#peas pass the salt

[freshcelerysticks]

me: who the hell invented mint peas like they're so impractical, they don't do anything for your breath and they go mushy if you keep them in your pocket

everyone else at the wedding:

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ix)

summary: Winter rolls into Jackson once more, but things are heating up in the big, white house across the street.

a/n: 18+ MDNI smut, but are you ready for the most wholesome smut you've ever read in your life? also update -> so, heh, I'm not really great at smut per se, this one, I've really tried to capture the luuurv, the physicality of it, and I really hope I've done it justice. also, happy earth day people!

There came a time in Joel’s life when he grew so used to boring bullshit that he actually preferred it. He didn’t know if that was old age creeping up on him, dragging him toward the inevitability of doing absolutely nothing, or if he was just plain tired of a life spent running from one disaster to the next. Either way, he found himself appreciating the small mercies. His own simple pleasures.

Going to bed without whiskey clawing its way down his throat. Waking up without his head feeling like a busted canteen. Fresh, warm socks straight from the laundry. Knuckling down and figuring out how to cook something that wasn’t just oatmeal or meat cooked to leather, not because he had to, but because he wanted to get it right.

At some point, he realized he didn’t care much to keep busy anymore—except for when it came to Leela and Maya. But it was strange how a simple life could still surprise him, could still land a punch straight to the ribs with five little words:

“Why don’t you stay here?”

It had caught him mid-sip, a few days after Leela’s little weed trip, while they were eating dinner. He’d had to set his cup down and stare at her. Make sense of it for three seconds. Even though the answer had already been waiting in his gut, inevitable as sunrise, he had smiled:

“Why not, darlin’?”

And yeah, he loved the big, white house. It was Jackson's history, with old black-and-white pictures lining the walls—Leela’s parents, grandparents, ghosts of people who had walked these halls before him. And maybe, in some small way, he was stitching himself into its bones with his work, care, and name. All the little fond memories in every nook of the home. His hands had worn themselves raw winterizing the garden, keeping the fences up, and scraping, painting, hammering, and patching up Maya’s nursery when she got naughty enough to climb right out of the crib. Light fixtures, floorboards, leaky pipes—he’d wrenched his calf muscle twice trying to fix that goddamn water heater.

Now, as Joel sat at Tommy’s dining table, peeling peas like a goddamn housewife, shoulders hunched, fingers working on autopilot, he continued sneaking glances at them—stuck on them. On all the ways it wasn’t working—on all the ways it was. Why not him?

Maya was perched on Tommy’s arm, fiddling with the salt shaker like it was some great mystery waiting to be solved. Tommy, for all his grumbling about how much of a menace she was, held her tight. That kid had him wrapped around her tiny little finger, and everyone knew it. He’d drive her nuts—hide her favourite toy just to get a rise out of her, tease her until she was practically throwing hands at him—but she’d always come racing back, tossing her arms around his neck, giggling as he swung her up high.

Joel’s hands stilled into peeling the peapod.

It was impossible not to notice how Maria and Tommy moved like two parts of a well-oiled machine. He watched them in the kitchen, just weaving in and out of each other’s space without thinking. Like those buzz magnets Sarah used to stick on the fridge from the capsule toys, repelling, colliding, but always snapping back into place. A hand passed a spoon without looking, a playful bump of the hip, a shared smile that needed no words. Tommy smoothed a hand over Maria’s forehead as she ducked too close to a sharp corner, and she didn’t flinch—just trusted.

Maria smirked at him. “Baby, you hover worse than Joel.”

“Please,” Tommy scoffed, stroking up her back. “Joel’s got me beat by a mile. He’s like a damn watchdog with our kid.” He bounced Maya on his arm, glancing at Joel. “Ain’t that right, big brother?”

Joel rolled his eyes, focusing back on the peas. “She’s one. Anybody with a brain watches a toddler.”

Tommy tsked. “You hear that, Maya? Your mean ol' daddy just called me stupid.”

“I mean, if the shoe fits,” Maria teased, setting a pot on the stove.

Maya giggled, still turning the salt shaker in her hands, getting salt everywhere. “Stew-pid.”

Tommy let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded. “Et tu, Brute?” He kissed her cheek anyway, undeterred.

Joel shook his head, hiding a smirk. He didn’t say it, but Tommy wasn’t wrong. He was like a watchdog when it came to Maya. Couldn’t help it. That little girl had carved out a place in him that he didn’t even know was still open. His little girl. Maybe not by blood. Maybe not by title. But she was his. Just like Sarah had been. Just like Ellie was.

But maybe that’s why watching Tommy and Maria hurt in a way he wasn’t ready to admit. Because what they had—this effortless, built-in kind of love—wasn’t something he’d dreamt of. Now he wanted it.

It wasn’t even physical, not really. It was just… love. Uncomplicated. Reciprocated. A year ago, he would’ve grunted something about getting a room. Tommy would’ve shot back about owning the whole damn house. But now—

He swallowed, shifting in his chair, wondering. Did he and Leela look like that in their home?

No, hell no. No, he wasn’t the type to put effort into how they were perceived. He barely liked acknowledging it himself, how he softened around her, how he let himself be someone else—someone better—when she was near. But it happened anyway, didn’t it? Without him meaning to. Made him want things.

And ever since he wholly made his home at their big, white house, he was sinking into it.

His love for her wasn’t flashy. He didn’t know how far to go beyond small things. He wasn’t the romantic kind of man, the kind to pick flowers or whisper pretty words. He wasn’t great at it, and wasn’t sure how far to go beyond having her coffee ready by her bedside in the morning. Beyond making sure that when he washed the dishes, hers were the first ones he cleaned, every time. Beyond leaving all the hot water for her and Maya, even if it meant stepping into a freezing shower himself when the temperatures were dropping fast.

She never noticed.

Or maybe she did. Because she had her own ways.

He wasn’t proud of how stupidly fond he got over the little things. The times he’d find his old boots, the ones he refused to part with, sitting by his bed freshly polished, patched up with rubber cement like new. Or how the busted projector in the dusty TV room—the one he’d given up on fixing—suddenly worked one night, humming quietly, waiting for him to indulge in some shitty action flick. She never made a big deal out of it and never expected anything in return. She just did things, because that’s how she loved.

God, the damn dopey grin he let out every time he caught on.

But they didn’t move in sync the way Tommy and Maria did around their home. here were rituals and rhythms, but they were dominoes—Joel would pick up where she left off.

Hell, they didn’t even sleep in the same bed. There was always a line. Physical. Emotional. Always a line, a place where he had to stop, where he had to get off.

He hated that fucking line.

He thought they’d been getting somewhere. That all the careful comforts, the small reassurances, the time—that it had chipped away at whatever was keeping her so guarded. Then there was that night.

That late night played back in his mind like a bad dream.

Leela, pacing back and forth, frustrated noises slipping past her throat, her blackboards covered in endless scribbles, eyes darting too fast, too desperate. Her hands shook as she wrote, erased, and rewrote. Then, suddenly, she just… crumpled. Joel found her there like that at two in the morning. Collapsed to her knees. Silent sobs racked her whole body, hands gripping at her hair, shoulders curling inward like she was trying to disappear into herself. The kind of cry that tore her apart, that was meant to be hidden.

It was like a jagged blade to the ribs, seeing her that way, and trying to ignore it. His Leela. His tireless, self-sufficient, do-everything-alone Leela, folded in on herself like a wounded animal.

He’d been on his knees before he even thought about it, hands reaching for hers.

“Hey, baby—” He cupped her palms, kissed them, trying to soothe her out. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’ll come to you.”

And then—she shoved him away. Like he burned her. Like she couldn’t stand him being there. “You don't know anything.”

“No,” he murmured, setting his palms on his knees, “but, talk me through it. I'm right here.”

And he tried to stroke the back of her head now, just to ground her to him, but before he could touch her, she'd jostled his hand off her.

“Please just leave me alone, please,” she’d choked out, voice small, broken. Final.

She might as well have reached into his chest and crushed his heart with her bare hands. He swallowed everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to do, and stood up, silent. Left her there like he was the one who had misstepped.

And ever since that fucking breakthrough—the discovery she had been chasing for years on end—it had been like this. Slipping. Slipping deeper into whatever obsession had taken hold of her, staring past her own life's work like there was another world hidden behind it. Like she’d solved the last goddamn piece of the puzzle but couldn’t stop staring past it, searching for something else. A prisoner to her mind, a slave to her intellect—and he had no clue how to save her from herself.

He thought a discovery meant solace. That she’d finally rest. Kick back and focus on raising her perfect kid. Instead, she was spiralling. Faster. Harder. And he was left standing there, watching her slip through his fingers.

And maybe he should just let it happen. Let her go. Let her chase whatever was in her head, let it take her, let it swallow her whole. Ignore it, let it blow up in his face, pick up the pieces, and move on. It seemed like the easier option.

Because he sure as hell wasn’t dragging her on some death trip to L.A. to get a bunch of scholars’ rubber stamp of approval. And for what? To hear a bunch of stuck-up assholes tell her what she already knew? To chase after something that might not even be there anymore, past the patrol trails that promised nothing but death?

It wasn’t happening. Not on his watch.

“Joel, can you take this out to the kids, please?” Maria’s voice cut clean through his thoughts. He blinked, glancing up just as she pushed a bowl of garlic knots toward him. “Don’t want them starving before dinner’s done.”

Kids. How the hell Leela had ended up in that category was beyond him. But she’d started hanging around Ellie and her friends more, all of them messing around with her, out of good heart or the fuck of it, he did not know. They’d even managed to rope her into their little hijinks late into the night, like right now.

He’d seen Ellie dragging her outside earlier, that same oversized stack of star charts that Leela had gifted her tucked under her arm, Dina and Jesse trailing right after her with waves, and practically buzzing with excitement. He’d heard snippets of the invitation—something about mapping the constellations, something about seeing the stars “like they used to be.” And, to his surprise, Leela had actually gone along with them.

From inside, he’d catch the sound of laughter floating through the backyard. It wasn’t much, but hell, it was a little relief, knowing she was out there, around some good spirits, instead of pacing around those goddamn blackboards like she was trying to solve the meaning of life.

He stood to take the bowl out, but before he could even make it past the table—

“Da-da.”

Joel stopped in his tracks. Maya had her hands stretched toward him, little fingers grabbing at the air, grinning mouth already open in expectation.

“Pease gimme,” she demanded.

He snorted, reaching over to pop his finger between her lips instead. “Nice try, baby girl. Dinner first.”

“Pease, pease! Aw, da-da!” she whined, brown eyes big and pleading, nearly changing his heart, wriggling against Tommy’s chest in an attempt to get to him.

He just shook his head, slipping away toward the hallway. “Gotta do better than that.”

Tommy was already distracting her with a spoonful of tomato soup that was bubbling away by the time he stepped out the back door.

Outside, the kids were alright. Dina and Jesse were off to one side by the fences, heads bent together in their own little world. Joel should’ve broken them up, should’ve told them to leave some damn space between them, but—

His eyes flicked to Ellie instead.

She was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, staring at the happy couple long and hard. And the second she felt Joel watching her, she snapped her gaze away, clearing her throat and focusing on Leela instead. He tried not to dwell on it, though his brows shot right up in question.

Leela, on the other hand—she wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

She had her head tilted up, her gaze tracking the sky, that damn star map spread open in her hands. She was muttering under her breath, tracing something invisible in the air, her brows drawn together in deep concentration. That look she got—the one where her whole world shrank down to whatever puzzle was in front of her—alive, glowing.

It was the same look she had when she worked through some problem scrawled across her blackboards. The same look she had when she was fixing something—quiet, focused, all sharp edges and restless movement, pulling things apart just to put them back together again. It was amazing how much Maya looked like her mama, she had that exact same look when she tried to decipher the chords as he played guitar.

And god help him, he loved Leela like this. Loved the way she got lost in things, the way her mind worked like a racecar engine. Loved the way she’d get so caught up in the details that she’d forget the rest of the world existed, forget to eat, forget to sleep—loved it, even when it pissed him off.

Loved her. Jesus, it was amazing how his old ass could still get hooked on a girl like this.

Ellie barely had a second to react before he shoved the bowl into her chest. “Haven’t missed the boat just yet, kiddo,” he teased.

Ellie shot him a glare. “Oh, fuck you, Joel.” She shoved a garlic knot into her mouth. “I know Leela’s only tolerating your ass.”

Joel chuckled, stepping forward.

Leela was still lost in the map, tapping a finger against her temple, muttering under her breath as her eyes darted between the lines and symbols. Joel quietly came up behind her, lowering just enough to brush his lips against her ear.

“Lookin' up at your own kind?” he murmured.

Ellie, mid-chew, made an exaggerated gagging noise.

Joel, grumbling, kicked a lazy leg in her direction. “Get outta here. Go on, git.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, snatching another garlic knot from the bowl before slinking off into the house.

Joel, though—he stayed.

Leela finally glanced up from her map, blinking at him like she’d just realized he was there. The slight furrow of her brow softened, the haze of focus giving way to a quiet, warm smile. “Hi, Joel.”

That smile. His name shaped like a hymn on her lips. Subtle. A thing most people wouldn’t catch if they weren’t looking for it. But Joel was always looking, listening. And God, he loved catching her like this. Unaware, until she wasn’t.

He smiled back, slow and knowing, waiting for her to say something else, maybe acknowledge the way he’d lowered his voice just for her, the way he’d leaned in close enough for his breath to stir a few strands of her hair—

But she didn’t. She just turned back to her damn star chart, completely disregarded his sorry attempt at flirting, as if he was nothing more than a passing shadow.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. The only thing worse than flirting with Leela was getting ignored by her.

The air had shifted before he had even noticed. Not by much—just enough that he could feel it. The barely-there stiffness in her shoulders, all the implicit everything sinking in the inches between them.

Because this was the first time he’d properly approached her in two days. He hadn't crossed past the courtesies or bare necessities, this time, he felt like it had soothed over.

The last time being her breakdown. And she was here now—outside, breathing, looking up at the sky like she hadn’t spent days holed up in that house, tangled in her own mind. Like she was okay.

But Joel knew better.

Leela clucked her tongue, rolling up the chart in frustration. “It’s like I’m wasting my potential.” A sigh, thin and frayed at the edges. “I can’t think straight. I can’t find the stupid… star. Something’s wrong with me.”

Joel nudged his shoulder into hers, trying to shake something loose. “There ain't nothin’ wrong with you. You just need to get out of the house a little more.”

She shook her head, already brushing him off. “I’m not teaching at the school, Joel. I told you, it's not for me.”

There was something automatic about the way she said it—premeditated. A flicker of irritation behind her eyes, like she’d already decided where this conversation was going before he even had the chance to take it there.

Joel just lifted a brow. “Not askin' you to.”

Leela blinked, lips parting slightly. Like maybe she’d expected an argument. But he wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t anyone else. He wasn’t trying to fix her.

Leela ran a hand down her face, rubbing at her eyes. “I just… it’s so incomplete.” Her voice wavered slightly, barely above a whisper. “I know I’m done, I ran the numbers a hundred times, but I—” She bit her lip, frustration flickering across her face. "I can’t stand the fact that I don’t have anything else to work toward.”

Joel studied her for a long moment.

This wasn’t just about the damn star chart. She needed something. A goal, a project—something to occupy her hands, her mind, something to pour herself into. Because without it, she was stuck in her own head. Stuck waiting.

He reached out, sliding a hand to the back of her head. His fingers traced slow, absentminded strokes before his arm draped heavy around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

“You need a break, darlin’.”

Leela let herself sink against him, nestling her nose against the worn fabric of his shirt. Her hands slipped against his sides, resting at his ribs, tentative, like she hadn’t touched him in a while and wasn’t sure if she still could.

“And do what?”

“Help me fix up that swing for Maya’s birthday.”

Joel felt the small hitch in her breath before she even lifted her head.

“Maya’s—” She gasped, cupping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, her birthday. I completely—” Her voice broke slightly. “How did you know?”

Joel shrugged. “Did some mental math. She was barely a month old when we first met. Figure it’s comin’ up soon.”

Leela closed her eyes. “Yes. Christmas.”

“Holly jolly Christmas baby,” he said, snickering. He didn’t know if it was hard-luck or fortuitous that their baby girl’s birthday overlapped with a holiday.

Leela groaned softly, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “I’m a terrible mother.”

