. It’s easy to see it work in him. The way he tells Ellie no when she wants to do something reckless but promises her something just as exciting, going to any length to make her smile. The way he holds Riley’s head in the crook of his arm, his other hand reflexively coming out in defense if anyone gets too near the baby’s soft spot. The way he shoves his brother with a laugh when Tommy picks on him or how he helps Maria to her feet when she’s been on the floor too long, even if she says she doesn’t need it.

The way he… with you he…

His hands work at your feet again. He understands the minute levels of his strength, knows how firm to go without bringing pain.

With you, it’s the way he rolls over and shows you his soft places, invites you in to be a part of it.

Not really what you’d call fierce. Does that mean he doesn’t–

“Is a cherry bomb like a little bomb or a big bomb?” Ellie asks, an earpad pulled away from her ear and spilling Cherie Currie’s stuttered chorus.

“It’s a little one. A firework. But it packs a big punch. It’ll take your fingers off. Hello, world, I’m your wild girl, I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch cherry bomb,” you sing, pushing your foot against Joel’s thigh with every beat.

“Alright, that’s it,” he says, wrapping a big hand around your ankle to secure it. “Ellie, run on up and get my guitar. Lemme teach you a better song.”

In the minute it takes for her to come back, Joel foregoes softness for force, tickling relentlessly, almost ending up with a foot in his face with how much you squirm.

___

Church isn’t really your thing, never was. You have your own way of listening to the beauty of the earth that doesn’t mean sacrificing a morning sleeping in to listen to lessons you’ve already learned and hold true.

But today you’ve come to the after-brunch curious to welcome the new residents and managed to show up a little early. So you’re standing in the back of the mess hall with Maria and Riley, waiting for the final hymn to end, for the preacher to call an end to the service and a beginning to the meal.

Maria leans in and murmurs in your ear as the final chorus comes. “Tommy and the crew are working on one of those bigger houses with the vaulted ceilings in the new district so the church can have its own building.”

“They’re not gonna like having to walk over there.”

She shrugs, adjusts Riley’s teething toy and bounces him up a notch. “Might cause some of them to move over there. Thin out the density. Easier on the power grid. We do have five new residents.”

You watch as one of the new boys–Owen–helps the pregnant Mel to her feet. “Soon to be six.”

Once the kitchen starts serving, Owen and Mel find their way over to your table, eager to meet Riley and ask Maria all kinds of questions about childbirth and your friend finds herself in a mentoring role she didn’t ask for. She’s not opposed to being helpful, just lets her judgment slide through on the whole babies having babies thing which completely flies over the kids’ heads.

They’re good enough kids, but something tastes a little sour when Owen tries to include you in the conversation.

“What about you? You and…is his name Joel? You gonna have any kids?”

It’s a rude question. He’s earned your side eye and he knows it, but smiles through it, playing innocent.

“Already got one. One’s enough,” you laugh, sly, chewing through some boiled oats and letting him know you’re gonna let that one slide.

“Oh, yeah, right. Ellie, right?” he asks, with a flick of his eyes to a table behind you. Turning, you find Abby at a table with some other residents and when you turn back it’s with a dry expression that tells him he’s worn out his turns at beating the bush and should be out with it.

“We just were wondering if she’d show us around,” Mel explains. “She’s the only one of the children here who will talk to us.”

You snort. “Don’t let Ellie hear you call her a child. She’s short for her age, but she’s not much younger than you. She likes people, but that won’t win you any points.”

“And don’t worry about the other kids,” Maria takes over, shooting you a look. “They’ll come around. A lot of them were born here and they don’t see a ton of new people.”

“Are they not coming to the brunch today?” Owen asks.

“Who?”

“Ellie and Joel.”

Shaking your head, you swallow your latest bite. “Joel and Tommy are off getting some work done in the new sector and Ellie would bite my face off if I woke her up before high noon on a weekend. But she knows where you’re staying. I’ll send her around to you once she’s up and acting like a whole human.”

You’re about to change the subject and ask them a few questions of your own but Riley starts fussing and Mel asks to hold him and the whole baby talk starts up again.

When you look over your shoulder, Abby is gone from the table. Left her dish for someone else to clean up.

There’s a thought creeps in that maybe Ellie can teach them all some manners. And then you remember the mouth on your starling and smile.

____

“And Owen showed me some of his drawings and they’re so amazing. He’s like a fucking Picasso or something. He says he’ll give me lessons if I can get Mr. Scowlface here to take him out hunting. Says he misses hunting deer with his dad. And Abby wants to go too. I told her how you taught me to use a shotgun and she seemed really interested to learn. She might want to join the patrols some day. But I told them not this week since we’re going out to the Meadow and they all had questions about that. Abby especially–”

Ellie has a remarkable talent for chewing and talking at the same time. She catches a piece of apple that escapes her mouth, slurping it off the back of her hand where it landed, then downs the rest of the milk and wipes her mouth with the cuff of her sweater, leaving you to negate your silent praise of her manners from earlier in the week and giving you a break in the chatter to speak.

“Well, you’re a little young to be recruiting your own Roostlings, but if Abby or any of the others want to come out sometime and see what the fuss is about, they’re welcome. I’d rather them wait until spring though, or at least until we get the whole of the flock back from the deep winter holding grounds. Chickadee’s taking up the caboose on that.”

As you push the carafe of chicory coffee toward Joel and clear the breakfast plates, Ellie snatches the last hunk of bread you left on yours, shaking her head. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

Joel scoffs. “Last car on a train.” He takes a long, loud drag of his coffee, pouring on the annoyance to get a glare out of the girl and succeeds. “Well, if she don’t like heights, she’s not going to enjoy learning patrol duty either, not with the watchtowers and the mountain trails. And don’t go promising services you can’t guarantee. I’m not a scout leader.”

“What’s a scout leader?”

“Someone with a lot more patience than me. Get.”

Taking up her backpack, Ellie makes her way to the front vestibule to pull on her gear.

“Don’t forget your hat and scarf!” You call to her, but smile at Joel as you perch your butt against the table and tuck a little curl behind his ear. He’ll ask you to cut it soon. And you’ll put it off for as long as possible.Tickles, he'll say. I know, you'll say.

“Thanks, Gramma Betty!” she calls back and pulls the door shut behind her as Joel lays a warm hand on your outer thigh.

“What’er you getting up to today?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m in carding mode. Got a whole bag of washed fleece needs combing. I’d ask you what you’re up to, but I assume you and Tommy are gonna be tearing down some poor old house.”

There’s a moment where he squints, thiinking. His thumb tracing the outer seam of your jeans.

“I want you to come with me. Got something to show you.”

“Really. Well I like the sound of that. I could use a little walk in the bitter cold with a mystery at the end of it. Gonna have to go pull on a heavier sweater though. Might need to take this one off first. You wanna come watch?”

There’s a knock at the front. Tommy. The door opening.

Joel only grins fondly and pats your thigh, sending you off, before pushing the chair back from the table and separating himself from his coffee mug. “I’ll catch the later show. ‘Specially if it calls for audience participation.”

Five minutes later, bundled and booted, the three of you head out toward the new section, Joel with his scarf tucked in tight and hat pulled down low, and Tommy with a set forced upon him because you’re quickly becoming the winter clothing police around here.

It’s not a long walk. Jackson was never more than a few miles wide and this is just the first expansion of the wall. You’ve wandered over during the construction crew’s activities enough to know the way without being led, but what you’re expecting is for Joel to lead you away from the furthest street, away from the beautiful A-frame house so neatly repaired along with its pretty neighbors and up the street with Tommy to the next clutch of houses they’ve been working on.

But instead, Joel tells his brother he’ll be along in a minute, and Tommy smiles knowingly as he continues on, leaving the two of you in the walkway up to the pretty A-frame that’s so much like the Roost’s bigger sister.

“You know what today is?” Joel asks, hands in pockets, squinting up at the peaked roof.

“Friday?”

“Probably,” he says, shifting focus to his boots. “I was thinking more holiday-wise.”

The air’s particularly crisp today, hitches in your lungs as you take each mental step and catch up with him.

February 14. Valentine’s.

As your mouth drops open, he jerks his chin at the house. “You like this one, right?”

“What…what are you….Joel?”

There’s a cringe that belies his confidence, maybe a tinge of regret. “I just figured we were gettin’ along so well, that maybe you’d… It was just an idea–”

He can’t even look you in the eye until you yank his hand awkwardly out of his pocket and wrap your gloved hand around his. He seems almost shocked to see your tears welling up–true, half from the cold–but he’s also relieved. Big breath in, big breath out. That must have been the hard part.

Words aren’t Joel’s way. This is how he tells you just how deep his feelings go. You know he’s had time to imagine with every window replaced, every floorboard leveled out, every load bearing wall reinforced, just which family was going to get to live in this house and what kind of life they might make in it.

What kind of life you might make together here.

So you take his lead and say only what’s necessary, as steadily as you’re able.

“Take me inside.”

His sheepish grin confirms that it was exactly what he’d hoped to hear.

The interior’s simple, but gorgeous. The dark wood gleams, and the whole back wall of the A frame is windowed. The triangle at the top replaced with a leaded stained glass in a sunrise of orange and rose that reflects the undertones in the timber inside and the pines out the window, the mosaic just high enough to catch the last rays that will come in over the mountains at the end of the day and turn the whole place into a dream. The open floorplan has the kitchen near the door, but over by the windows….

Joel gives the tour. The hand-laid stones in the fireplace. The built-in shelves for your books. This is the corner where your favorite chair can go, nearest the fire and where there’s good light for spinning. This rug was here, still good. He points out to the little shed in the back–a place for wool dying, he can hang pegs in there however you need them.

If he weren’t so occupied in explaining the wood he chose to finish the countertop, the way he followed the original dovetailing in the doorframe, the pattern he made with the reclaimed wood in the floorboards, he may have seen you admiring the most important part of the house…or, rather, the most important person in it.

There’s more. Two bedrooms, one off each side of the main part of the house, each with its own bathroom, the larger one with its own porch overlooking a little creek.

“The basement’s not quite done, but I figure I’ll just use that for my own. Felt you might not like the…vibe…”

Ah yes. The former owners. He took care of that too.

He took care of everything.

“I love it, Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“If there was a stronger word, it would be yours, believe me.”

He only wraps his arms around you as you dive in to squeeze him.

“Good,” is all he says. Breathes in the scent of your hair. “That’s good.”

________

The ewes hate the leader ropes, but they follow, bleating now and then as you slowly guide them through the woods toward the Meadow’s north entrance. Joel’s got two behind his and Ellie’s horse, and you’ve got four behind yours, a small party, but the only ones that were ready to come on back out after the coldest weeks.

Goldie’s happy to lead them out to the rest of the flock while you and Joel go up and get situated, get warm, get ready for the week ahead. Ellie follows Goldie and Joel hangs his watch by the door. All’s quiet in the Roost.