Joel made a derisive noise, picking her hands off her eyes before cupping her cold cheek. “Nah, just a scatterbrained one.”

And when she finally laughed—light, breathy, warm—it was as if he’d struck gold.

He let himself look at her then. Her long hair was a mess, spilling around her face from the loose braid, wild and tangled from where she’d been tugging at it in frustration. The stars flecked in her big, dark eyes, dim and soft, like the whole night sky had been stitched there just for him.

Christ, he loved her. It hit him in strange moments like this. Not in the middle of some grand declaration, not when they were on the brink of tragedy. Just here. Just in the way she folded against him, breathing slow, in the way she trusted him enough to let her guard down.

Joel brushed his thumb against her temple. “You’re alright, you know that?”

Leela blinked. “What?”

“You,” he murmured. “You’re doin' okay. I've got you now.”

A breath. Then she smiled—small, almost imperceptible, but there. And Joel, stupid, old fool that he was—he fucking melted.

Because he’d said nothing special. Just a handful of words, low and gruff and barely above a whisper. And yet—there was something in her eyes now, reassurance, like she needed to hear it, and she hadn’t let herself believe it until now. Until he said it. Until it came from him.

She tiptoed, her forehead leaning into his, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her breath, feel the way she hesitated for just a second, like maybe she was unsure—

But then she kissed him.

Slow, soft, uncertain, and God help him, but he could’ve crushed her right into his bones. “Right now?”

“Just a little one,” she whispered against his lips.

“Killin' me.”

Because it had been too fucking long since he had her like this—since she let him have her like this. And for weeks now, ever since that weed trip of hers, he’d been holding himself back, watching her from a distance, all while within their house, twenty-four by seven, just waiting for the right moment.

His large hand found the curve of her throat, his thumb pressing gently beneath her jaw as he tilted her into his smiling lips, deepening the kiss. She tasted of him, of her, a blend of them both, and Joel wanted to drown in it.

She made a soft noise against his lips, barely there, but felt, and he was already stretching for her ass, already—

“Mama!”

Joel flinched, eyes still half-lidded, mind heady with her, with them, but—Leela broke away immediately, her head snapping toward the deck.

And there stood Maya. The little menace herself, gripping the railing for balance, two entire garlic knots stuffed in her tiny fist.

Joel sighed sharply, tilting his head back toward the sky. Just on time, the peanut-butt cockblocker.

Maya’s attention wasn’t on them, though. No, she was too focused on her real struggle—getting herself down the stairs while holding onto both knots, because apparently, letting go was out of the question.

Joel huffed, already moving. “Hey-ey—now, who the heck gave you those?”

Because Maya didn’t just find food. No, that kid knew exactly who to ask and how to ask. A little manipulator before she even hit two years old.

Maya just grinned at him, all teeth and mischief, one cheek puffed out with the stolen bread, and Joel didn’t even have to guess which poor soul had caved under that wide-eyed, baby-faced con job.

He reached for Maya's hand. “Gimme that. Didn’t I tell you no snacks before dinner?”

And because she was, without a doubt, his worst nightmare—she twisted away from him with a high-pitched squeal, shoving another bite into her mouth as she waddled to the other side of the deck.

Joel sighed. “Goddamn it, trouble.”

Behind him, Leela laughed with her daughter, already climbing up onto the deck. “Alright. C’mere, baby.”

Maya didn’t fight her. Just beamed up at her mama, eyes bright and full of adoration. Leela crouched before her, brushing at the curls on her forehead.

“Can you feed Mama one?”

And just like that—without hesitation—Maya held one out. Anything her mother said, she followed. Anything at all. It was Joel she was coming to rebel against with her little cheekiness. And Joel being completely susceptible to her charms, fell for it constantly.

Leela leaned in, mouth open, and Maya giggled before pushing the knot between her lips.

Joel shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, watching them. Leela, the master Maya manipulator, struck once more.

She hummed in approval, chewing theatrically. “Mmm, so good. One more, please?”

And Maya, delighted, shoved the other half-eaten, slobbery garlic knot into her mother’s mouth.

Joel made a noise. “Jesus.”

Leela, struggling through a laugh, wiped her mouth, grinning. “Thank you, baby.”

Maya clapped her hands together, voice piping up—“No-mo.”

Leela licked some garlic butter from her thumb, grunting as lifted Maya onto her hip. “Let’s get something real to eat before your poor dad pops a vein on his head.”

Joel scoffed, following them up the stairs, feeling every damn step in his knees. “Pop a vein—psh, yeah, you wish.”

Dinner with the Millers' was always a big thing nowadays. Joel, finally, had found himself growing used to the way the table felt a little more complete now, moored closer to one of his own.

Back in the old days—hell, even when it was just him and Tess in Boston—meals were quiet, nothing but the clink of cutlery, the scrape of bowls, the occasional grunt of acknowledgement if someone asked for the last bite. Food had been something to get through, not something to enjoy.

But here? This? It was a whole damn production.

It seemed like Leela, Maria, and Tommy were trying to outdo each other on every dinner occasion. Joel never saw them outright say it, but the evidence was all right here—plates filled to the brim with roasted vegetables and some sort of braised meat that smelled damn near decadent. There was even fresh bread, sliced and golden, butter melting into the soft notches. Warmth, everywhere—lamplight spilling golden across the table, the faint crackle of the fireplace, boots nudging against each other under the table.

And noise. So much noise.

Jesse had ducked out early, leaving Dina to make herself at home beside Ellie, and it didn’t take long for them to get into it.

“Okay, but that is not how you use a fuckin' knife,” Ellie was saying, waving her fork in Dina’s face.

Maria sighed. “There's a talking toddler at the table.”

As if on cue, Maya smacked her little hand onto the table. Ellie showed her teeth at her, sheepish. “My bad.”

Dina rolled her eyes, all dramatic. “Well, excuse me for not being a serial killer, Miss ‘Lemme Show You The Proper Stabbing Technique.’”

Joel smirked at that one, chewing on a piece of trout.

It was a different kind of comfort. Something he still wasn’t used to—this abundance after a long time.

And then there was Leela, stealing his heart, piece by piece. The way she’d always scooted her chair a little closer to his. The way her knee brushed his under the table. The way she let him rest a hand over her thigh, stroke it when he was tense like it was all his. The way she’d laugh when someone cracked a joke at his expense—which was often—squeezing his shoulder like he was some goddamn kicked puppy before turning back to her plate.

Didn’t even take long for that to happen. Joel knew Tommy had that look in his eye—that look, the one that meant he was about to open his dumbass mouth. And sure enough...

“So,” Tommy started, all innocent-like. “How's shackin’ up in the big house treatin’ ya, Mensch Miller?”

Joel wanted to put his fork through his brother’s skull. Right between the eyes. So, he barely spared him a glance. “Go to hell.”

Tommy snorted. “C’mon now, ain't no shame in it. We're all real proud of you for finally gettin’ over your fear of commitment. Folks?”

A round of agreements circled the table—Maria, Dina, even Ellie with a smirk and a nod, like they’d all been waiting for this exact moment. Joel sighed through his nose, already regretting every life choice that led him to this.

Dina leaned in, grinning. “Oh my God. Joel, did you finally put a ring on it?”

Ellie snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause there’s so many jewellery stores open these days.”

Joel shot her a flat look. “Could always carve one outta bone.”

Dina sighed with literal heart eyes. “Aww. So metal.”

Ellie recoiled instead. "Dude—what the actual fuck?"

Tommy wheezed at that one. But Leela didn’t react much at all. Just blinked at them, her expression blank, like she had no idea why the hell they were making such a big deal out of it. Then, casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—

“We’re partners,” she said simply, reaching up to his jaw, nails scraping at his scruff. “Right, Joel?”

Joel damn near choked on his own tongue.

Because—what the hell? She wasn’t one for casual touches, wasn’t one for public anything, really. Wasn't some joke, not a passing comment—she just said it, plain as anything. Like it was a truth she’d already made peace with.

Partners. Not a maybe. Not a half-measure. A fact. Halves. Two mates. And it knocked the wind right out of him.

Because Joel had spent so damn long waiting—waiting for her to say something, to define this thing between them, to give him even the smallest indication that she saw him as more than just a man passing through her life.

And here she was, not making a big deal out of it. Not afraid of it, simply stating the obvious. Because fuck, she was right. They were partners now. He had a partner now.

A slow sip of his drink was the only thing that kept him from making an absolute fool of himself.

Dina cackled, slapping the table. “Look at his face. I frickin' love you, Leela.”

Ellie groaned, shoving a bite of food into her mouth. “Jesus, you two deserve each other.”

Maria smirked. “So when’s the big day?”

Dina hummed. “Mm-mm, she'll have to wait, Joel promised to make the ring out of bone.”

Ellie gagged. “Oh my God, Dina—could you please stop with the bone talk?”

Tommy snickered, elbowing him. “Never thought I’d see the day. Big brother all wrangled up.”

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I got a gun, right?”

Tommy waved a hand, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. But you ain't shootin’ me ‘cause our baby girl would be real mad at you.”

And then, of course, there was his baby girl in the midst of all this. It had become second nature by now—the back-and-forth of it all, alternating between holding Maya, fending off his teasing family, and feeding her.

Not that it was much of a competition with her. Most of the time, she quietly ended up in his lap, legs dangling over his thigh, picking curiously at the old scar on his forearm as he spooned food into her mouth.

Leela swore she’d grow out of that habit, but Joel wasn’t so sure. He’d seen that girl study the mark like it held the secrets of the universe since she was a few months old. Tiny fingers tracing the jagged edges, soft and intent, like she was mapping him.

Didn’t matter what he put in front of her—if he ate it, she ate it.

Thank God she wasn’t a picky eater like her mama. He still remembered the first few months of trying to get Leela to eat like a normal person—always picking at her food, losing her appetite, always eating just enough and nothing more.

But Maya? Shit. She was his. His perfect little girl—but nothing like him. Loud, expressive, always moving, always talking. She loved to babble, loved to laugh, loved to feed him right from his own damn plate.

“Da-da, aah.”

He moved his head away. “Nuh-uh. Sit your little butt down.”

“Dinna, da-da.”

“I can eat my own dinner, thanks.”

When her adamant whine pierced through the noise on the table, he gave up. Joel barely glanced at her, already sighing as he opened his mouth.

Sure enough, Maya balanced her pudgy feet on his lap and shoved a forkful of fish into his mouth, giggling like she’d just accomplished something huge.

Joel chewed slowly, unimpressed. “Real nice.”

And then—just to add insult to injury—she reached up and patted his forehead, all delicate and reassuring, just like her mama did to her whenever she did something right.

Ellie snorted. “She's just teaching you manners, old man.”

Dina smirked. “Yeah, ever heard of ‘em?”

He shot them both a look but swallowed the bite anyway. Maya squealed like she knew she was being funny, then reached out for his plate again.

Joel sighed, nudging her grabby fingers away. “Alright, move it, baby girl. Ain’t no way you’re finishing my plate before I do.”

The conversation rolled on around him, blending into laughter and stories. Joel drifted in and out of it, shifting his focus between indulging Maya’s antics and half-listening to Tommy and Maria trade jabs about whose turn it was to cook next.

At some point, the conversation took a turn.

“So,” Tommy started, leaning back in his chair. “What’s next, Lee? The last big thing was that lightning harvester. Then you set up the new water filtration thing.” He gestured vaguely as if the list of things she’d accomplished was casual, nothing major. “You always got somethin’ cookin’. What’s next for Jackson?”

The table quieted just a fraction, all eyes shifting toward Leela with a familiar kind of expectation.

Joel felt her stiffen beside him. She didn’t answer right away, just glanced around at them—Dina, Ellie, Maria, Tommy—all waiting for some brilliant, world-changing answer.

But only Joel knew the sleepless nights, he’d seen her try to redo the math, rework the impossible, just to feel like she had something left to solve. So all he’d been able to do was let her at it, leave her to her circles and theories, and go back to bed, waiting for her to wear herself out. He knew that math of hers had wrecked her—driven her to the edge of exhaustion, of obsession.

And now, sitting here, she looked like she wanted to vanish.

So before the silence could stretch too long before they could push her for something she wasn’t ready to say—Joel spoke for her.

“She actually solved the Riemann hypothesis,” he said, casual as anything, like he was commenting on the weather. A little smug, too.

A beat.

Dina blinked. “The—what?”

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “You just made that up.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Nah. It’s a real thing.” He reached for his water and took a slow sip. “Some math theory. Big deal, apparently. Heck if I knew.”

Tommy, to his credit, pretended like he was just hearing about it for the first time, looking between Joel and Leela with exaggerated surprise.

Dina scoffed. “You don’t know?”

Joel gave her a look. “Do I look like someone who spends his time thinkin’ about math?”

Ellie snorted. “Okay, but you can’t just say it’s a big deal and not even try to explain it.”

Joel sighed again, this time more dramatically, because this truly was exhausting him. “Alright. Uh… somethin’ ‘bout numbers. Division. Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He absently stroked Maya's curls. “S’got a lotta squiggles and letters. But little miss genius figured it out.”

Ellie’s face twisted to a shit-eating grin. “Squiggles?”

Joel turned to Leela, mortified at himself, seeking some reprieve. “Tell ‘em.”

Leela, looking a little like she wanted to shrink into the floor, tucked her hair behind her ear and gave a small nod. “I um, did prove the theory. Took my family a really long time to complete.”

“Wait, actually. I've read about Riemann,” Dina went on, straightening in her seat. “That’s the whole—prime numbers thing—no one’s been able to solve that, right? And if you did, you get like a million dollars or something?”

Leela barely glanced up. “Yes, actually. Millenium Prize problem.”

Joel, watching her carefully, felt the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants under the table.

Ellie leaned in. “Okay, but like—now what? You can’t just—sit on that, right? Don’t you have to tell someone?”

Leela exhaled, slowly. “It’s… complicated. Our world isn't the way it was.”

Joel saw it—the way her shoulders went tight, the way her face shut down.

Dina wasn’t getting it. “How? This is, like, huge. You should—”

Maria, sensing the tension, jumped in smoothly. “What about you, honey? You got any idea on this?”

Tommy, still side-eyeing Joel, shrugged. “Nah. Not a clue.” He sipped his drink. “I was more into the rabble-rousin’ with the Fireflies. And these FEDRA shits wouldn't care about all that.”

Joel let out a tense breath.

Dina groaned dramatically, throwing herself back in her chair. “Man. Would’ve been so cool to have your name in a book. Or somewhere. Professor of Mathematics, Leela.”

Leela managed a small smile, but her gaze had gone distant.

And Joel hated it. Hated that look. That quiet, almost-accepting disappointment.

He hated that she knew this world didn’t have room for her name in a book. That she’d spent years solving a problem no one would ever see, ever care about. And that should’ve been fine, right? Should’ve been something she could accept. But it wasn’t, because despite everything, despite how much she pretended not to care, she did.

And Joel, he wished like hell there was something he could do about it. That tiny drop of hope snuffed out in her eyes. Like for half a second, she thought—maybe there was a world where what she’d done actually mattered.

And it did. Just not in a way that’d ever change a damn thing.

Joel clenched his jaw, staring down at his glass like it might hold an answer.

There weren’t any. Not for this.

Because he knew how he could help her. Knew there were people—out west, in LA—who might care, who might listen, who might actually do something with what she’d done. There were still Fireflies, still remnants of old-world thinkers, people scraping together the last bits of science that hadn’t been buried under blood and ruin.

And if he told her—if he let her know they existed—she might go.

Leave him. Leave their perfect baby girl. Leave home. And that—he couldn’t let happen.

He needed her here.

Call him selfish? Monomaniacal? Maybe. But he didn’t give a fuck.

Joel had lived his life losing. Lost Sarah, lost Tess, lost whatever scraps of himself made him good once. And now—now, he had her. Had Maya. Had a reason to come home at the end of the day that wasn’t just the routine of it. He had that little vestige of trust and faith back in him, even if the ghosts lingered. He slept knowing he was going to wake up with purpose that wasn't just behind the flare of a rifle or the scent of blood. He had love, a warm home, all this food, these people.

And if Leela left—No.

He wouldn’t think about that. Not ever. He'd give up his breath before she risked it like a fucking idiot.