Until Joel’s tongue clicks. “That beam is bowing,” he points up to one of the main rafter struts on the far side of the room. “Wood stove keeps this side warm and the snow melts off, but there’s no balcony on the other side. No way to rake the snow off the roof. Tommy should have known better.”

“Well it’s not like he’s had a lot of practice with big boy tree forts, I’m guessing,” you say, dumping a sack of potatoes near the cook pile and throwing the stack of fresh sheets onto the bed. “Does it need to come down?”

“Don’t think so. But come spring we’ll add on another balcony and do some reinforcement.”

As he runs his hand up the wall seam, you come up behind him, hugging him from the back with the sole purpose of distracting him, your way of letting him know he’s obsessing like an old man. It gives you the right angle to grab onto his open jacket and start pulling it off him. “Take this off and stay awhile.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Goldie takes her leave on your horse, guiding Joel and Ellie’s behind, glad to be going back to more warm water than she can heat on a stovetop, and Ellie helps to cart a few buckets of the colder variety up from the stream so you can all just stay in for the night.

Then it’s stew and cards, and Ellie kicking Joel’s ass at Scrabble, all of you bundled in wool sweaters and slippers handmade by you and Chickadee, the firelight glinting off the game tiles, highlighting the glee in the girl’s eyes, the resigned agony in Joel’s smile.

Almost a whole year now she’s been coming out here with you, and it’s wondrous how much she’s grown inside and out. You never felt lonely at the Roost, in fact, you had always very much enjoyed the solitude. Now you don’t think you could abide it. It’s only a home for a week at a time, but only when they come out here with you now.

It’s a nice night. Stars are out. Ellie’s still staring out at them as you and Joel fall asleep in the big bed.

_____

It’s the scent of woodsmoke that wakes you in the middle of the night, sitting you up straight in bed. Or so you think, except that the embers in the stove are low, so it can’t be that.

No. It’s a voice outside.

“Burn in hell, Joel Miller!”

Is that…Ellie? What’s she doing outside? No. Not Ellie. No it’s–

“Abby?” Ellie says blearily from the bunk above you.

There’s someone in the room moving swiftly toward you from the windows, hulking, with a rifle–

Joel.

“Get up. Both of you. Get out. The place is on fire.”

It doesn’t register.

“What? What fire? Joel? What’s happening–”

He shakes your shoulder, pulling you from the bed. “Get Ellie out. Now!”

There’s no other thought, just fumbling in the dark as Ellie jumps down beside you and dives for her jacket, shoving her feet into her boots without doing up the laces while you reach out one hand to catch hers for when it comes to you. The other gropes the near table for the walkie and thumbs the button.

“Meadowlark to patrol. Meadowlark to Goldfinch. We’re in trouble, there’s a fire and–”

The whole cabin sways. A gunshot from the balcony. Joel growling over his shoulder. “Get out! Now!”

“Joel–!”

“NOW!”

The ladder is still sliding down into place when you jump on it and ride it part of the way down, still waking up as Ellie’s boots come fast, almost kicking you in the face as she follows you down the rungs two at a time, moving through a plume of choking blackness only to come out below it to a roaring bonfire that’s eating through the Roost’s supports.

Oh god. The Roost…

is burning….

“JOELLLLLL!” you scream up as your stocking feet hit the ground hard, as you catch Ellie and pull her off the ladder and stumble backward, as something hits your head hard and causes you to let go, as separate sets of arms grab each of yours and drag you roughly backward, fast enough to keep your feet from catching up until you’re on your knees.

There’s a crackle in the air– “Patrol to Meadowlark. What’s the trouble?”

The walkie lies somewhere in the pine needles just out of reach and you’re screaming at it for help but all that comes out of your mouth is a string of names and no’s and helps. You’re able to yank your non-dominant arm free, pitching forward, clawing for the radio, until a flash of hard silver–a meteorite, exquisitely dense and smooth, malignant, swift, direct–cracks down on your forearm with a sickening thud, shattering the bone.

The world slides out of focus through a screen of sudden pain.

At first, you assume you’ve been shot in the arm. But then a figure steps around to your line of sight. Abby. With a golf club? What? Why? Where did she get that? The commissary? Why the fuck would they stock golf clubs? What the fuck is going on?

And you watch as Abby picks up the walkie. Tosses it into the fire.

The hands are back upon you now, forcing you back to your knees, and a third set joins them, wrapping around your forehead and chin, pulling you back against a belly and you struggle.

Where’s Ellie.

You’re able to twist your head to one side despite being held. She’s there on the ground, face down, groaning, with Owen’s knee in her back.

“Ellie? Honey?”

One pair of hands holding you twists you hard, meaning to pull you further away from her without compliance from the other hands or consent from your muscle structure and there’s a sickening pop as your shoulder leaves its socket and then your scream drowns out everything even the roar of the fire.

“She keeps it in her pocket,” Abby says. Rooting into Ellie’s pocket, Owen finds the knife and pulls it out–the one she cherishes, imbued with the legend of her mother, given to her on the same day as her name, her life, and her orphanhood.

The day Ellie told you the story, you’d taken steel wool to the knife and cleaned it. Oiled the hinge. Shined it up good and pretty.

It flips open easily in Owen’s paw. It twirls swiftly around, and points downward, his fingers closing over the hilt, thumb curling over the butt of the handle to give it more leverage when he’s ready to bring it down.