So he’d keep his mouth shut. Play dumb. Let the world stay small for her, even when she was meant for something bigger. Even when he saw the ache of it in her eyes. Even when he hated himself for it. But that was fine, he'd grown used to his hate.

So he did the only thing he could do—he raised his damn glass.

“To Leela,” he said, confident, eyes warm when they landed on her. “For doin’ the impossible.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes widening just a fraction. Under the table, her fingers curled tight around his knee, firm—don’t.

She wasn’t the type to bask in praise, wasn’t one to revel in attention. But Joel wasn’t gonna let her disappear into the silence. So instead of backing down, he just smirked, pried her hand off his knee, and brought it to his lips.

His mouth was rough, the scrape of his beard even rougher, but the way he kissed her knuckles—gentle, slow, promising. A prayer he wouldn’t say out loud.

She froze up, breath catching just enough for him to notice, just enough to make his heart slam against his ribs. This was good. She was okay.

The table had gone quiet.

Then Tommy grinned, lifting his glass. “To Lee.”

Maria followed, then Ellie and Dina, voices echoing the words, raising their drinks. “To Leela.”

And then—clap, clap, clap! Maya, grinning wide, smacked her little hands together, delighted by the sudden chorus of voices, as if she had any clue what was happening.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You like that, baby?”

Maya just kept clapping, giggling as she looked between Joel and Leela, as if she understood this was about her mama, and that meant it was something right.

And Leela—God, she was looking at him now, like he was impossible, like she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him. Joel just held her hand tight, letting his thumb trace slow circles into her skin.

“You deserve it,” he murmured in her ear, meant just for her.

Leela let out a soft breath, almost like a sigh. Then, with barely a beat between them, she squeezed his hand right back.

X

Joel knew he had it good because the thought of reality was the only thing keeping him awake. After all, it felt like his dreams had come true.

But of course, nowadays, when Joel slept, he closed his eyes and he fell deeply, just as he did in love and loss, displaced of his path back. When he did ultimately open his eyes once more to the old patterned ceiling, tucked up in a disgustingly comfortable bed, within a house you could hear the wind slide under the eaves, the soft creak of the old floors settling, Maya’s soft little snores down the hall, the occasional rustle of sheets when Leela moved on her bed, he wasn’t sure when life had slowed down like this, when the days stopped being about surviving and started being about living.

Whatever it was, it was all Leela. She had insisted he take the biggest room when he moved in, and she wouldn’t hear a word otherwise. Stubborn as a damn mule, she’d just stared him down when he tried to argue, and—hell. It wasn’t like he minded. The room was ridiculous, the bathroom even more, with more closet space than he’d ever need, but the real saving grace was the football-field-sized bed.

Probably a thousand silky white pillows, freshly washed and dusted, stacked against a plush leather headboard, spilling over a white duvet. Bed to end all beds. Big enough to sink in between. Lonely enough when it got dark. Close enough to Maya’s nursery that when she woke in the middle of the night, whimpering softly in the dark, he was already moving, already lifting her up before she got too lonely.

Outside, winter had crept in slowly. Mornings turned from golden to white, breaths corkscrewing in steam ribbons against the cold. The sky was that sharp, steel-grey that told you snow wasn’t far behind, and Joel had started waking up to a frost-lined world, rooftops silvered, trees edged in ice.

December now, and Jackson was easing into the Christmas season and spirit—garlands strung between shop corners, lights winking from one lamppost to the next, a huge tree going up in the square, handmade ornaments showing up on doors. He had his own big efforts for Maya's first birthday and Christmas.

And then—just like the night before—it hit him.

Maya was turning one soon. The thought still knocked something loose in him. This tiny thing, this impossibly small, impossibly bright piece of his world who barely reached his knee. Who stumbled around in her little boots like she had somewhere really important to be. Who giggled like it could undo every bad thing in the world, cutting straight through the cold, through the ache in his bones, like it was nothing.

His girl. God, that was still a hard thing to wrap his head around. That she belonged to him. That he belonged to her.

He lay back against the pillows, an arm resting behind his head, and let his fingers graze the stack of Polaroids and photographs scattered across his nightstand. He flipped through each one slowly like one of Maya's bedtime stories, but only this one was real.

One of him and Ellie, captured by Leela, sprawled out on the porch swing, their boots propped up against the rail. Ellie mid-laugh, a cup of iced lemonade dangling from her fingers, frozen in time. He could almost hear her voice, thick with dry humour, and see the way her nose scrunched when she got to the best part of whatever story she was telling.

Tommy, Maria and him, once again captured by Leela, arms slung around each other at the hoedown, cowboy hats tilted over their heads, two of them tipsy and flushed. A night of music and good beer and warmth—the kind of warmth that had been rare for too long. The kind they hadn’t thought they’d find again.

And then—his fingers slowed.

One of them. Pretty sure it was Ellie who took this one. Maya, wedged between him and Leela, four little teeth showing, curls and eyes shining, a fork clutched in her fist, attention stolen by something off-camera. Leela, so beautiful under the flash, one hand curled protectively at Maya’s back, the other resting lightly on the table. And Joel, beside them both, his smile unsure, caught between trying to look natural and trying not to think too much about how unnatural it still felt—being in a picture like this.

But when he looked at it now—it looked so real. The family aspect of it.

He held the photo at arm’s length, studying it, the three of them together.

Though he looked apart from them. Incohesive. Hell, anyone would say it. The rougher, older edges of him, the shade of his skin and theirs, the texture of his hair and their black locks, the way his eyes weren’t the same big, almond eyes. Maya had Leela’s delicate features, her wide dark gaze, and her gentle intensity. And him—well, he was just there. An outsider, a man slotted into the frame, but not quite of it.

Except… that wasn’t true, was it?

Because if he looked long enough, he could see it. The shape of familiarity, how lived-in he seemed.

The way Maya leaned toward him in the picture, just slightly, even distracted as she was. The way Leela’s fingers curled gently toward his wrist, even unconsciously. The way he fit there, in the space beside them, not because he forced it, but because—somehow, without realizing it—he belonged there.

It made sense. Anyone who looked at this—anyone who knew—they’d know exactly what they were to each other.

He swallowed thickly, staring at the picture like it might shift in his hands or it might tell him something new. He wanted to keep it that way, within this frame, the three of them, until the time was up. God, how long would that be? Another few years?

A knock at his door pulled him from it, and he blinked, turning his head.

Leela pushed the door open slightly, peering inside. “Sorry. Do you have some time?”

He had his whole life for her, even if it was overkill. Joel cleared his throat, setting the Polaroids aside. “Always.”

She stepped inside, and Christ.

She was barefoot, those thin gold-chain anklets winking at him in the low light. The soft curve of her calves disappeared beneath the loose folds of that goddamn pearl-button nightdress—the one that never failed to drive him insane. It was slipping off her shoulder just enough to make his life miserable, the bare silhouette of her body teasing at the edges of his vision, itching his palms with the worst kind of temptation.

Joel sat up, rubbing a slow hand down his face, across the scruff along his jaw, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more awake.

She didn’t hesitate, swishing the fabric under her as she perched on the edge of his bed, legs dangling off.

“I was just on the swing set before it started to snow,” she told him, her voice all wistful. “I think I might love it more than Maya does.”

Joel chuckled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how baby girl’s gonna feel about sharing.”

It hadn’t taken him long to put together the swing set that stood proudly in the front yard—just a hell of a lot of effort, some cursing under his breath, and more muscle than he cared to admit. Sturdy wood, painted deep green, with painted pink and yellow flowers curling along the edges. The seat hung from two thick ropes, knotted tight, built to last. All safe and ready for his little girl.

Leela had helped, like she promised—though if her irritated grumbling was anything to go by, woodworking sure as hell wasn’t her calling. She hadn’t complained once about the splinters, but he caught her wincing every time she flexed her fingers, scowling down at the stubborn bits of wood lodged in her skin.

Joel, now, watched the way her gaze flicked to the photographs near his pillow, her expression shifting—soft, thoughtful. He didn’t move, just waited, letting her take her time.

Her brows furrowed slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “How are your feet?”

Joel smirked, sinking back onto one elbow. “They're toasty, thanks.”

She pulled one knee up to her chest, resting her chin on it, fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her nightdress. “Mine too.” A grin flickered across her face. “I feel like my parents around you nowadays.”

That had him raising an eyebrow. “How's that now?”

Leela hesitated, her fingers stilling. Then, almost cautiously, she said, “You know… a couple. Partners. Married.” That last word barely even made the breath.

Joel stayed quiet, processing that for a moment. Shit, he couldn't. He almost blacked out.

“They were so crazy in love, Joel. Even at eighty.” A fond laugh slipped from her. “Dad would have her coffee ready every morning, help her tie her shoelaces, and open doors for her. Dance with her every night before bed. Never let her raise a finger around the home, even after the whole world came crumbling down around us.”

She smiled to herself, the memory a gentle thing.

“I’m gonna make you the happiest, fattest, laziest wifey in Jackson, sweetheart,” she recited, voice taking on a deep, playful lilt, like she was echoing her father's exact words.

Joel huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like a stand-up fella'.”

Leela nodded, then faltered, her lips parting like there was something else—something she wasn’t sure she should say. Joel waited, his fingers twitching against the blanket, patient.

Then softly, quietly, “He would've liked you.”

Joel looked away, to itch at his temple, hiding a grin. The thought of this man—the man who had made Leela feel safe, loved—looking at him and thinking he’s good enough for my little girl? No, he would've given him a hard time. Especially since no one stood to compare to Leela, much less a man like Joel, hitting sixty and greying. Her father would've come at him with his expensive shotgun.

Leela’s gaze lifted to his, eyes foolproof. She took a breath. “I feel like that with you.”

Joel's throat worked tough. His body had already moved before his mind caught up, his hand reaching out, fingers trailing along her temple, dipping into the thick waves of her hair.

“Like a fat, lazy wifey?” he murmured.

Leela let out a tiny, breathless laugh and immediately covered her face with both hands, her shoulders curling in. “Yeah. Is that bad?”

Joel’s grin pulled at his mouth, satisfaction sitting right on his bones. His thumb brushed over the curve of her cheek, a little more deliberate now, a little more his. “That’s the goal, sweetheart.”

Leela peeked at him through her fingers, then, as if gathering herself, slowly reached out and took his hand from her face. She held it in her lap, turning it over, tracing the rough lines of his palm. The callouses, the broken skin, the deep grooves time had worn into him.

She ran her thumb along the ridge of a scar, a flash of quiet passing through her expression. Not pity—Leela never looked at him like that. Just knowing. Understanding.

“Do you remember what you told me?” she murmured, still studying his hand, watching the way her fingers disappeared against the breadth of his palm. “That night after the bar?”

Joel exhaled, a deep thing, pulse hammering up his veins. “Do you?”

She squinted, like she was trying to piece a puzzle together, like it lived just at the edges of her memory.

“I don’t remember much. It's hazy.” Her voice dipped even quieter. “You told me you love me.”

Joel swallowed. His fingers flexed against hers before curling, his palm pressing lightly to her own like she might slip away if he didn’t hold onto her properly.

“And I’ll say it again,” he assured.

Leela finally looked up, meeting his gaze fully. Her fingers curled tighter around his hand, holding him there.

“I want to feel you now, Joel,” she said, soft but sure, like it was something she had already decided. “Loving all of me.”

A deep and molten flame uncoiled in him at her words, cracked something wide open.

Because she remembered. And he remembered the way she had trembled under him that night, high and reckless and desperate for something he wouldn’t give her. And he had whispered the only inevitable promise that he had ever felt—

“One day, when I’m deep inside you, I am all you're gonna be thinkin' of. Just me, loving all of you.”

And now—now Leela was here, in front of him, sober and clear-eyed and asking him for the very thing he had promised her.

Joel didn’t rush. He just reached for her, wanting and calm, his fingers trailing from her wrist, up the length of her arm, to her chin. He tilted her face toward him, waiting. Giving her the space to change her mind.

Leela stared at him, eyes, lips, eyes, lips, and it had him in agony. A prolonged soon enough, she simply lifted her lips to his like an offering.

And he took.

He kissed her like a man who had gone without for too long, hands crushing her closer to him, like a man afraid to break the very thing he craved. Worshipping her was softer than before because now he knew she wanted this. He knew she was choosing this. Choosing him. Out of all the sick, sorry bastards in this world, she picked him. Him.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he promised between kisses, hungering forward for more. “I'll make you feel like a queen, baby. I'll give you everything.”

Her fingers trailed up, skimming the scruff at his neck before splaying over his chest. The warmth of her touch shot straight through him, and he exhaled against her mouth, pressing closer. Mad, so mad for this.

Then, gently, he guided her hands to his shirt buttons.

He wasn’t in any hurry. This wasn’t about taking—this was about letting. Letting her have control, letting her set the pace, letting her know she could stop whenever she wanted.

Leela pulled away just enough to glance down at his shirt, her breath catching.

“Go on then, help me out,” he urged.

That’s when he saw it—the hesitation. The clear-cut hysteria that hadn’t been there last time, numbed to the effects of weed. With her clarity came everything else. Every dread, every old wound, every aching recollection, every scar she carried in places he couldn’t see.

Joel stayed still, barely breathing, watching the way her fingers hovered over the buttons, how they trembled as she carefully popped the first one open. Then the next and next.

She pushed the fabric from his shoulders, her hands mapping him quietly, tracing it all. She touched everything—the pale scars left by unseen blades, the sealed bullet wounds, the old burns, the places where life had carved him up and forced him to heal around the damage. Her dark gaze lingered on the fine scruff dusting his chest, palms gliding lower, following the path where dark hair thinned down his stomach before vanishing beneath his waistband.

She wasn’t just looking. She was memorizing. Good, let her. This was all hers anyway.

“Ruined,” he mumbled.

“Survived,” she corrected.

He slid the sleeves off his arms, balling his shirt up in his hands before tossing it aside. Joel leaned back against the headboard like a king waiting on a feast, his legs spreading slightly, the muscles in his stomach flexing as he breathed. His gaze was heavy-lidded, thick, deep and everything unspoken.

Then, slowly, he stroked a palm over his thigh. “Come sit, darlin’.”

Leela hesitated. He could see it in the way her fingers curled and uncurled on the duvet, like she was feeling her way through the moment. But she followed, just like he knew she would, crawling over until she was straddling him, the seam of her legs spread over his zipper, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.

Joel felt the warmth of her, the light press of her thighs against him, the way her breath hitched when her hands came to his shoulders, fingers curling lightly over muscle and scar.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You're just perfect, aren't you?”

She nodded. Then blinked in realization, then shook her head, sighing. “Shut up.”

“Psh. Look at you. I ain't gonna.”

His own hands found her waist, steadying her, tracing slow circles over the fabric of her nightdress. This girl was made to be loved.

Then his fingers slid up, tracing her figure, until he was right over those goddamn pearl buttons.

He wanted to take them apart with his teeth, but that wasn’t the way to do this—not tonight. So he traced the cool surface of each one before carefully slipping them free, one by one, big fingers graceless over the little buttons.

The moment the last one came undone, he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face. The anxiety, the confusion... the curiosity way beneath it. Observing him.

And then he sank his teeth into the delicate skin on her sternum.

Leela sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening on his biceps.

Joel groaned against her, dragging his lips over the mark, spreading slow, open-mouthed kisses over the same spot, soothing it, claiming it.

He let the thin sleeves slide off her shoulders, watching the way the fabric slipped down her arms, pooling at her midriff.

Joel exhaled sharply, his grip tightening just a fraction before smoothing over her skin again like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Because Christ, how was she real? Where had that lonely, grey fart upstairs been hiding her all this time?

She was all honey-warm skin and soft, dusky curves. Her breasts rose and fell with each uneven breath, her ribs tautening, beneath the subtle dip of her waist. His gaze traced the gentle flare of her hips, the little softness at her love handles, the way her toned stomach tensed as she held herself still, waiting—watching him with those deep, knowing eyes.

“Joel?” she whispered.

“You're...” He blinked twice. “You're so beautiful.”

For a terrible lack of words, he wasn't exactly a fucking poet. He really wanted to tell her that she was the Powerball lottery in his life, that even her smartass brain was sexy, and that when she breathed, he was pretty sure a flower bloomed right under her damn feet.

But she managed a quiet laugh. “Oh-kay.”

And Joel had never believed in God much, but if there was one, he’d have to offer up a damn prayer of thanks. Only took thirty whole years.