The night is horribly black and lit along the edges in orange fire.

There’s a loud crack. Owen’s thigh explodes in a splatter of blood and he falls backward off Ellie, screaming. The hands around your head let go and Mel runs to him.

Joel stalks out of the plume of black smoke, cocking the rifle, pointing only long enough at Owen to confirm he’s down and then swinging the barrel around to Abby.

A stand off. No sound or movement but the whoosh of flames and a few ground-muffled cries from Owen, a few sniffles and shushes from Mel.

“Who the fuck are you,” Joel growls out over the steel barrel, his cheek quivering in barely hinged anger.

Abby stands, solid, unyielding, straight as the blonde braid hanging down her back, club wound up tight, ready for the pitch, a face full of lines and soot and destruction.

“The last survivors of the Firefly massacre. You didn’t think to check the rest of the compound? Like the whole team was just one-offs? Like none of them had family, you sick fuck? You fucking orphaned us. Left us to fend for ourselves. Go ahead and shoot, old man. Marlene always said you weren’t so good at keeping kids alive, actually surprised you got as far as you did. So go ahead. Not like we’ve got nothing to lose. We just came to return some favors and finish the job.”

It’s only in the moments later, before the dawn, when you’re laying on your back looking up at the stars, one arm laying broken and useless in the snow beside you, the other cradling a weeping Ellie Williams as tight as you can, that you’ll be able to slow the film of your memory and play out the next thirty seconds frame by frame.

The series of snaps and cracks as the support under the Roost gave way and the whole structure tumbled out and away from the scene, pulling several pines down with it, the crashing and burning the only sound you remember now.

Ellie trying to shuffle along the ground toward you and away from the fire.

Owen pulling himself up enough to raise the knife and bring it down into the meat of Ellie’s calf.

Owen’s body flying backward as a bullet ripped through his skull.

A wrench of your neck and the warm splash of blood from above you as another shot rang out, one person holding you falling away and back, gone, but still pulling you down with their dead body.

The roar of an angry Abby and the clank of a club shaft on a rifle barrel.

Another gunshot.

The sound of metal hitting flesh.

Thirty seconds. And now you can see the stars. Orion. The Milky Way.

Somehow you’re lying yards from the little patch of burning trees with Ellie cradled in your good arm. Someone dragged you here.

There are voices and flashlights. The patrol. Bear and Tommy. Goldie and Willa and Chickadee.

And Maria. Laying on the ground beside you, exhausted from the effort of dragging two humans out of the burning thatch of trees.

“Joel. Where’s Joel.” It hurts to speak. Breath comes fast and shallow.

Then he’s there with the others, a bruise blooming purple beneath his eye, saying only what scant words he needs to move past them and get to you. To Ellie.

His hands are gentle, but his eyes are cold.

Two still, black pools reflecting fire.

_______

Perhaps unsurprisingly, you dream of Troy, his mangled face open and bleeding, laying in the hole next to Ash, mutilated, stopped at the moment of transformation into something more sinister, your ex-husband and his sister lost to you because they were headstrong, foolish, too devoted to each other….

Ash’s eyes open, what’s left of them anyway. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

They didn’t know the Roost was elevated. They followed us out here and didn’t have a good plan. Is that it?

They don’t answer. They get up and climb out of the hole, turn their backs on your and walk into the forest. You call after them, desperate to have them back after all this time, begging them not to leave you.

But you’re calling after them wrong. You can’t seem to say Troy. You can’t say Ash.

You’re only calling out for Joel and Ellie.

_____

The next thing you know, you’re sitting up in the snow, leaning against Goldie, the girl patting at your cheek as you’re coming around. “Come on, come on back, baby.”

The sun’s up, but not high enough to breach the mountains circling the meadow. Everything’s still lit by the slowly dying flames.

The one two punch of Willa setting the bone and popping your shoulder back in must have sent you off. Looking down, you see you must have thrown up as well.

“Holy shit,” you groan, “I’m sorry. Oh my god, holy shit that hurts.”

“I know, I know,” says Goldie, smoothing your hair and kissing your forehead.

“Here,” says Willa, handing you some dark root. You forget what it’s called, you just know you gotta chew. “Don’t swallow,” she reminds you. “You ride with Goldie. She’ll keep you upright once that sets in.”

“I gotta get up,” you mumble, struggling to stand and inhaling sharply at the twinge of pain the movement brings to your bandaged and immobilized arm. Goldie’s able to help get you up, but seems hesitant to let you go. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my feet, lemme go. Where’s Ellie?”

But you don’t need to ask, she’s just behind you, laying on her back in the snow, one arm flung over her eyes, breathing heavy to manage the pain, leg bandaged and tourniqueted.

Good. Next priority. “Where’s Joel?”

Goldie points to the fire. It’s starting to die down, enough to make out the bodies of three teenagers consigned to the flames. Past them, the group of the regular patrol. Joel shaking his head at them, speaking. Jacket zipped up to the top, no scarf, no hat; probably got left behind in the Roost. Rifle over one shoulder. A backpack over the other.

But not his backpack. Why would he have someone else’s backpack? Why would he have one at all…

He’s…. No.

Pushing off Goldie, you immediately find out that walking is hard. Even if the pain’s just in one arm, everything’s connected, everything hurts; it’s disorienting. Your knees are bruised and even your soft sleep pants feel like sandpaper on them. Feet cold and wet, no boots…

Joel sees you struggling to get to him and walks away from the group and the fire, meeting you partway, catching your good arm as your fist falls hard on his shoulder and yanks, fingers digging in hard to his coat, doing your best to hold on tight, to keep him here, to convince him not to go.