He let his hands roam, rough fingertips skating over the curve of her waist, following the soft lines of her body. She was delicate, strong, warm, and hesitant, all at once, and beneath the tension in her shoulders, he could feel the slight tremble in her limbs.

She trusted him with this. With herself.

Joel wasn’t about to fuck that up. So he took his time.

He smoothed his palms over her ribs, feeling the way her bones flexed beneath his touch. His thumbs brushed over her perfect nipples, the peaks stiffening, drawing the softest sound from her throat—a breathy little whimper that damn near destroyed him.

His control hung by a thread as he ducked his head, finally taking her into his mouth.

His lips closed over her, hot and slow, his tongue flicking, tasting, teasing. He lavished her with attention, spreading kisses across the swell of one, then the other, loving them equally, thoroughly.

“Fuckin' don't deserve any of this,” he said through his teeth, clutched on a nipple.

“What are you...” she whispered.

He was surrounded by Leela, arching into him, encouraging his lips where she wanted him, and he didn't spare a thought to her instincts. If she wanted him, she'd have it. Her fingers trembled before they slid into his hair, sweeping back through the silver-streaked strands, holding him there like she was trying to commit the sight of him—eyes half-closed, mouth on her, glorifying her—to memory.

Then, without thinking, Joel bit down—just enough to pull a sound from her throat, her grip on his hair tightening, nails scraping against his scalp.

Didn’t think she’d like that. But she did. Nice.

“Joel,” she whispered.

His smirk was slow, lazy, drawn out against her flushed skin as he let his tongue wander over the reddening mark he’d left before sealing it with a leisurely, possessive suck.

“Shit, baby,” he muttered, voice gone husky. “If this is what you taste like here, can’t imagine what you taste like down there.”

Leela’s breath hitched hard. “Down what…?”

The way she said it—uncertain, like the thought had never fully occurred to her—lit a fire in his gut. Primal, claiming, wanting. Frantic.

She wouldn’t know. Of course, she wouldn’t.

It wasn’t like there had been time for teenage exploration when the world had gone to hell. No fumbling hands in the dark, no stolen kisses at parties, no whispered giggles between sheets. Sex was a free-for-all in QZs obviously, and he sure as hell doubted porn had been a practicality when she’d been at that wonderful age of curiosity.

Which meant this—the way she looked at him, the way her breaths stared back up when he so much as hinted at what he wanted to do—was something else entirely.

Yeah, Joel had never been more careful in his damn life.

“Christ,” he rasped, dragging his hands slowly down her back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine, the delicate lines of her body. "Well, at least a little touch. Lemme feel you.”

“Feel,” she murmured, confused.

He showed her his hand. Then two fingers. Then his thumb. Hoping that was enough for her to get the message across. “Feel.”

She hesitated for only a moment, but then—God help him—she nodded. That was all the permission he needed.

“Let's get this off you,” he muttered. “Wanna see you.”

He eased the night dress up and over her head, watching the fabric pool around her before slipping off completely. Her thick braid slapped softly against her back, and then—there she was.

All herself. Just Leela.

She sat before him in nothing but those little white linen panties, tied into thick knots at her hips—ruffled edges, sweet, soft, so goddamn cute—and his. Yeah, his. All mine.

And then his hands were on her again, slow, reverent, like he had the luxury of time. Because he did. Because this was about her, about her knowing she was safe, knowing she was loved, knowing he'd go wherever she liked him to.

His longest finger wandered closer and closer from her hips, and brushed beneath the edge of her panties, a featherlight bump against that warm, soft groove. Just to let her know.

His jaw clenched, muscles locking as he willed himself to go slow, to savour every second of this, to feel her breathe against his cheek as he did it.

Her eyes flickered up to his, eyes locking. Wide. Waiting. Knowing this wasn't over.

He held her gaze as he pushed further in between her folds, just enough to feel the heat of her, the damp silk of her against his fingertips—aching, perfect, warm.

Her lips parted. A little gasp, barely a sound.

And then her eyes fluttered shut.

He felt it the second she let go, the second she allowed herself to slip into it, to trust what he was doing to her.

His coarse fingers carefully traced, explored, and learned. A decade out of practice, but instincts were instincts. And he knew how to listen—how to really listen. The way her breaths stuttered when he circled just right with the pad of his thumb at the little bud of nerves, the way her body clenched when he curled deeper inside where he needed to. When his fingers worked her low and slow, in loving accuracy, how she completely arched into him, warm walls pressuring around his fingers.

Then, a tiny sound. Soft. Desperate. “Joel, please.”

Fuck. Every person needs to hear that once in their lifetime. Their whole other half just falling apart while clinging to your name.

His stomach tensed, heat surging through him so sudden and hard he had to close his eyes, had to bite down hard on his own restraint before he did something stupid—like buck against her like a goddamn teen and blow a load into his jeans.

Because of the way she moved into his palm, the way her hips found the rhythm like instinct, like something she’d always known but never had the chance to learn—Jesus Christ, his frail heart was going to fail him.

“I know,” he breathed, voice gruff. “I know. Goddamn it, you’re so beautiful. So perfect f'me.”

How unoriginal. Cliché as a bitch. But what the hell else was he supposed to say? Write haikus? Sing praises? He would, if he had any sanity left. She was carved from silent fire and untouchable grace, delicate and untamed, something that had no damn business ending up here, in his ruined hands.

Her fingers dug into his back, ravaged by sensation, nails sinking in, breaking the skin, drawing blood—maybe. Didn’t fucking matter. Even that was sexy. That pain was welcome, something he'd carry with him like a brand, a scar he’d look at in the mirror tomorrow with a lazy smirk and think, yeah, my girl did that.

And then—he felt it. That old familiar twitch against his fingers, the way her body tensed, breath shuddering, forehead dropping against his.

She was close.

And if she was going to come, it wasn’t going to be on his marred hands. No way in hell. He needed to feel her come on him everywhere. Needed it to hit him so deep he felt pinpricks behind his goddamn eyes.

“Baby, hang on. Fuck, honey, gimme a second,” he rasped, voice wrecked, dragging his fingers out from her, savouring the heat, the slick. He popped them into his mouth, groaning low at the taste, the perfection of her. Wasn’t about to waste a single drop.

Leela only watched him, unusual, confused. “So strange.”

He wiped his mouth. “Unreal, baby. Taste so good.”

Then, shifting back against the headboard, he pulled her closer onto his lap. His hands slid up her thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles, coaxing, calming.

He nodded at his pants. “Wanna help me out of this?”

She nodded, still flushed, and reached down. Soft, slender, long hands worked the button loose, nudged the zipper down, knuckles grazing his stomach, fingers tracing down the happy trail, lower, lower—

She sucked in a breath when she laid eyes on the good stuff that sprang free.

He saw the flicker in her eyes, and he prayed to whatever was looking over him that he was in all right proportions, that he was to her liking, that he was good enough for her. But the way she seemed to assess, hesitating... Curiosity? Oh, good—anything other than disgust.

Then she glanced up at him, brow pinched. “You’re not wearing...”

He blinked, momentarily lost in his own haze, until he realized. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. God bless America.”

The laugh that burst out of her was sudden, real, pure, like she hadn't expected it. She did a double-take, covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

“Omigod, Joel. You’ve been walking around without underwear this whole time?”

He smirked, gathering her back into his arms, hands already working at the ties of her little knotted panties. “Alright, get your judgy ass over here.”

Two tugs, and they were gone, joining the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. He gave her tight behind a nice squeeze. “Y'know, you've got the perkiest butt I've ever seen. All that lifting and stretching—you drive me crazy with those teeny little shorts.”

She twisted his ear playfully. “So that's why you're always messing up with the tools.”

“Oh, yeah. Prettiest pussy, too,” he whispered, winking.

“Joel!” she hissed.

And then—finally—she was straddling his lap, stripped, all soft thighs and tough calves, muscles flexing as she adjusted, aligned over him, and found her balance, fingers curled into the headboard for support.

A little smile tugged at her lips. And it killed him. “Hi.”

“Hi, honey,” he murmured.

She was stunning—lean, strong, effortless. A goddamn supermodel. That hair, those muscles, those striking eyes, she had him by the balls and he wasn't complaining.

He held her hips, warm, smooth skin beneath his rough palms, a thumb tracing the soft, wet seam at her legs. He pushed a testing finger in, and she shivered.

“You ready for me?” he murmured.

She exhaled softly, before her hand came down, sliding into his hair, down his ear, his cheek—thumb brushing over his lips like she was memorizing him like he was something sacred.

And then, so quiet, so sure—“I want to feel all of you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Not fair. Not fucking fair. That should’ve given him a second, a moment to react, to curse, to do something—

But then she moved. And finally, finally, she took him inside her. Right where he’d been aching for her.

Heat. Tight. Unreal.

“Fuuuck.” A deep groan ripped out of his chest as she plunged down onto him, enveloping him in pressure so impossibly hot, impossibly incredible, that his head kicked back against the headboard.

Strain. Resistance. So much love.

Her body rebelled, not used to this stretch, this fullness, and when a sharp, quiet cry slipped from her, she buried it against his cheek. “Please.”

His breath stilled. Instinct flared hot in his veins—not desire, but protection, care, a tethered restraint that warred with the desperate need to move, to feel her completely.

His arms circled around her, strong. His lips found the edge of her eye, feeling the trail of tears, murmuring against her skin, “I'm right here, baby. You're doin’ so good. Take me so well.”

“It hurts,” she cried out sharply.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You want to take a breath for me?”

And she did. A nice, long, deep one into his neck. The hot air ghosted around his nape. Then two more, until it felt like her breaths were finally stuttering back into her.

He kissed her eye. “That's a good girl. You got this. Eyes on me.”

She nodded shakily, holding his gaze.

“Only me, alright?”

He tightened his hold on her hips, not to force, not to move—just to be there, to keep her close as he raised up, his back protesting with a pricking ache, meeting her halfway, easing her down inch by inch, a motion as old as time, gentle, ready, his.

“Feel like a dream, darlin’,” he whispered against her skin, voice barely holding together.

A shiver. A squeeze around him, tight and sweet, like a pulse, a welcome. This was his home.

And he felt it—this wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just something done to her, wasn’t something she was just letting happen.

She wanted every inch of him. And Joel was going to move fucking mountains to give it to her.

Joel moved with her, for her, matching the slow, hesitant rhythm she set. Each slide into her was deep, measured—he wasn’t chasing anything except her, wasn’t losing himself in the feeling of her wrapped around him, not yet. No, this was about letting her take what she needed. About making sure she knew, in her bones, that this was hers. He was hers.

“Joel, is this okay?” she panted.

He looked up at her and sighed from numb lips, “Baby, how the hell are you real?”

Because Jesus, if she wasn’t the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever seen—the way her brows pinched, the way her pretty mouth parted, the way her breath hitched when he hit that spot.

The way her body crashed above him, her hands clung to the headboard, his shoulders, nails gripping, grounding—she was giving him everything without even realizing it. A little gasp left her lips each time he lifted his hips, rocking against hers, pushing her just a little bit further, testing the limits of what she could take.

His fingers smoothed down her spine, following the curve of her back, his lips finding her throat, the little hollow just beneath her ear.

“That's my good girl,” he encouraged, voice rough, rasping into her ear. “Feels nice, don’t it? Feels real nice.”

She shuddered, a little whimper catching at the back of her throat. Her thighs tensed around him, gripping tight around his neck, but her movements faltered. A stutter. A hesitation.

Joel slowed. Just enough to feel her, to see her, to be sure.

And that’s when he knew. That she wasn’t quite there. No matter how wet she was, how ready and tight she was around him, something in her body held back.

But it wasn’t fear or pain or shyness or any of that bullshit. It was just unfamiliar. A wariness just under her skin, something holding her back, keeping her from letting go.

And Joel understood.

His gut tightened, hurt pulling at his chest, but this—this wasn’t just about fucking. It wasn’t just about getting her to some peak, some finish line, some goal he had to chase.

It was about unlearning. It was being with her. It was about replacing whatever fucked-up pain in her, whatever taking had come before, with something soft, small and theirs.

And if she didn’t come or if she didn’t even know what that felt like—hell, that didn’t change a goddamn thing. Didn’t change the way he was making love to her, how much he loved her, loved feeling her move on top of him, for him.

It also didn’t change the fact that he was already hanging by a thread, already wound too tight, already gritting his teeth to keep himself from losing it, because she felt too good, too right, like she was made to be wrapped around him, to take him this deep.

He wasn't going to last very long, he was pushing his limit here, his prime of life was to blame for that. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold onto the moment, hold onto her—but it was too much, too perfect, too fucking good.

His hands flexed at her hips, gripping, steadying her, his own control unravelling fast.

“Jesus—Leela, I'm—!”

“Joel?” she called, concerned almost.

He wanted to wait as long as he could. Wanted to hold off, wanted to take her there with him, to let her feel all of it, but this old fucking desperate body—

But then she moved, sinking down, rolling her hips against him in just the right way, and he broke.

“Oh, shit!”

A deep, guttural sound tore from his throat, his arms snapping tight around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he spilled deep inside her, every muscle in his body seizing up. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, breath ragged, fingers flexing against her slick skin.

He stayed like that for a moment, ears ringing, buried in her, completely wrung out, slumping into her, breathing her in, feeling her heartbeat pound against his own. Oh, but he was currently in orbit, in fucking space.

And then—when his thoughts returned back to planet Earth, back to Jackson, back to this home, when the haze started to clear—he pulled back, just enough to see her.

She looked… confused. Like she'd gone wrong somewhere. Lips parted, eyes hazy, looking between them, like she was waiting for something, like she wasn’t sure if this was it.

She blinked. “I...”

Joel watched her, studied the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her body still trembled around him, the way her fingers curled gently against his throat.

She didn’t know, of course. Didn’t realize. That she hadn’t come.

And he didn’t feel bad about it—not in the way a man might, not in the way that turned it into some failure, something to gnaw on, to carry like a weight. Shit, she'd gone as far as to relive this for him.

But still—he wanted to give that to her. Wanted her to feel it, to know what it meant to be shattered and held together all at once.

“One more try, okay?” he rasped, barely breathing it into her skin. He kissed her shoulder, collar and throat. “Gimme one more. You can do it. Just hold onto me.”

A small smile came alive on her lips. “Okay.”

Joel bore down again, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her closer, pushing deeper—trying this time, rather than feeling.

His breath came wild, strained, body shaking with the force of it, sweat splashing lazily onto her breasts, in the effort of making her feel it. His heart was hammering, his arms flexing, his thighs burning as he surged up into her, chasing that high for her, something he needed to give her.

And still—still—Leela just watched him. Soft, quiet, moving with him, letting him take her, feeling his strength beneath her, stroking his cheek, his hair, her fingertips whisper-light against his damp skin.

No gasping desperation, no frantic, uncontrolled unravelling. Just… this.

And Joel—fuck—he didn’t know what to do with that. She wasn’t pretending. Would be nice if she did. She wouldn’t know how to fake it, would she? Wouldn’t know the right way to move, the right way to sound, the right way to let a man know he was making her come undone and get this over with.

And the realization punched him in the gut. Blindsided him completely.

It wasn't about to happen. He'd just have to let go.

But Joel couldn’t stop. Not now, not when he was this close. When he was teetering on the fucking edge. When his body was demanding release with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Sorry, I can't. I can't.”

“Joel, it's okay, it's okay,” she coaxed.

So he held her down, his grip firm, desperate. Feeling so fucking selfish as he pushed and pushed harder. Broke a sweat. Gave it everything he had left in him, one last time—until his muscles locked, until heat ripped through him once more, until he spilled deep inside her again with another ragged, shuddering groan.

And Leela—sweet, accepting Leela—just cradled him through it. Breathed against his cheek, kissed his ear, smoothed her hands over his hair, and ran her fingers along the tense lines of his back, comforting him.

Because Joel had never felt more fucking helpless in his life. He buried his face in her neck, his arms locking tight around her, his body wracked with aftershocks, his chest rising and falling hard against hers.

“Joel,” she said, a softness behind his name.

His throat was tight. He swallowed. “You have to—you haven't—”

“I feel really good,” she whispered. “Really good.”

Joel breathed in deep, exhaled slow. She meant it. She felt good. It wasn’t some half-truth, some lie to spare his feelings. Leela didn’t lie to him—she didn’t know how to, not in a way that mattered.