“Don’t you dare, Joel Miller. What do you think you’re fucking doing???”

He says nothing, only lets you collapse onto his chest, to sob. There’s not even an arm to comfort you, he gives you nothing but the bare necessity, a wall to keep you standing, and you know nothing you say will make a difference. In essence, he’s already gone.

“Please. Joel. Don’t. Please don’t go.”

“Trail’s fresh. Best to get on before it snows and covers the tracks. One of them’s the pregnant girl. One of them’s bleedin’. They can’t get that far.”

“You don’t have to. Just come home.”

“They’ll just come back. Maybe not soon, but someday.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Stepping back, it hurts to look at him. The Joel you love has been asked to step aside, the care and fondness he’s come to show you locked up somewhere secure, somewhere where it won’t get in the way.

I warned you, this Joel seems to say, void of emotion, jaw set, brow even and low, hand on the strap of his rifle. You took me in knowing exactly what I am.

He’s right.

“I need you here, Joel. Ellie needs you here. Don’t you dare go…unless you can come back.”

“I need you here too. ‘S why I’m going.”

Nothing. No kiss goodbye, no waiting for approval, he just turns and walks.

Maybe this is the last of it, just one last loose thread, then he can finally leave off wandering, finally shake off the killer and just come home, just be your Joel.

Convincing yourself of this is the only choice you’ve got.

________

You find yourself out on Maria’s back porch that night. Unable to sleep from the ache of the mending bone and the swell of your assaulted shoulder, it seemed like the best remedy was to find the toughest jerky in the kitchen, to sit on the porch in the cold and chew through the pain, and to lean back in one of the porch chairs with a soothing snowpack between it and your back.

The moonlight plays illusions like the canteen filmstrips–a summer image of Tommy and Joel teaching Ellie the mechanics of tackle football. The twinkle of the fireflies lending veritas to the picture…which in reality is only the twinkle of a dusting of new snow.

Not enough snow to make tracking impossible, but enough to make it difficult.

The back door opens and a blanket lands over your lap.

“Was gonna ask you if you wanted company, but then I decided, it’s my house and you don’t get a choice.”

Maria plops her own blanket in a nearby chair before disappearing and returning with two steaming mugs of tea as offering for the table between you. She takes her time covering you just so before wrapping herself up and joining you on the porch. “Suppose I should have asked if you want that cold pack changed before I get too comfortable,” she says, not really offering, but leaving the suggestion there between you if you need it.

It’s not necessary to talk for a while. She knows exactly what you’re thinking. Sees what you see.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. Riley did,” she lies. You’d heard her shift when you got up from the bed–her bed, well, hers and Tommy’s. But hers and yours for now.

“Thanks for taking care of us.”

“You say that like you’re not my family.”

“Well then, thanks for staying behind as if you are.”

It’s hard to see her out of the corner of your eye, backed by dark shadows. But the moon plays little crescents on her face, the curve of her nose, her cheek, her chin. Her voice comes out velvet from the dark.

“I know you’re pissed at Joel for going, but he’s doing the right thing.”

Now you make the effort to turn, rotating more from the waist than the neck to save the injury from twinging, but it does anyway, mirroring your spike in irritation. “Really? You think so? Is that why you sent Tommy with him? After all that time you spent bemoaning the things Joel made Tommy do all those years ago–”

“This is different. This is about the greater good.”

“You know that’s what the villain always says, right?”

She presses her lips together, hating that you’re right. “Okay, so maybe not the greatest good for the morality of the remainder of the human race, but. For the good of Jackson.”

“Two grown men hunting down two teenage girls is the greater good.”

“They won’t be teens forever. They’ve both got reasons to come back for their revenge. And now they know where Jackson is. They get taken in by the wrong people, and then the wrong people will know where Jackson is too and when they come back they won’t be alone. They’ll know exactly how many and what kind of folk to bring.” She holds your gaze for a few seconds, steady and wise but also warning, her warmth only thinly veiling the matronly protectress behind it, like a Durga on her throne. “You know why we have patrols. You know what happens to people that get too close. Two more drops in the bucket is all.”

“Three. One of those little girls is pregnant.”

She has no answer to this. Rather, your dig brings no new argument to the table. It’s just words, just a fact on the wind. It doesn’t sway the needle one way or the other.

It’s exactly what you’d been thinking about, staring up at her bedroom ceiling. Then out here on the porch. It’s like she knew you needed to hear the justification out loud.

“They would have killed him, lady. And Ellie. And you. I’m surprised you don’t want them hunted down like dogs.”

You turn your attention to the back yard, the smallest hump of leaves under the big tree there not quite scattered to the wind, sparkling with snow cover. You can almost still hear Ellie’s high laughter as it sounded the day she experienced her first leaf pile.

“Oh, I want them run down,” you say. “I’m all for that, let ‘em eat lead. I just didn’t want…” It’s not really necessary to continue. Maria knows exactly what you want. She always does. That’s why she sent Tommy with him. To keep him tethered to humanity.

To the way Joel watched Ellie jump and disappear into a poof of leaves. The sun in his smile. At peace. At home. Free from the old violence. Reborn.

I just didn’t want Joel to be the one to do it.

______

Maria’s dinner table feels empty. Funny, you think, it was always the two of you. For a while there was four, what with Troy and Ash, but most of the time just the two. Then Tommy. Then Joel and Ellie. Now Riley…well, that is, if he’s still up during family dinner.