So he let it go. Let himself believe her. However difficult and excruciating it was.

“Do you wanna lie down?” he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers over her jaw. “Lemme clean up and hurry back to you, alright?”

“Okay.”

She nodded, watching as he rolled out of bed, buckled up his pants, and stretched his sore back with a quiet grunt. That pleasant ache in his muscles, he could get used to this. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, then disappeared into the bathroom.

The second he flicked on the light, he set both hands over the sink, bracing himself. His reflection stared back at him, every line on his face a little deeper, slick with sweat, his greying scruff a little rougher, hair a Leela-made mess. His body was still running hot, his ears still rung, still a little shaky in the aftermath.

But under all that? Confusion. Loathing. Every i had been dotted, every t crossed. So what the hell went wrong?

His fingers turned the tap on, ran cool water over his palms. He splashed some onto his face and neck and chest, let it dribble down to his throat, rinsed his mouth and took another breath.

“You goddamn dud,” he muttered to himself.

Maybe it was him. All those years of nothing. Years of his body belonging to no one but himself. Years of only touching for a release. A ferocious protector, sure, but it made him an incapable lover. He never knew a damn thing about the female body, how to work it, how to please her. Should've let her come on his hand when he had the chance. Stupid, greedy asshole.

With a final splash of water to his face, he scrubbed a wet hand through his hair and stepped back into the bedroom. Time to face the music.

Leela had already slipped her nightdress back on, the straps falling just slightly off her shoulder, her hair combed back a little neater. She was curled up against the pillows, drowsy, waiting for him.

Joel didn’t hesitate to slide into bed beside her, sinking into the warmth of her body like he belonged there. Like they’d been doing this forever.

She nestled in closer automatically, her breath soft against his cheek. His fingers trailed down her face with a slow, lazy kind of affection, committing the shape of her in this light to memory..

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

She smiled sleepily, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “You said that a lot.”

“Mean it every time,” he said, voice rough. “You’re my dreamgirl.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, low and teasing, but her fingers curled into his chest, holding onto him like she didn’t quite believe it.

“So I’m supposed to come, is that it?” she mused, drawing out the words.

Joel had spent most of his life keeping things simple. Straightforward. No fuss, no questions, no goddamn talking about it.

He let out a long, suffering sigh, pressing his forehead to hers. Jesus, he could just roll over and fix this. He would—happily. But for once, he didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to miss the quiet, golden stretch of time between basking in the afterglow and sleep.

“It amazes me that you don’t know that,” he muttered.

She shrugged, unbothered. “I did feel nice.”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, I couldn't give it to you.”

Her eyes softened. She turned her face into his hand, pressing a deep, lingering kiss into his palm. He swallowed around it, around the way it made him feel—too big, too much, too good.

“Don't be. I had a lot of fun,” she admitted.

Fun. Sex had never been fun. Not for him, Not in his whole goddamn lifetime. It had been a release, a need, a way to forget or feel an ounce of freedom. But fun? Especially from someone who'd been through hell on this?

He looked at her like she’d just rewritten the entire world in front of him.

“I could get used to this with you. Just... slowly.”

His brain short-circuited. “Used to this with me?”

She nodded, pushing half her face shyly into the pillow, a single, shining brown eye peering up at him.

Jesus Christ. He really was about a pop a vein in his forehead. “Right back at you,” he managed.

Then she lifted onto her elbow, hovering over him, her fingers trailing slow, aimless patterns over the fuzz on his chest. Her touch wasn’t meant to start something—to tease or demand. It was just her, touching him because she wanted to. Because she could.

“Don’t look at me like that, darlin’,” he grumbled, already feeling the heat creep back into his body. “I can barely see straight anymore. There’s three of you in front of me.”

She grinned, leaning in so close her lips almost brushed his. “It’s usually the one in the middle.”

He let out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head. “I ain’t one of your damn machines either. If I am, well—I need big repairs. Gotta oil my gears, tighten some screws.”

She kissed his cheek with a soft giggle, once, twice—then a third time to his lips, slow and sweet. A silent promise. A quiet goodnight.

“I’ll take twenty years off you in no time,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against his. “You’ll be living till you’re a hundred. Goodnight, Joel.”

She nestled back into the cold pillows, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, guiding him close until his face was tucked between her neck and the soft swell of her chest.

Joel breathed out, letting himself sink into her. His arms slung over her waist, pulling her close until there was nothing between them, his leg tangling with hers.

“Till I’m a hundred, my ass,” he muttered, already halfway asleep. “You keep ridin’ me like that, I’m kickin’ rocks at sixty.”

She gasped, appalled. “Joel!”

He grinned against her skin, pressing a kiss to her throat. “G'night.”

X

Joel felt that night in his bones for three days straight.

The delicious ache, the lingering burn, the way his body still hummed like it was catching up to itself—he felt every damn bit of it. Like walking about with a brand on his chest, her name in big, fat capitals, burned into his skin that wasn't ever going to fade. If he let his mind wander, he swore he could still feel the imprint of her nails on his shoulders, the scratch of her breathy moans against his throat.

It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this kind of soreness, since he'd let himself have anything that good. And now that he had—Christ, it was all he could think about.

Sure, his stamina wasn’t what it used to be. He wasn’t some young buck anymore, wasn’t out here trying to prove anything. That kind of energy belonged to a different lifetime. A life where survival meant running, fighting, bleeding, and losing.

But now?

Now, his life was slow. Lazy. Boring. And fuck, if it wasn’t the best goddamn thing in the world.

Every morning, he woke up in what he could only rightfully call the bed to end all beds—wrapped up in a too-soft duvet, which made it near impossible to leave. Sheets tangled around his legs, pillows propped just right. But the best part?

Leela. His girl. Partner. Whatever the fuck. Just call her his.

Sleeping right beside him, fingers still loosely twisted around his from sometime in the night.

He wasn’t a man prone to sentiment. But every single morning, without fail, he’d lie there for a minute, blinking slowly at the ceiling, feeling her warmth beside him, and he’d think: what the hell evil did I destroy to deserve this?

Because he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to wake up slow, wrapped in her warmth. Didn’t deserve the way she just let him have this—her body, her trust, her time. But she gave it anyway.

And if he was weak, if he was pathetic, well—he wasn’t strong enough to just lie there and not touch her.

So he’d roll onto his side, push his face into her shoulder, into her hair, breathe her in, feel the strength of her long legs beneath his palms. Because, deep down, some stupid, aching part of him needed to make sure she was still real. That she hadn’t just vanished into steam.

“Mornin’,” he’d murmur, voice gravelly with sleep, lips brushing over the soft skin of her neck.

And she’d hum, still mostly asleep, shifting closer without thinking, tucking herself against him like she knew. Like she knew she was his, and he was hers, and they had time—all the time in the world to wake up slow and warm in each other’s arms.

Joel didn’t know how to handle that. Didn’t know what the hell to do with the way it made him feel, all thick and too much in his chest.

So he did what he did know how to do. He kissed her. Once. Twice. Again. And again.

Unhurried and soft, against her shoulder, her arm, her cheek, wherever he could. Until she grumbled, barely audible, something along the lines of Joel, let me sleep, swatting at him half-heartedly.

He never listened. Not when he had her like this. Not when she was somewhat awake, turning over onto her back, peeking up at him with those bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“Last one before I get your coffee,” he’d lie, pressing a slow, lingering kiss behind her ear.

And it was never just one. Soon enough, Joel would drag himself up, forcing himself to leave the warmth of their bed, of her, if only for one thing.

His next favourite part of the morning.

His little girl. Maya.

The second Joel stepped into the nursery, flicking on the dim light, the world felt right. Scented in warm linens and baby powder, as the soft morning glow bled through the curtains, it painted everything in muted greens and pink.

And there she was. His baby girl curled in her little nest of blankets, fists rubbing at her groggy eyes, her dark curls sticking out every which way like she’d been fighting sleep all night.

Then she saw him. And the second she did—

“Da-da-da-da-da!”

Joel barely had time to brace before she shot straight up, balancing on the tips of her toes against the crib bars, hands clapping, a little bouncing bean of excitement.

And that damn sweetheart grin. All toothy and wide, like she’d been waiting her whole life to see him again. It got him every time, that overwhelming sense of sweet defeat. He'd take a knife in the heart for her.

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head at her, at the way her tiny face was all lit up with him simply showing up.

“There’s my baby girl,” he rumbled, stepping forward, and scooping her up into his arms in one smooth motion, raining kisses on her cheeks.

Maya let out a squealing little giggle, tiny hands immediately going for his face, his beard, her favourite thing to grab early in the morning. She clutched two greedy handfuls, tugging at the scruff like it was hers.

He brushed a hand down her curls. “Did you sleep well?”

“Sleeeepy,” she said around her fist.

She babbled against his shoulder—nonsense, tiny sounds he swore had some kind of meaning only she knew—her chubby little arms tightening around his neck in a hug that damn near melted him.

Then—of course—she went right back to attacking his beard, tugging with all her tiny might.

Joel winced, letting out a mock grumble, “Yeah, alright. You just want Daddy for the whiskers, huh?”

Maya let out a high-pitched giggle, and he felt her breath, warm against his neck, little fingers wandering up to pat his cheeks.

Joel, of course, pretended to eat her fingers instead, lips smacking, making exaggerated chomping sounds. Maya screeched, all wiggly and squirming, kicking in his arms with laughter so wild and free, it made his whole day before it even started.

He sighed, pressing his nose against her cheek, breathing her in. Baby powder. Warmth. His baby girl.

“Alright, trouble. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He carried her over to the little bathroom by the nursery, got her washed up, and changed into one of the tiny little sweaters that had once belonged to her mama. Maya, of course, made it an ordeal—wiggling, talking to him, playing with her own toes.

Joel took his time. Didn’t rush a damn thing.

A normal, mundane morning—waking up next to the woman he loved, starting the day with his baby girl. That was his whole rhythm now.

Some days their mornings went quick—too quick for his liking. Early in the morning, shovelling down his breakfast alone, yelling goodbye to his girls, and heading out for patrol, only to spend every second waiting until he could get back to them. Waiting for that first breath of home, that happy squeal he would hear from Maya ten yards out, that first kiss again.

The house was still half-asleep when Joel clattered his plate into the sink. Maya let out a soft whimper from her mother's arms, travelling across the kitchen, getting his attention first, and Leela—half-awake, hair mussed, sweater slipping off one shoulder—murmured, “You’re being loud.”

Joel grabbed his jacket off the chair, shoving an arm through one sleeve. “Ain’t got time to be quiet. Tommy's gonna blow a fuse.”

Leela huffed, rubbing a hand over her face. “You ever think about waking up ten minutes earlier?”

Joel snorted, already at the door. “You ever think about wakin’ up with me?”

That earned him a half-hearted glare over her shoulder. “I'm a night owl. I need the dark to think.”

Maya stirred, a tiny, bleary-eyed thing, her hands stretching toward him. Joel hesitated, foot already over the threshold.

Leela, catching the way his shoulders pulled tight, sighed. “Go, Joel.”

“Don't work yourself too hard while I'm gone,” he warned.

Leela just hummed in accord, adjusting Maya against her shoulder.

Joel hesitated. Then, before he could think twice, he ducked back in, pressing a long, deep kiss to her lips, holding her chin tight between his palm, just until he fought for breath.

She startled when he pulled away, blinking up at him. Then playfully shoved at his chest to get him out the door. “Go already.”

But some days—the best days—mornings were slow. Breakfast on the island or out on the porch, the intense scent of coffee thick in the cold air, his hand curled around the mug that curled out steaming ribbons into his face, while Leela sat beside him, legs tucked up under herself, grinning at him over the rim of her cup.

Joel tipped his mug toward his lips, letting the heat of the coffee melt into him. Watching her.

She tilted her head, nudging his thigh with her knee. “Are you always this quiet in the mornings? I never noticed.”

Joel glanced at her. “Ain’t got much to say with you around.”

She raised a brow, taking a small sip of her own coffee. “That so?”

Joel smirked, sipping slowly. “Just like listenin’ to you talk.”

Leela scoffed. “That’s funny. ‘Cause last time I checked, you like cutting me off halfway.”

Joel pursed his lips, considering. “Only when you’re talkin’ nonsense. Y'know, your little nerdspeak thing you do.”

Her mouth parted in excessive offence. “Oh, so my technicalities are nonsense?”

Joel blew into his coffee cup. “Mm.”

She gave him a slow, evaluating look, then nudged him hard enough that coffee nearly sloshed over the rim of his cup.

“Goddammit, girl.” He shot her a glare, but it was ruined by the way his lips were twitching.

The mornings when snow blanketed the whole town, and he’d bundle Maya up like a little marshmallow, watching her waddle out into the white, her excitement vibrating through every inch of her tiny body. He’d stand there on the porch, arms crossed, watching her vigilantly as she threw herself into the snow, chubby hands slapping the ground, kicking her little legs while Leela laughed beside him.

Sometimes, mornings like this used to feel like a chore. Errands. Town. A list scrawled on his palm, running through daily tasks that he used to do alone—back when it had just been him and Sarah, back when Saturday mornings meant grocery runs, when her tiny hands would have been in his, tugging him toward whatever caught her eye.

Now, it was Maya, and she was a whole different kind of trouble.

Leela had gone off to meet Maria at the dam—something about some loose wiring, an issue that she was insisting she could fix, even though Joel had very strong feelings about her doing anything that required standing near running water with electrical tools. But that left him here, alone with Maya, tackling grocery shopping.

Joel let her wander, let her explore at her own level, tiny squeaky boots padding against the wooden floorboards of the trading post, soft little oohs and ahs slipping from her lips whenever she spotted something that intrigued her. He kept one eye on the list, the other on her, reaching out every so often to keep her from knocking into someone’s knees or tugging on a coat that didn’t belong to her.

But the second she drifted too far—too quick, too small, lost too easy in the crowd—he was on her.

A sigh deep in his chest, scooping her up, tucking her under his arm while she squealed and huffed, little hands batting at him in protest. Little gremlin.

“Don't gimme that, baby girl,” he muttered, setting her down just long enough to grab the last thing on his list.

Potatoes. Should’ve been easy. Joel let go of her hand for two damn seconds to grab the bag from the shelf—and when he turned back, she was gone.

His stomach dropped.

“Christ, not again,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his basket to his hip. “Maya?”

No answer. Just the quiet squeak of her boots, quick little steps padding away.

“Maya!”

Joel pushed past people, scanning, breath already working too hard through his nose. It wasn’t panic—not exactly—but it was something close. He had to remind himself that she wasn't made of glass and this was Jackson, yet that was still his baby.

His eyes locked on her in an instant. “Fast fuckin' menace,” he muttered.

She was standing a few feet away, tiny and oblivious, playing with the tab of a can of beans, flicking it up and down with rapt fascination. Didn't even bother looking at him.

Someone was crouched in front of her, blocking her from view. “Where’s your mother, sweetheart?”

Joel already knew who it was before he even reached them.

“Eugene,” he called.

The man glanced up at him, eyes narrowing for a beat before recognition settled in, mouth stretching into a knowing grin. “Miller.” He stood with a grunt, rolling out his shoulders. “Hey, help me out here. This kid’s parent—”

“Is me,” Joel muttered, already reaching for Maya, plucking her up onto his hip like she belonged nowhere else. “C'mere, trouble,” and a firm kiss to the top of her head, his fingers pressing into her tiny back.

“You?” Eugene questioned, thrown off balance.

What, had he been living under a rock? Maya had been the talk of the town since she'd been born. Who speaking off, squealed, giggling, smacking a hand against his cheek—some little game she’d apparently decided was hilarious.

“Me,” Joel confirmed, levelling Eugene with a look. “We got a problem?”

Eugene made a low sound in his throat, eyes flicking between them, like he was sizing up a damn prize mule. Then his mouth curled up once more.

“Oh yeah, I see it,” he said, nodding. “She’s got your big-ass nose.”

“Fuck off.”

“Calmeth thy tits,” Eugene grinned, “I’m tryna be polite.”

“Don’t need it.”

Eugene raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. “So this is why you’ve been copping out of patrol a lot lately. Got Tommy's panties in a twist.”

He nodded toward Maya, who had now taken to tugging on Joel’s beard, testing its durability like she had every right in the world to grab at her old man’s face.

Joel sighed, prying her fingers free one by one. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Guess it is.”

“Yeah, by the looks of it, she's a handful. Cute as shit, though.”

And Eugene—he just stood there a second. Looking at Joel, smelling strongly of weed, basket in his grip, a box of food from the canteen and a bottle of whiskey sitting inside.

Joel saw it then. The difference between them. An old ghost of himself.

Eugene—the kind of man he might’ve been had it not been his instinct to quiet a baby's cries from next door. A year ago, maybe even less, he would’ve been the one with the bottle of whiskey in his cart, the one picking up meals from the canteen instead of making them. The one going home alone.

Eugene exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Huh,” he muttered. Then, a nod, a flash of grudging pride behind his eyes. “You came through. Good for you, Miller.”

Joel didn’t have the words for it. Didn’t know how to put into words what this was, what it felt like to have this, to have them—after years of nothing.

So he just cleared his throat and adjusted Maya in his arms. Eugene just chuckled, slapping a hand on his shoulder before stepping past him, humming under his breath.

Eugene didn’t walk off right away.

Joel could feel him there—still standing at his side, still weighing the words on his tongue. It set his teeth on edge, the way Eugene hesitated. Like he was debating whether to say what was already burning behind his lips.

Then, finally—

“You wanna tell me why Ellie and Dina are so interested in the Fireflies all of a sudden?”

Joel went winded. The Maya's little weight in his arms was suddenly the only thing keeping him upright, keeping him tethered. He barely blinked. Barely breathed.

His voice bit out dangerously low. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Eugene tightened the basket in his grip. Shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. But his eyes were sharp when they cut to Joel, measuring.

“She’s been askin’ these ex-Firefly folks like me and Tommy,” he told him. “Came to me couple nights back—askin’ if I knew anything. If I’d heard anything about ‘em regrouping.”

Joel swallowed, throat dry as dust.

His grip on Maya didn’t tighten—he made sure of that. Kept his hands gentle, careful, even as the rest of him braced. But inside—inside, he clenched up like a fist.

Ellie. Asking about the Fireflies.

It wasn’t panic curling up his spine. Worse.

Because she’d known. She’d gone back to that hospital. She’d walked through the bloodstains, the echoes of gunfire, the remnants of what he’d done. She’d seen the truth laid bare, stripped of all the justifications he’d tried to wrap around it. And she’d spent months—years—dragging herself through the wreckage, trying to make sense of it.

Trying to make peace with him.

He’d watched her try. Seen it in the way she forced herself to stay, even when the silence stretched too long between them. In the way she looked at him sometimes, like she was still searching for something, still waiting for an answer he could never give. He thought—he hoped—that with time, she’d let it rest. That the scars would settle, and they could leave that part of their lives buried where it belonged.

But now—now they were here again.

And Joel didn’t know if they could come back from it this time.

The walls of the room felt like they were creeping in closer, like if he stood still too long, he’d get swallowed whole, but Joel forced his breath steady. In. Out. In. Out. Kept his shoulders loose even as something behind his ribs coiled tight, wound like a spring.

“And?” He made his voice even, ironing out the edges. “You tell her anythin’?”

Eugene huffed, shaking his head. “Nothin’ worth tellin’. Just old stories, y’know? Old bases, old rumours, old movement. And about that research base over at Caltech. I don’t know what she’s lookin’ for, but maybe keep an eye out for your other little girl, too, yeah?”

Joel stared at nothing. His heart pounded heavy, like a fist banging against a locked door. Ellie had stopped asking a long time ago. Or at least, he’d thought she had. Maybe she’d just stopped asking him.

But why now? After all this time?

Not unless—

His mind snagged on the past few weeks. The time Ellie had been spending across the way. The quiet conversations, the way she lingered at their porch, shifting her weight like she was waiting on something. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Leela kept to herself, and Ellie wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Two closed-off people drifting toward each other, not expecting much in return.

But that wasn’t it.

Ellie was digging.

And Leela had handed her the shovel.

Of course she had.

Joel’s stomach twisted, that sourness settling deep. He should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve recognized the signs.

Leela—the girl with something ripped from her before she ever had the chance to claim it. A name that couldn’t be rooted in history. A life that had been rewritten for her before she could write it herself.

Ellie had always been drawn to ghosts. The lost, the forgotten, the ones who didn’t get a choice. She saw herself in them. Clung to them. And Leela—she was another reflection in the glass.

Another kid who could’ve been something more.

Another wasted potential.

Another shot at redemption.

Joel clenched his teeth. He should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve stopped it before it got this far. Because this wasn’t just curiosity—not for Ellie. It never was. She was always looking for meaning in the wreckage. Always chasing the answers that would rip her open in the end.

And now she was looking again.

For the Fireflies. For Leela. For something she thought she’d lost. For something Joel had taken from her. Taken from them.

His chest tightened, breath coming sharp through his nose. He hadn’t just lied to Ellie all those years ago. He’d tried to close the door. To bury it, deep enough that she’d never claw it back to the surface. But maybe that was never the way it was going to go. Maybe it had just been a matter of time.

Eugene must’ve caught something in his expression, because he turned fully then, brows knitting together.

“You alright, Miller?”

Joel blinked. Swallowed. Got a hold of himself

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, scraped raw. “M’fine.”

Eugene didn’t look convinced. “You take care now.”

And maybe—for the first time in a long time—Joel wasn’t either.

But Eugene didn’t push. Just cleared his throat, nodded once, winked at Maya, and finally stepped away, boots heavy against the floorboards.

Joel stood there a second longer, the world shifting around him. It was a feeling he despised. The sensation of something slipping just beyond his grasp.

Then he looked down at Maya, small and soft in his arms, her tiny hand curled into the fabric of his coat, trusting. “Da-da, go. Go.”

The only part of his world that still made sense. He focused on that. On her warmth.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in. “Yeah, baby. Let's go.”

Then turned, stepping toward the door, already knowing—

He needed to find Ellie. Now.

X

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[thanksbutno98]

Make Her Happy

John Price x fem!reader

Warning: swearing, mentions of sex, sexual talk, death and war, children, pregnancy, not edited.

Summary: After constant requests to have your husband John Prices’ military buddies over you finally get your way.

Authors note: I’ve been working on this one before the requests came in. I’ve had about a dozen requests for 141 meeting the Price family and I’ve taken little bits from each and well heres the end product. All the requests made the storyline soooo much better so thank you so so much everyone!

——————-

“Laswell, what can I do for you.” John nodded at you as he pressed his shattered phone to his ear. Disappearing from the dinner table and out the back door to the patio. Both of your children stared at you in a way to understand how they should feel at their fathers exit.

“Wait, does that mean dads leaving? Didn’t you say he was gonna be home for a long time?” Jj asked passing you the salt since you had just asked for it. A bit stunned you answered hoping to quell any uncertainty your children might be feeling.

“Laswell is probably just asking for some advice or your fathers opinion.” You said.

Standing to get a better look out the window and on to the patio. Your garden looked angelic in the porch light, the roses were in full bloom with the baby’s breath decorating them. The peonies Evelyn helped you plant were growing better than they had in a long time; the last time they looked this amazing was when you pregnant with her.

“Can I have more gravy, please.” Evelyn asked bringing a spoonful of peas to her mouth.

“Yes, love.” You glanced up to see John through the bay window, pinching the bridge of his nose. Head bowed as if he had just gotten bad news.

John was dressed in blue jeans he complained were getting tight because of your cooking. Honestly, you liked him better with a bit of pudge on his edges; it meant he had been home for awhile. He had a fitted white short sleeve on with a smudge of purple nail polish across the sleeve from Evelyn chasing his around with it.

You and Jj laughed on the couch while she tried to corner your husband to let her finally paint his nails. It ended with Jj on John’s back and Evelyn hugging his leg as they tried to take him down. You tickled them both off him and chased them out into the garden where John sprayed them with the hose.

John’s hair was neat and short having just gotten a haircut. There was a hickey neatly tucked under the collar of his shirt. His facial hair was thick and shaped perfectly, opting for a full beard instead of his usual mutton chops. The glow of the patio light cast a dreary shadow over the tall built man you called your soulmate.

You could not help how the sight of him made your heart ache and stomach drop. John had only been home for two weeks but you knew he was about to leave his two children and his three month pregnant wife. Taking a breath you centered yourself deciding holding on to the night you shared in that hotel room would keep you company in soon to be lonely times. The memory getting sprayed with the hose and running around the backyard would keep your children’s hearts full until the next time their father was home.

Spooning more gravy onto your daughters plate you grabbed your husbands after. Refilling the empty plate with a large scoop of mashed potato’s, peas, carrots, and another piece of chicken, then a small amount of gravy. Normally you would drown his plate in it but his doctor said he needed to cut back on salt. You were not even sure what news John had gotten but it more often then not was orders to leave so you prepared your fragile heart for that.

“Darling, do we have plans tomorrow?” John was standing at the back door staring at you. Hand over the the bottom portion of the phone so Kate could not hear your answer. John was shaking his head up and down as if to have you lie that you two did have plans. It was a bit lost on your since you tended to be honest.

“No, we were just planning on grilling and swimming in the pond. Why?” You asked sitting back down and giving your husband a quizzical look. Sighing deeply John spoke again.

“No, we don’t. Best be over around 1ish.” You heard as John then forced his goodbyes after giving your address to Kate.

“What?” Jj asked looking at you with food decorating the corner of his mouth. You leaned over with your napkin and attempt to wipe the mess.

“Ew, stop mum. You could just tell me to wipe my face. I’m not a baby.” Jj complained, shrinking away from you.

“Sorry, you’re right. Please wipe your face.” You sat back down watching as your son missed the food on his face by a mile. John came in and sat down ignoring his families stares.

“Wipe your face, Jj.” John spoke avoiding your eyes. Then pointing to his own face to motion to his son where the mess lay.

“What was that about?” You asked. Watching as John instinctively started to eat, now that there was more food in front of him.

“Kate is taking us up on your offer to have her over for dinner.” John grumbled. Grabbing at the bowl of gravy and then covering his whole plate with the brown liquid.

“Wait really!” You half stood up, then shuffling your seat forward and sitting properly. You placed your chin on your palm as you batted your eyes at John. He was trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. It always had him grinning when you got ecstatic about things even if it was something he dreaded.

“That’s not all. She asked to see if the boys were available and. . . Well, they are. So, I guess we’ll have a full house tomorrow.” John turned to you finally making eye contact. His blue eyes were bright as he grabbed his glass of wine and clinked it a against your water.

“That’s so exciting! We have to go to the shop in the morning. Their appetite anything like yours?” You asked. The words came tumbling out of your mouth in excitement. You were mentally doing a little dance at how amazing this news was compared to your former thoughts.

Attempting to do mental math at how much food you needed to buy in order to keep these military men fed you stared up at the ceiling, counting on your fingers. The excitement of having them all over made your heart thump loudly. You knew Ghost could eat a lot just by his pure stature. That was when the idea of baking popped in your head. John loved when you baked for him so that was a must.

“I’d say they eat more than me.” John stated simply taking a small sip of the dark red wine.

“That’s not possible. You eat soooo much food.” Evelyn giggled, taking another large bite of her peas; avoiding the carrots. John narrowed his eyes being slightly offended by his daughters words.

“I want you two to clean your rooms after dinner.” You told them and then glanced at John.

“Why do we have to clean our rooms? It’s not like they’re going to come up there.” Evelyn whined with a pout.

“Don’t argue with your mother.” John started the pigtailed girl down. She only pouted bigger and went back to eating.

“And you need to mow the lawn and get that damn bike out of the living room.” You narrowed your eyes at John because you had been asking him all week to put it in the shed.

“The lawns fine.” John sighed out then quickly back peddled when he saw the death glare you had pointed at him.

“You shouldn’t argue with mummy.” Evelyn spoke oh so sweetly. You chuckle a bit at your daughters retort.

“I’ll take my own advice. I’ll mow the lawn first thing tomorrow” John conceded.

“Thank you.” You smiled sweetly giving John a little wink.

“So we’re gonna meet the people you work with?” Jj asked. Motioning for more chicken saying a quite ‘please’, which John reached over and served him. It was sweet not being the only one to serve your kids food. Now your husband was home and you could actually enjoy a meal.

“Yes, and I want both of you on your best behavior.” John said sternly. Pointing the serving spoon at both children as if to punctuate his message.

“So, you’re like their boss?” The questions would be constant until your guests came over. Jj was infatuated by his fathers job and the idea of meeting the people his dad bossed around was exciting to the young boy.

“The boys yes. I am far from being Kates boss.” John waited for you to look away as he scooped his peas on to Evelyn’s plate. She did not miss a beat scooping her carrots on to his.

“Who are the boys?” Evelyn asked, immediately devouring her peas.

“Well, there’s Gaz, Soap, and Simon.” John said evenly. Taking your hand and squeezing roughly, then your husband kissed the back of your hand sweetly. John and you shared a love struck look as he gave in to finally having people from work over. You were planning the whole event tomorrow in your mind wanting it to be perfect.

“Soap? How’d he get that nickname?” Jj asked entranced by his fathers words.

“It’s classified.”

—————

It was Saturday morning as John pushed the shopping cart down the isle of the super market. He was hunched over and picking grapes out of the bunch you had placed in there to buy. Jj was sitting in the carriage on his hand held gaming device while Evelyn ran around asking for everything. John remembered why he never took her food shopping. They always ended up with 10% of what you sent him for and 90% sweets.

“Daddy, you have to try this.” Evelyn showed John some sugary cereal he knew she had never tried. You were pretty strict about what the kids could have, taking their diet very seriously.

“Y/N?” John immediately called down the isle to ask if this was an appropriate option.

You looked over with some much healthier options in your hands a bit confused. John lightly grinned at you in your leggings and cute blouse. John saw the flash of a memory of you standing in leggings and his sweatshirt before you were his girlfriend; asking if he really needed that sugary crap. Seeing you pick out healthier options for him started far before you called him yours and now you were here picking them out for your children. It reminded John how you were his through it all.

Your hair was tied up and cheeks rosy from just arguing with him over steaks. John did not see the need in buying the best quality meat but you insisted on it and it ended with him agreeing with a smile. John had put you through enough he should only say yes, he told himself. No matter what you almost always gave him your best smile even if it was something you did not want to hear. So it was John’s turn to practice the skill you had mastered.

“Daddy, don’t tattle! We’re suppose to be on the same team.” Evelyn scolded John as if she was the adult. Shaking the chocolaty box of cereal at him.

“I’m on your mums team. Recruit Jj not me.” John chuckled watching as his daughters face scrunched up in annoyance. Turning to her brother he was already looking up at her. His thumb cast downward to show his disapproval.

“Jj?” Evenly whined.

“Piss, off Evie. Mum would never let us get that. Don’t trick dad, he’s too smart.” Jj looked at her annoyed.

“Oi, language. Don’t speak to your sister like that.” John corrected immediately but agreed with the sentiment.

“Sorry. But, c’mon? Bit ridiculous.” Jj shrugged and casted a hand at his sister. Then going back to his game. Evelyn stuck her tongue out at him but he was too busy to notice.

“If you talk to your sister like that she’ll be okay with anyone talking to her like that. You should never speak to a girl like that Johnathan. Ever. Try again.” John had his eyes fixed on his son intently. Jj only nodded and tried again.

“Not cool Evie. You’ll get dad in trouble with mum if he says yes to that.” Jj said confidently then peered over at John who shook his head in approval. It was important John taught his son how to treat people and let his daughter know she did not have to tolerate cruel words.

“Okay, so I got these. But I’ll let you pick one for the weekends only.” You walked back up to the carriage with the cereal you felt most suitable for your kids.

“This one!” Evelyn shouted handing you some chocolatey cereal.

“Your dads not huge on chocolate. Let’s find something you all like.” You gestured to the many option to your left.

“Daddy should like chocolate. It doesn’t spoil fast thats why we send it to soldiers.” Evelyn said rather smug having just learned this fact, she was hanging on to the edge of the carriage now.

“Yeah, American soldier.” Jj was so fast with his comment you knew he had actually listened to one of your many history lessons. It was not your best quality but you did tend to babble on and on about your job and the history tied along with it.

“Fair Evie, but doesn’t mean I have to like it.” John quipped. Chuckling lightly as his daughters intuitive reasoning.