You’ve slept through most of the light of day and was hoping to talk to Ellie at dinner, but Maria’s been taking all her meals to the guest room for her. Mostly so she doesn’t have to walk down the stairs on her healing leg, but also because Ellie’s not been talking since that night.

And you can guess why. It has less to do with the injury and assault or the fire, and more about the truths she learned during them.

Not much to do. The arm has to stay stable, strapped to your body. At least they fucked up the non-dominant one so you can still hold a fork, still brush your teeth. But knitting? Spinning? Helping Maria clear the dishes? Fat chance.

Not much to do but chew root, smoke wild weed, and sleep it off.

Maria reappears with a plate needs washing. “There’s a break in the clouds. I got three whole words out of her. This might be your chance.”

“Oh. Joy.” It’s getting to be less of an effort to stand now that you’ve got rest and food in you. The stairs are daunting only because of the conversation that waits at the top.

A knock on her door only grants you silence.

“I’m coming in, Starling girl. Best not be naked.”

No answer. You take that as the opposite of opposition. Tolerance.

She’s sitting on the bed, propped up by pillows behind her back and under her knee, her bandages freshly changed, no more blood pooling or free bleeding. She plays with the cuffs of her sweater, tugging at a loop in the knit, a book abandoned by her side as if she’d put it down when you knocked. A good sign. She doesn’t want to hide.

You crawl in beside her, awkwardly, one-handedly, a big showy sigh of relief when you finally land. “You know, if I was your mom, I’d probably start off with ‘what’cha reading there, kiddo?’ just to get you to say something, but I’m not your mom and I’m not here to make you talk if you don’t wanna–”

“Well I don’t.”

“Good. I didn’t come up here to hear you yap anyway.” You detect the tiniest twitch of her cheek, not quite a smile, perhaps a sneer…to scare away a smile. “Don’t talk, just listen.”

“I don’t wanna do that either.”

“Tough titties. I’m cashing in exchange for all the time I had to listen to you go on about Sally Fucking Ride.”

Now she does smile. Barely. Gives you the teenager face you wanna slap sometimes. “Tough titties? Really?”

“They didn’t have tough titties in the orphanage? Seems off-brand.” The smile fades. “Tell me how you’re healing. I’m not asking, I’m demanding.”

A big breath in. But the air doesn’t come rushing back with a dramatic sigh, just melts out of her with a single tear she doesn’t move to brush away.

So you do. “That bad, huh.”

“It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks so bad.”

“Heh, tell me about it. I miss the good old days of ibuprofen. Shit. I miss morphine. You’re young though, you’ll be up and running in a week or two. Me? I’m gonna be aching for–”

“He fucking lied through his teeth.”

Ah. There it is.

Now the colony of tears follows the first scout, pouring out over the plains of her cheeks until she covers her face with those cuffs she’s been picking at, relieved at being able to let it all out in front of someone who might understand, but probably scared as hell to let herself be this messed up in front of someone who might not. A gamble.

And a win. You’ve still got one good arm and you put it to good use, pulling her into your side. “Yeah, you’re right. He totally did. He’s a fucking asshole. Why the hell would he do that.”

“It wasn't time that did it,” she hiccups from under her woolen cuffs.

“I don’t know what that means, Starling” you say, unable to stop yourself from kissing the crown of her head.

She wipes her nose and comes up for air. “I mean I know why. But he fucking lied about everything. Straight to my face.”

“Well, you’ve got every right to demand an explanation and an apology when he comes back. Straight to his face.”

“If he comes back.”

You let that sit a moment between you. It’s her way of saying that she knows you’re mad at him too, that she heard the conversation you had with him when he left. It’s her way of poking at your own fears and getting you on her side.

“Those girls aren’t armed and the Miller boys have a lot more experience with being hunters than those kids do being prey. He’ll be back.”

“I hate him.”

“I know. But also. You don’t.”

“I had a… a purpose. A fucking purpose.”

“Well….I know you did, but…probably not so much as you think.” She looks up at you but you can’t meet her eye, she’s right to mourn, and you can’t deny her that. “Remember what I told you about my sister and her treatments?”

“The research hospital.”

“Yeah. Cancer’s been killing people on this earth far longer than cordyceps and they’d had millions of patients to test on. Still couldn’t crack it. How many people are immune like you? Because if it ain’t millions, you just become one part sample in a petri dish and another part dead body that maybe give some vague clues and then you’re all parts in the bin, end of story. I mean, I’ll be honest. I don’t blame him. You’re quite a keeper.”

Now her sigh is dramatic. “And then he fucking lied about it.”

“So you would feel good about it. Accomplished in your goal. Also so you wouldn’t hate him for caring about you more than you do.”

“Why didn’t he just say–?”

“Do you know that man to be good with words?”

This quiets her. Both of you. For a few minutes. She goes back to picking at her sleeves.

The sun’s set completely now and her little bedside lamp can’t even drown out the stars so bright on the other side of the window. Clear night. Cold out there.

After a moment you take your arm back, jostle her with your shoulder. “Hey. I’m going out to the Meadow tomorrow, check in with Willa, look over the damage. If I bring you back a piece of the Roost, you wanna do some carving or whittling or something? We’ll build a platform like the old one and it’s probably just gonna be a tent up there for a while like it used to be, but hopefully this spring or summer we’ll get a structure up there and we’ll need a cornerstone or a plaque or something signifying its importance. Since you’re on your ass all day with nothing better to do, and you’re the star recruit, I’d love for you to do it.”

Her lips twist, half smiling at the request, but then in regret. “I lost my knife.”

“The one from your mom?” She nods. “Well if you’ll do some carding for me while I’m out there, I promise to look for it, ask around, maybe one of the patrol picked it up, okay?”

“Okay. Oh. By the way…How are you healing?”

“I’ve been worse. But mostly I’ve been better. Thanks for asking. ‘S kind of you. But don’t you worry about me.”

“Okay. Um…I’m…sorry about telling them about the meadow and all.”

“Why? You’re a Roostling. It’s your story to tell.” Sliding off the bed you head for the door. “Oh hey. I meant to ask–” you nod at the book by her side. “What’cha reading?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh…just porn.”

“Cool. G’night.”

“‘Night. Hey Meadowlark?”

You poke your head back in before the door closes completely. “Hm?”

“Thanks. For all that. But mostly for not calling me kiddo.”

You smile. Nod. Give her a warm wink. “Sure. I gotchu, kiddo.”

It’s worth the eyeroll you catch as you close the door.

________

The most sickening part of coming in through the north passage isn’t seeing the burn scar on the pine grove in the middle of the Meadow, isn’t missing the outline of the Roost through the trees, but rather the feeling that your home has been breached, that for a moment it wasn’t safe and now you’ll always wonder if it will be.

Riding across the north plain, you close your eyes and breathe, let the horse plod on without your guidance, he knows the way. Once spring comes and the valley fills with flowers and the music of the lambs calling for their ewes takes over from this cold silence that comfort will be renewed.

But for now, there is no comfort on the Meadow in winter, not without a pretty little fireplace and a warm spot to watch the snow build up on the mountains.

You know what’s coming, but it turns your heart inside out all the same when you open your eyes.

Where once there was a cabin in the treetops is now a void leading downward to a pile of blackened rubble and debris. Off to the side under some lower trees is the old canvas tent with the vent hole and a friendly little trail of smoke rising from it. Willa always knew her way around a fire and didn’t mind keeping a low one going on the inside. You never were that confident, even with a fire-treated tarp.

She’s been at work out here, pulling useful things out of the rubble. The woodstove. The pulley jacks. A few timbers that are mostly unburned.

But there’s a pile of other things too, useless items that shouldn’t be mixed back in with the earth: a burned walkie. Twisted silverware and blackened plates. The iron tools from the rafters. Shattered tile. Your charred and mangled boots.

All that’s left in the major wreckage is wood. And glass. And bones.

Three blackened skulls, three sets of eye sockets and three jaws gaping up at the sky as if they were caught in the moment of realizing their plans were going terribly awry.

Stupid fucking kids. ….Just kids.

If someone asked you how you knew which one was Owen’s, you wouldn’t be able to say. You just know. The memory of him sinking that knife into Ellie’s leg…of hurting her…intent to kill… His skull breaks like a cracker when you put your weight on it.

Willa doesn’t say anything when she comes up along side to stare down at the bones with you. It's not the first time you've stood with her at the edge of a burned down home.

"I hate that it’s gonna take me a while to sift though all this,” you say.

“We’ve decided to skip your turn for a while. At least until there’s a new platform.”

You nod, resigned. You don’t love it, but it’s best. Trauma lingers longest of all hurt.

“How’s the flock?”

“They’re over it.”

“Figures. Fluffy shits. Any chance you found a pocket knife out here?” You ask her.

She nods, reaches into a jacket pocket and there it is, like it’s been waiting to come back to its keeper, made itself shiny and easily found. It’s passed between you like a sacred object, holy, a relic saved and cared for, a thing infused with deep love and meaning. There’s an instant relief as your fingers curl around it, your shoulders relaxing and releasing a little of the pain.

“Thank you.”

“There was this too.” From the same pocket Willa pulls a disk of silver and glass, turning it over and placing it in your hand with the knife.

The watchband is burned away. But it’s otherwise unharmed.

Willa may be a stoic, but she knows enough to recognize a release through tears and to hold you while you cry.

Later that afternoon when you knock on Ellie’s door, you’ll hand her the knife and a piece of the old Roost to carve to consecrate the new one. And then you’ll give her the watch and ask her to be your hands, to help you with one more thing.

________

Two days later, you’re standing in Joel’s living room, never having been here when it’s so quiet, dark, and cold. With you and Ellie staying with Maria, there’s been nobody here to light a fire, to make the place live. You wouldn’t be here if Maria hadn’t made a side comment about maybe you and Ellie’d been in the same clothes for a day too many. Not that you thought you’d be with her that long.

She was right. It was nice to change into something clean–a soft fleece and some sleep pants. While the sword of Damocles kept things in check at Maria’s house, it did feel just this side of an extended girl’s night sleepover, might as well dress for it. Ellie had asked for something soft and comfy so you decided to go for it, an assortment of sweats and sweaters in the duffel at your feet.

What you’re eyeing at the moment is an empty hook on the wall by the fireplace.

You put your hand in your jacket pocket and pull out the watch.

Ellie did a beautiful job with it, took directions like a champ. Sitting together on her bed, listening to Joan Jett and Pat Benetar, you’d instructed her how to design the plaid stripes into the strap, how to knot and plait in patterns.

“Macrame. MACrame. Mac. Ra. Mayyyyyy,” Ellie’d chanted. “It’s a fun word to say. What’s it mean?”

“Fringe. Knotting. It’s just the name of the technique. I dunno. Probably something prettier in French.”