“Dad likes fruit like blueberries and strawberries. His favorite is cheesecake though. Choose something like that.” Jj stated. His tongue peaking out of the corner of his mouth as he mashed the keys on the controller.

You and John shared an impressed look that your son had noticed that. John was a bit shocked his son picked up on those things. That was your territory, but that was the interesting part about your children. As much as Jj looked like John, had his temperament, and a need to protect he was loving like you. The sweetness that was so natural to you was inherited by your son and left him with a guilty conscious and people pleasing attitude.

“You don’t care, J?” John asked. You had left the conversation. Already searching through the sugary cereals that could be a good middle ground.

“Not really. I would rather have mums cereal so I can have ice cream after dinner.” Jj paused his game to look up at his father who was nodding in agreement.

“Let Evie have the cereal. Means no dessert.” John thought his decision would make his daughter give up but she didn’t.

“Fine by me!” Evelyn sneered tossing the box into the carriage. She ate that cereal every night when dinner was done. John and Jj asked to toss some on their ice cream but you and her denied them with giggles. You ended up catching John having a bowl of the chocolate cereal at 1am when he thought you were asleep. He claimed he only wanted to try it but you knew it was because it was the only sweet in the house so he settled.

—————

It was a hot summer day when John stepped out onto his front porch seeing a beat up truck pull up his long driveway. Laswell was already parked and was inside drinking while his gorgeous wife chatted to her. Last John saw she was helping you set up the kitchen island with the to many dishes you had made as sides to the meat John would be grilling. John told you, you were going overboard which resulted in you kicking him out of the kitchen and having him vacuum the living room.

John grinned as he saw Simon and Soap in the front seats. They somehow looked squished with Ghost hulking frame. Walking among the wild flowers John greeted Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. The group of men catching up and excited to come into the Price household. Soap was shocked to silence. Taking in the large farm house and realized it was filled with children. It was strange to think of Price with a big house and family because Soap thought that was not possible for people like them.

It took ten minutes before the four men were walking up to the end of the driveway that connected to the patio. The expansive backyard in full display with a burnt down barn house in the far distance. John had been contemplating tearing it down to create an accurate football pitch for his kids. They already had two nets up and both of his children were proficient at the sport. Accept for Evie she was showing prodigy status. Evelyn was gifted when it came to football and was built to be a striker while Jj was the best in his league as a defender.

“Those are my kids.” John gestured to Evelyn and Jj who were passing the football back and forth in their bare feet. They were making long crosses practicing their accuracy.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy! Those your friends?” Evelyn wound up and booted the ball past her brother and bolted over to her father, already knowing where it would land. The football whizzed cleanly through the air, swishing into the top left corner of the net with ease.

“Fuckin’ hell, beautiful shot.” Soap stood up a bit straighter at the impressive goal. The men were all a bit shocked to see a kid with accuracy like that. It only took the sight of the group of people to get Evelyns undivided attention.

“Yes. Evie, this is-“

“Gaz, Suds, and. . . I don’t remember your name. But it started with an ‘S’.” Evelyn was holding on to the belt loop of John’s pants as she stared up sparkly eyed at Ghost. Normally the masked man scared children away just by walking in the room but your daughter found him captivating.

“Suds!” Gaz broke out laughing and Soap could not help but chuckle a bit at the little girls mistake. Ghost and Gaz called Soap Suds for the rest of the day.

“Call me Ghost, pipsqueak.” Simon said gruffly but his intention was humor. He could not help but think back to the only time he had met you in his Captains office. He had used the same nickname which riled you up.

“Me? A pipsqueak? That makes you a giant.” Evelyn was unfazed as she gazed at the man with attitude. Her reaction was much like your own had been and there was no doubt the young girl was just like you.

“Okay, enough Evie.” John laughed awkwardly pulling her back as she tried to square up to Simon.

“What? The only people taller than you are grandad and Uncle Grayson and Uncle Gray, well he’s a giant. . .” Glancing at Ghost the young girl took in his appearance. Casting her blue eyes from the tip of Ghosts dirty boots up to his balaclava

“Ghosty is a bit of a chubby giant.” Evelyn pursed her lips, being a little too judgy. Mistaking Ghost muscular physique as fat.

“You should clean your boots.” She added. Her comment had everyone stifling a laugh.

“Evelyn, apologize.” John scolded.

“Evie, you shouldn’t be commenting on the way people look.” You were stepping out of the back door having just heard your daughter. You had a large trey of meats and Laswell was holding a trey of vegetables for grilling in hand you gave the four men a sweet smile. John was bending down and whispering for Evelyn to bite her tongue and be polite.

Each man froze for a split second now seeing you for a second time in years. You had not changed a bit, looking just as sweet and pretty. Somehow more so, time seemed to be on your side and graced you with more beauty. The fact Price had a wife as gorgeous and quick witted as you still took the men off guard.

You were dressed in a powder blue sundress with thin straps, meant as a coverup for swimming. The halter strap of your white bathing suit was wrapped around the back of your neck. Your hair was down and silky soft as it blew in the light summer breeze.

“Sorry mummy.” Evelyn hid against Johns leg trying to avoid your gaze. She knew when guests were over you were the stricter parent.

“Indy!” Soap and Gaz cheered. Gaz threw his hands in the air, a bottle of wine in one hand. Soap clapped against the bottle of scotch he brought. It was thrilling to see you again with such a welcoming smile.

“Hey boys! Long time no see.” You smiled brightly.

The last time they saw you, you had swindled them out of money in a game of poker. They had nothing but wonderful things to say about you since that day and asked their Captain to stop hiding you away. Your bubbly and friendly nature was waisted on the old grump they called Captain.

Gaz had to admit to himself that if you were not Price’s wife he would have become quite smitten with you. Soap thought you were gorgeous enough to ask John if you had a sister; which ended up being a mistake. It had him and Gaz running laps around the base until they were sick.

“There’s a lot more food inside. Why don’t you show them around the house, John.” You gave a kind smile.

“Course, darling.” John muttered sweetly.

“Darling?” Ghost asked. His question had the other men snickering. They too had never heard such sweet words from their captain.

“Mind yourself.” John turned and shot such a violent look Ghost knew not to joke. Jj saw the look his dad gave him when he was up to no good cast at the men he did not know. AND they seemed to listen. Jj was mesmerized by the scene but chose to pretend he didn’t see it.

“Make sure they feel welcome. I mean it.” It was the sweetest they had ever heard but your words were coated in venom. Just from your sickly sweet tone the men knew you ran a tight ship. It made them wonder if you ordered Price around.

“Jj, come say hi. I need you to run down the driveway and bring the barrels in.” You called to your son.

You stepped out in bare feet and placed the trey on the picnic table. As soon as John glanced from the sight of your ass when you bent over to look at Gaz and Soap the boys were both looking in odd direction. John’s eyes narrowed knowing all eyes had fallen on the same sight and this reminded him why he did not like men he respected around you. They almost always lost his respect by the way they looked at his wife. After this one glance none of the men made the same mistake, staying completely professional.

“Okay!” Jj called. Staying put in the back yard for a moment. Deciding to practice his juggling and try to not show his excitement unlike his sister. Now it was his chance to get to meet the men his dad commanded. John was Jj’s hero and he idolized the man so much he was nervous to meet the people who also respected his father. Would they think he was some bratty kid? Would they think his dad did a good job raising him? Would they like him?

Leaving the football in the freshly mowed grass Jj jogged over. Straightening his t-shirt with the Liverpool logo. Jj glanced down feeling self conscious in his grey athletic shorts. The young boy stood up a little straighter feeling the anxiety wash away as his father smiled confidently at him. John had told him to wear their football teams logo with pride so Jj tried to.

“Hi, I’m Jj.” With all his confidence Jj extended his hand to shake each man’s hand.

“No doubt you’re Price’s son.” Soap extended his hand and shook the young boys much smaller one firmly; gesturing at the logo on the boys tshirt.

“You look just like him.” Gaz added, shaking Jj’s hand a little softer than Soap had. Jj hesitated for a second as he reached his hand out towards Ghost.

“Don’t be scared.” Evelyn teased still holding onto her fathers pant leg.

“See you have shit taste in football too.” Ghost quipped being a die hard Manchester fan. Evelyn perked up at the foul language loving the crass behavior.

“Like Man U has done any good recently?” Jj could not help but shoot back. The man’s accent was so thick he instantly knew his preferred football team. Well it was a fifty fifty chance but he ended up being right.

“Atta boy.” John clapped his rough hand on Jj’s shoulder. The contact was something Jj would never forget. A moment in time where he would look back on forever. His father was proud and smiling genuinely and it was because of Jj’s actual opinion and in front of colleagues.

Chuckling deeply at his sons quickness and perception John and the men began to chat about football. Shooing his children away and having the men get comfortable and bringing out some beers. They were all in awe when they saw the spread you had laid out for them. Soap asked for a couple of your recipes which surprised you because you would not guess he could cook.

—————

“Another?” Soap asked handing John a freshly cracked beer. Taking the cold glass beverage your husband flipped the insanely large steaks you had bought. Then moving to the corn and pepper you forced him to grill since he was not much of a vegetable guy.

“Thanks, mate.” John gave a nod and polite tight lipped smile.

Soap went back to the picnic table a few feet away where Kate and Ghost had been sitting, sipping on their drinks and chatting with John about what he would be doing on leave. They had just found out you two were expecting your third child and were asking John’s opinion about it. They also found out the timeline of the pregnancy which had them all falling silent as they did the mental math. Realizing John was deployed with them while you had gotten pregnant.

John then proceeded to say you two were able to see each other while you were on a dig not too far from where he was stationed. It ended in whooping and hollering from Soap and Kate calling John a ‘sly dog.’ Ghost made a comment about John sneaking off a few times then called him a ‘dirty old man.’ John was throughly embarrassed by the comments and switched topics rather forcefully.

Ghost knew you were pregnant the moment he saw you. Maybe it was his own experience or his careful eyes. The way he watched John take things from you and twice now how his thumb brushed against your belly when you two were in close proximity gave it away. Your body suited you and a bump as small as that was hardly visible but was not enough for anyone to ask any questions.

Johns eyes glanced up as he shut the grills lid, to see you down the way in your white one piece bathing suit. John could not help but admire your form moving around the dock as you tossed the sinking toys into the pond for Jj to dive for. Your hair was now tied up with in a moss green clip, your tattoos on full display. Ass round and perky in your swim attire, your breasts looking so plump John wanted to bury his head in them and fall asleep like he had the previous night on the couch.

Gaz was standing on the dock a few feet away in his trunks as he tossed Evie into the pond. You were laughing uncontrollably as the little girl dashed for the shore so Kyle could toss her in again. She was a giggling mess having told her father an hour ago she liked the pretty one out of his colleagues; that being Gaz.

“She’s such a sweetheart.” Kyle turned to you with a wide grin. You could not ignore your daughters description also thinking he was a rather pretty man. You understood what your husband meant when he said you would never expect Gaz to be capable of war. Which is why you knew John admired him.

“Sometimes.” You laughed out. Keeping sharp eyes on the rippling water for Jj to come back up.

“Sometimes?” The laugh that left Gaz’s throat was melodic as your daughter threw herself at him and then he immediately chucked her high and far into the pond.

It was nothing compared to how John threw her into the water. John was a seasoned father who had practiced with Jj on the best way to toss his kid into the pond. John knew Jj liked to go far into the water and happily swim back. While Evelyn wanted to be thrown high as if her thick hair met the sky. You two joked she would end up being a pilot with how happy it made her to have her head in the clouds.

“Yeah, she can be an absolute terror. Gives me and John a run for our money. Not sure what we’re gonna do with a third.” You smiled contently as you watched Jj breach the water surface. Two out of four wrings in hand and his goggles fogged.

“A third?” Kyle stopped for a second as he watched Evelyn start her back stroke. Turning, he stood to his full height a bit confused.

“Oh, I’m pregnant.” You gestured to your baby bump surprised Gaz had not noticed. You felt it was obvious in your tight one piece bathing suit. It clearly was not by the absolutely shocked look on the young man’s face.

“Sorry, ma’am. Thought women got a bit rounder when having kids and you look exactly the same as the last I saw you.” Kyles eyes were staring at your belly then quickly looking away. As if he was caught staring at your ass.

“Don’t patronize me.” You joked, feeling your cheeks flush a bit at the unintentional compliment. Maybe your insecurities were misplaced and you were way too hard on yourself.

Glancing over your shoulder you made eye contact with John. His wolffish dark blue eyes were locked on you like he was ready to snipe you down. He instantly looked up into the clouds clearly being caught checking you out. John getting caught made you giddy but you did not want Kyle to know of your off handed flirting. So, the grin you wore was tugged down by either cheeks as you attempted to quell it. Pressing your lips at the end and going back to sweet half smile.

“Not my intention. I only mean-“ before Gaz could finish Evelyn was bounding towards him down the dock, arms outstretched. Gaz caught her by her underarms. Swinging her in two circles Gaz released her, sending the six year old bounding toward the deep water. Gaz watched until the water swallowed her whole. Turning back to you with one hand resting on his hip and the other hanging by his toned side, he gave you a soft look.

“A boy or girl?” Gaz asked sweetly

“We don’t know yet. John’s ecstatic.” You said softly into the warm summer air. Gaz perked up at your words. Watching as your smile turned to a timid look as if it was something that may get in his Captains way for work.

“10 quid its a a boy.” His words defused the worry.

“You’re on!” You couldn’t help but gamble against one of the many men you swindled out of money.

“He’s a good man” Kyle seemed proud to be able to say that as he shook your hand.

“The best” you matched his sentiment. Gaz’s eyes casted down at your beautiful wedding ring before he spoke.

“Course he is. Bet that’s why you married him. He was meant to be a dad.” Gaz said softly knowing John was a good dad without needing an ounce of evidence.

Hell the man didn’t know John had children until he showed up here with Soap in Ghosts truck.

“You know, he never thought he’d be good at it. Saying he wasn’t too sure about kids and then I got pregnant with Johnathan and well all that stuff faded and he’s been an amazing father since before Jj was even born.” It might have been the hormones but the thought of how much your husband had grown through the years was tear provoking. Rubbing away those rolling water works you apologized which had Gaz speaking to fill the silence.

“Can’t imagine him being anything but attentive. Cap’s a good man.” Gaz touched your shoulder gently to comfort you. Before you could respond like always your children interrupted.

“He is! Sorry is mums crying again apparently the baby does that to her.” Jj called from the water. Holding up the four rings you had thrown into the pond proudly. You laughed at your sons words choosing ignore the latter comment.

“Good job! Get these ones. They sink all the way down.” You smiled tossing the three shark shaped weights into the water and taking the rings from Jj. There was a sickly silence as you both watched Evelyn swim around singing some Disney song.

“Promise me something, Kyle?” You looked up to him trying to fight the emotion in your eyes.

“Anything ma’am.” Gaz had a stern look as he brought his attention to you.

“Call me by my first name, please.” You added hating being called ‘ma’am’’ it made you feel old.

“That the promise?” The way Gaz said it had you rolling your eyes and trying to keep your wide grin at bay.

“No.” You laughed at the cheekiness. You understood in that moment why John took a shine to Kyle. He was much like you. Kind hearted and used humor as a way to connect.

“Bet you get John’s stern side, with jokes like that.” You waggled your eyebrows and nudged his waist.

“‘Course I do. You too?” Kyle was so wide grinned you could tell he was about to release a chorus of laughter.

“All the time! He’s so serious I’m not quite sure how he puts up with me.” The words came out as laughter. Sharing the warm summer air together as you both gossiped about John.

“So what are you roping me into?” Gaz teasingly pried waiting for this promise you had to ask him.

“Promise, that if he ever gets dragged away again you’ll keep him safe for me. I know he’s suppose to do that for you but. . . Please just think of us here. We’ll always be waiting for him to come home.” The tone shifted to something deadly serious. You professed something you hoped your husband would never be privy to. John would be angry if he knew you asked any of his colleagues for such a thing.

“I promise.” Gaz was quick with his response. His face becoming intensely serious you knew he was a soldier. A soldier who saw war like John had. It was the same look you saw in John’s military head shot. The look he gave you when you said you were in labor. That thousand mile stare that held so much trauma you knew no matter what you were going to be okay.

“Thank you, Kyle.” You whispered and what he said next caught you off guard.

“Thank you, for sharing him.”