The strap clasps had been lost in the fire, so you’d had Ellie work him a new strap out of dyed and tightly-spun wool, something a little longer so he could tie it on. Most likely he’d come back here first, so you want to put it somewhere he’d see it, that way he could have it again without a lot of fuss but knowing at the same time you were thinking of him. So you slip the end loop over the hook, gently let it slip through your fingers and rest against the wall.

If he comes back…

The front door opens. Boots on the wood. The thump of a backpack.

By the time you’ve turned, he’s coming in through the front hall.

When he sees you standing here, he stops.

You never imagined this moment. You should have. It might have prepared you for the yellowing bruise on his face, the majority of his left pant leg browned with dried blood, his knuckles raw and just beginning to heal over.

You struggle with finding the right question. Find ‘em? They dead? Finish the job? No survivors?

I’d ask you what the hell you did, but I know and I don’t wanna hear you say it.

Instead all you can muster is a nod at the blood on his jeans.

His eyes slide to the staircase, already looking to move on, and he only answers with a short and shallow nod of his own before doing just that.

You find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at your hands, the duffel, the watch, back at your hands. Listening as he moves around upstairs, dropping boots, his belt buckle clapping to the floor. The shower running for a long, long time.

Sun’s going down. Getting colder.

The squeaks from the staircase are slow, softer than usual. He’s taking his time coming down. Doesn’t want to force himself back into a space so safe and quiet after pushing through one so big and mean.

He barely shifts the couch as he sits on the far side. Clean shirt. Clean jeans. A pair of socks you knit him.

“Where’s Ellie?” He sounds like he hasn’t spoken to anyone in days. You’d wager he hasn’t.

“With Maria. We’ve been staying there. I was just getting us some clothes. Didn’t think you’d be gone this long.”

“Neither did I. They had a head start. Younger. Faster. But you’re safe now. You’re both safe now.” He’s quiet long enough for the house to give a settling creak as the wind picks up outside. “How’s that arm?”

“Joel, you can’t keep us safe from the world. The world is what it is.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he whispers back, defiant, stubborn, with enough venom that he seems to scare himself and he breathes in deep, keeps it, holding back.

All you want is your Joel back. Even in all this mess. All you want is for him to lay down his fear and love you the right way.

So instead of arguing, you get up and stand before him, give him the time it takes to understand you’re going to straddle his lap whether he helps you or not. He reaches for you on your way down, guides and supports you, allows you to rake through his wet curls before leaning in to take possession of his lips, to will him–by kissing through to his very soul–to come back to you.

He can’t help but respond, his whole body coming to life, and in the cold, twilit living room, you become a tangle of silhouettes as his hand pushes up under your sweater–somehow still keeping an aura of care around your ruined and wrapped arm–to squeeze almost painfully at your curves, rough and wanting, panting between devouring kisses as he paws beyond the waistband of your sleep pants, sucking at your neck when you throw your head back as he reaches what he was searching for….what you hoped he’d find…

There’s a tousle of repositioning and a clatter of belt and zipper. You’re both raw and rough and needy, and you both take advantage of the emptiness of the house to fill it with the sounds of desperation, of effort, the song of casting off of all inhibition, a duet of total and grateful release.

But through it all, it’s the way he holds onto you that tells you how much he wanted to get back to you, how close he intends to hold you and never let you go, a desperation that tells you exactly where his faults lay…

…that it was necessary–and always will be–to eliminate any chance of someone taking you from his world by force.

It’s not so much possession as a fierce and burning need to be possessed. A need to belong, concentrated down to its basest form.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he softly kisses your temple, spooning you in the afterglow that burns bright in the darkening room.

“For what? You didn’t hurt me.”

“Rushed it a little. Tend to act before thinkin’ sometimes.”

You’re not completely sure what he means by that. At first you think he’s talking about the rough sex, but you get his meaning. Stalking off after Abby and Mel so impulsively. For being impulsive in general.

For acting out of trauma.

Or love.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to for that, Joel.”

You can tell the moment he understands when his forehead gently meets your shoulder. “Shit.”

It’s probably the best time to break it to him, while he’s still a little softheaded and euphoric. “She’s ready to listen. But I won’t promise it’ll be easy. It might just be you and me here for a while.”

Once his breathing evens out, he shifts, still holding onto you, but just coming back down, settling back in.

“What’s that?” He mutters, just on this side of falling asleep, lazily pointing at the watch on the hook by the fireplace.

“Your Valentine’s Day present. From both of us. Sorry it’s late.”

________

Taking some shifts off from the Meadow rotation affords you time to start slowly moving things over to the new A-frame, Maria helping you to load up a skid now and then and unload it, walking beside you as you lead the horse that tows it.

After a week or two, Ellie’s up and walking–well, limping, but healing–and starting to talk to Joel at dinner again. She’s on the verge of actually gracing his bad jokes with a smile or even a laugh, but she’s making him work hard for it. Good for her.

You haven’t asked either of them how the talk went. Don’t know if you ever will. That’s between them, the less you interfere, the better.

But you know that things are on the mend when you find Ellie playing Joel’s guitar–learning some Johnny Cash song you know he loves.

And you have a feeling that spring is on the way when you drop off another load at the new house and find a new frame on the wall–a handmade, custom carpentry display shadowbox.

With a watch hanging inside.

_______

PREVIOUS: AUTUMN

NEXT: SPRING AGAIN (coming soon)

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

#leave off your wandering #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x meadowlark #joel miller x mature reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou jackson

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