—————

“Ghosty, have any 4’s?” Evie asked sitting alone at the kitchen table with Simon. She looked incredibly tiny sitting across from him in her pink t-shirt and jeans.

Evelyn had roped Simon into a card game which had you in a fit of giggles. Simon seemed completely uninterested being in a conversation with your husband. Once the six year old tugged at his arm hard enough he was allowing her to lead him anywhere. John tried to scold her but Ghost said it was not necessary and he would finally give back that hat if she won. You told her she better win since you had lost John’s hat to Ghost in the same game.

“Go fish.” Ghost grunted. Nodding at you in thanks as you handed him a plate of cherry pie.

“Well, now I know you don’t have fours.” She said rather sarcastically as she laid down a pair of fours. It was the end of the game leaving this next turn as the final one. Only one card in Ghosts hand and the other in Evelyns.

“Have any kings?” Evelyn asked eliciting a quick annoyed groan. Ghost placed the king down and glared at the six year old. She had done something you were incapable of doing.

“You win.” Ghosted grunted, his chair scraping against the tiled floor as he stood.

Simon tried to walk away but Evelyn threw herself over the table to catch him by the sleeve. Some of the cards falling to the floor in her haste. Ghost was so annoyed he did not realize she was attached to his arm until he had pulled here clear across the table. The cards shuffling to the floor and Evie with wide eyes being dragged against the table top.

“Give my daddies hat back!” Evelyn held on to his sleeve. You were biting your lip trying not to laugh as you placed tea down on the kitchen table. Evelyn’s feet were kicking and Ghost stared down at her as she lay on the kitchen table grasping his sweatshirt sleeve for dear life.

“John, your daughter?” Ghost glanced up at his Captain. John was leaning against the kitchen counter chatting with Gaz and Soap. Looking over with a blank expression John took in the sight of Ghost in his jet black hoodie and his daughter gripping the sleeve tightly as she stared at John. This was nothing out of the ordinary for the Price children so John shrugged it off. This was also John’s little pay back for Ghost holding onto that hat for so long.

“She needs the hat. Nothing else to say mate.” John turned back to his conversation picking up right where he left off.

“Let go.” You whispered to Evelyn who then insisted she needed the hat back at this exact moment. You had to explain that Ghost did not have it on him which resulted in a big pout. The hat was forgotten quickly as Evelyn dug into one of the brownies you made then proceeded to fall asleep on the couch with chocolate all over her face. John carried her up to bed and then helped Jj settle in for the night while you played cards with everyone downstairs. The boys were not joking around playing against you in poker this time.

—————

“So, Kate.” You asked. Lips pressed against a glass of your favorite juice.

“Y/N.” Laswell was sitting with you on the soft couch in your living room. The kids were now asleep and John was out back getting drunk with the boys. Ghost of all people pushed to take shots which now Soap was pushing for more. It made you smile hearing someone beside your husband being called Johnny.

“How’d you get John to let you all come over? Been asking for years and it took one phone call from you.” You wanted to know the answer. Hoping to find the formula to being more involved in John’s work relationships.

“Well, I asked if you really wanted everyone over. . . And he said yes pretty confidently.” Kate waved her hand and then grinned.

“And?” You asked, leaning forward.

“Well, I told him. . . ‘Why not make her happy.’ And that seemed to be enough of a reason.”

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

@exhaustedpotat0 @glitterypirateduck @ivymarquis @crazymela @what-0-life @boredfairy4 @hihhasotherfixations @stephanswhxre @shanjisan @k4es @luvleywrites @kita03-0 @midwesternwitchery @aleynaleia @suckerforbassist @misshoneypaper @theaonlax @blackstar9005

[nevadancitizen]

-> PROLOGUE: THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA

synopsis: you meet with a mysterious woman on an old californian dock.

word count: ~850

ships: Arthur Morgan/modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: inspired by @heart-of-gold-outlaw !! go read their modern reader fic i really like it. also we'll be getting into the actual time travel stuff after this teaser lololol :3

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

It’s a bracing, misty evening – supposed to be spring, but doesn’t feel like it. The waves are choppy and the gulls are huddled on the pylons with their beaks tucked under their wings, their feathers ruffling in the cold wind. 

Three hulking great ships, all freighters, are tied up on the beat-up dock. This isn’t one of those fashionable wharfs with dockworker unions or passenger liners – no pretty girls on their balconies, clinking champagne flutes to celebrate the start of the cruise. Just a couple of red-faced salts in pea jackets tramping by, trailing cigarette smoke, boots crunching on dried-up gull shit.

They spare you glances as they pass by, surely wondering what you were doing here in the early hours of the morning. Were you waiting for someone to get off work? Were you waiting for a drug deal? Or were you just admiring the way the waves spray water onto the dock?

(In reality, it was none of those. You’re waiting on something much worse.)

A woman, sleek and modern in style and rugged and worn in looks, approaches you. She has a quiet intensity about her — something about the way she squints against the ocean spray mixed with the permanent-looking scowl on her face. 

She tilts her head toward you, and you nod. You walk towards her and meet her halfway, leaning in close on her insistence. 

“You’re the one in need?” She asks softly. You just barely hear her over the waves crashing against the dock.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, just as soft. “It’s my sister’s daughter. My eleven-year-old niece. She’s… she’s in a really bad way.”

“What does she need?” The woman asks. 

“A pancreas,” you say. “She’s got acute recurrent pancreatitis. There aren’t a lot of affordable child-sized organs lying around. God knows I’ve turned not just California, but the entire Mojave upside-down trying to find one. I’ve called hospitals in Arizona, Nevada, even New Mexico. I – I’m not asking you to kill a child! I just… I need the money for the operation. It’ll put her on the waiting list, and… once we show the hospital we have the money, I’m sure she’ll be okay. Somehow.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you just take out a loan? Or take on debt?”

“I can’t,” you say. “None of us can. I foreclosed on my last house. My sister has thousands of dollars in credit card debt, counting all the interest. Please, just trust me when I say I need this money. I don’t think anyone has nearly half a million dollars in their junk drawer. If I did, why would I be here, asking you for it?”

The woman looks you over and tucks her jacket closer around her. The outline of a gun at her hip becomes glaringly obvious – she wants you to notice it.

“Ma’am, I’m begging you.” You clasp your hands together as tight as you can. “I come from a family of deadbeats and addicts. I was an addict myself, and I quit just to save money for her operation, but it’s just not enough. I need this money. I won’t misappropriate these funds – won’t use them to pay off other debts, won’t use them for drugs. Just… please, miss.”

The woman holds up her hand. “Stop groveling.”

What the fuck else am I supposed to do?! You shout in your head. I need money, and you’ve got the money! My niece is going to fucking die if I don’t get it!

Instead, you just nod politely and put your hands behind your back. “Yes, ma’am. My apologies. I’m sure you can understand my desperation.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman hums. “I can get you the money. Just give me your banking details and I can wire it to you.” 

You pull out a pre-prepared index card with your bank information written down. The woman checks that it has your full name, address, account number, and routing number before speaking again.

“Do you have life insurance?” She asks, as if offhandedly.

“Uh, yes?” You say, unsure. “It won’t come out to a lot, so I couldn’t have an “accident” at work. Maybe just under 200,000 dollars? Nowhere near enough to cover her operation.”

The woman hums and tucks the card into her pocket. “I’ll get you the money.”

“Thank you so, so much,” you say. “You have no idea what this means to me – no idea what you’ve done for me and my family.”

“I have some idea.” The woman’s hand lingers at her waist. It takes you a few seconds too long to notice that –

A loud sound. A raging pain. The bullet hit something vital, but doesn’t grant you the mercy of dying in that instant. 

You stagger back, holding yourself. “What…”

“You’re dumber than you look,” the woman says, her voice fading in and out. “I’m just helping your family.”

You inhale shakily and take a step back. There’s a sense of falling, and something cold surrounds you, but you can’t make out much of anything in this condition. 

The last thing you think before the black takes you? It’s May. Who the fuck gets shot in May?

[milkteacrumblecake]

Hello it’s me I’m back at again, I hope you like my story! I been busy with life so I apologize for not posting. My work place having me work 16 hours shifts for 5 days straight. Then I got sick so I spent my two days off in bed, but I’m back and better than ever!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dirt I come from

As Adam's bone aches from waking up he rubs his back, curse to walk earth eternity to watch over humanity. Adam took Caine's place; he didn't want his boy to be alone to walk this earth. Adam still fulfilled his duty to populate humanity. Adam watched as Eve, his wife dying in his arms, tried to hold on, she didn’t want Adam to be all alone. Adam smiled and told Eve it was okay, he was fine he still had his children and grandchildren.

Before Eve closed her eyes and took her last breath one last time. Eve said her final words: “I love you Addie with all my heart and soul. Just to let you know that no matter what I find a way to free you from this curse.”

Adam smiled and held Eve in his arms and cried for what felt like hours. Adam buried Eve at their favorite spot, a willow tree. Where they spend time with their family and each other. As years pass one by one his children and grandchildren die and humanity progresses. Humanity forgot the first man only to hear about him briefly mentioned in the bible. Not even the Angels ever contacted Adam once he filled his purpose. Adam neither heard about Lucifer or Lilith since Eden when they got banished.

Adam had salt and pepper mix in his once brown hair. Adam gained some weight due to not worrying about food anymore. He still has his piercing gold eyes that hold so much wisdom. His skin once tan now pale with some wrinkles on it. Adam got up and got ready for today, Adam made him some coffee while grabbing his cane. And making his way towards his porch towards his rocking chair. Adam always enjoys the peaceful mornings, their quiet and gives him time to think.

Adam’s memory has been bad, but recently it has gotten worse. He can’t remember his loved ones, or their faces. Adam slowly forgetting who he is, his body is also getting worse. Cracks are beginning to form on his body, and he feels like he doesn’t have much time left. Having a routine is the only thing keeping Adam grounded, and not falling apart.

After Adam finished his coffee, he went back inside his house and grabbed his coat and frozen peas. Adam headed out of his house with his cane and frozen peas in hand. Adam decided since it was a beautiful fall day he was going to the park and feed his little friends the ducks. Adam made it to the park and went over to his favorite bench. Adam heard excited quakes as the ducks made their way towards him. As Adam was feeding the ducks, and enjoying the scenery around him. Then all of the sudden Adam heard a familiar voice. He couldn’t put his finger on it, has he heard that voice before? His memory is getting bad and he can't remember anything anymore.

A short man approaches him and excitedly yells with joy: Adam! I finally found you, it took me 9,000 years to look for you.

Adam noticed the man he was wearing a white suit with a pink and red pinstripe vest, with a black bow tie, and with a pair of black knee high boots. He looks almost like a circus ringmaster. With a wide brimmed white top hat with a golden snake and a red apple over a golden crown. The man has white skin with rosy-cheeks, short blonde hair, sharp teeth and eyes with light yellow sclera, though with red irises and blackened hands that look like claws.

Adam brows knitted and looked at the man curiously: I’m sorry do I know you, my memory going bad I can’t even remember well as I used to.

The short man stops in his tracks and looks at Adam with sadness in his eyes: Adam you don’t recognize me?

Adam looks at him for a moment and shakes his head no. Adam looks at the short man who looks like he was about to cry: No, but young man what’s your name?

Lucifer gave Adam a half-smile, and slowly walked towards him. Lucifer held out his hand: My name is Lucifer Morningstar, nice to meet you.

Adam shook his hand and patted the spot beside him on the bench: Nice to meet you Lucifer, would you like to join me to feed the ducks?

Lucifer nodded his head yes and sat beside Adam. Adam offered some peas to feed the ducks, and Lucifer took some in his hand. Lucifer begins to feed the ducks: What can you remember Adam?

Adam stared off to the distance, and his expression clouded up: I can only remember the last 5 years and I can’t even remember my age. I feel like I’m forgetting something very important.

Tears filled Lucifer's eyes, Lucifer gently took Adam’s hands and squeezed it reassuringly: It’s okay Adam, I can help you remember, now that I’m here.

Adam shook his head, and laughed. Adam rolled up his sleeves and showed Lucifer the cracks on his arms: I don’t think you can, I feel like I don’t have much time left. Look, the cracks on my body are beginning to break apart and turn into dust.

As Adam was about to roll down his sleeves, a new crack formed on Adam's face. Adam sighs and touches the new crack as dust falls off of the newly formed crack: It seems like my end is getting closer.

Lucifer begins to cry, realizing he may be too late to help Adam. Lucifer hugs Adam and Adam rubs his back: I’m sorry Adam I’m too late, if I got here sooner you wouldn’t be falling apart or losing your memory.

Adam smiles: It’s okay, it’s my time anyway even if you had come. I have a feeling it would end the same so it’s okay. But could you do me a favor and stay with me, I don’t want to be alone.

Tears are rolling down Lucifer rosy cheeks as he looks up at Adam with a forced smile and nodded: I stay with you Adam, I won’t leave you alone ever again I promise.

Adam squeezes Lucifer's hand while looking at him: Thank you, I may not remember you but I feel like I love you.

Lucifer eyes widen and more tears fall: I-I love you too Addie, even though I don’t deserve your love.

Adam smiles as the crack spreads across his face: You do too, Luci I have a feeling we might meet again someday.

Lucifer's body shakes as he starts to sob: I hope so Addie, I don’t want you to go.

Adam hugs Lucifer as he starts to rub his back, and starts to hum a melody from his memory he can’t seem to remember. As Lucifer starts to hug Adam he starts to fall apart as he was hugging him.

Lucifer panics as tears roll down his face, and starts to try to put Adam back together: No no no no please Addie, don’t leave me I just found you. I got so much to tell you, I don’t want you to die.

Lucifer holds on to Adam clothes close to his chest and starts to sob harder. Lucifer gathered the dust, and put it into a medium wooden box. With Adam's name, and sun flowers engraved into it. Lucifer blames himself for what happened. Lucifer went back to Hell and went into his manor. And Lock himself away forever regretting not choosing Adam instead of Lilith. Lucifer lost Adam forever, but he has a small spark of hope. Adam says they might meet again, and Lucifer hopes that is true.

~The End~

[mama-qwerty]

So, I went grocery shopping, which is where a lot of 'slice of life' kinda scenes pop into my head. Today's scene was in the Knuckles MacPherson au (because of course it was), wherein Cal and Knux are shopping and run into Maddie, who's carrying a sick Tails. He's got the flu or something, but Sonic went to work with Tom and she needed some supplies and couldn't leave him home alone.

Anyway, they chat and Mads gets a phone call, vet emergency, so she hands Tails over to Callie and asks her to watch over him for a while until she can get back.

Like Callie's gonna turn away looking after this epitome of cuteness.

So she finishes her shopping, carrying Tails all the while, and when they get home she gets him set up on the couch all cozy.

Knux has been watching and maybe gets a little jealous, and wouldn't you know, now he's sick too!

"Me'na," he said as Callie helped Tails take another sip of his apple juice. "I am afraid I have also fallen ill."

Callie lifted an eyebrow, casting a side glance to the echidna. "Really? I thought mighty echidna warriors didn't get sick. At least that's what you told me while you were projectile vomiting all over my bed two weeks ago."

His face pinched slightly, before he recovered and shook his head. "I . . . I feel unwell."

Then he proceeded to produce such a pathetically forced cough, any school kid worth their salt who'd played sick on a day with a math test they hadn't studied for would have scoffed and shunned him for making a mockery of the acting prowess necessary to pass off a convincing show of illness.

Shockingly, Callie wasn't convinced, but decided to see how far this kid was willing to go.

"Oh no, you poor thing," she crooned, with appropriate levels of sympathy and concern. "C'mere and lemme see if you have a temperature."

Knuckles pulled his lips tight, apparently not having thought that far ahead in his ruse. But he stepped forward, dipping his head toward her as she pressed a hand against it.

"Hmmm, you do feel warm."

"I do?" He caught himself, before nodding. "I mean, of course. I am ill."

"Of course you are," she said, pushing herself to stand. She patted the other side of the couch. "Kick off those boots and gloves and get comfy. I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, Callie returned with grape juice, two bags of frozen peas, and some crackers. She gently placed a pea bag on Tails' forehead, the boy glancing up with a tired smile, before turning her attention to the echidna settling in on the other side of the couch. His boots and gloves sat on the floor in a pile, and he couldn't hide the smile as she approached.

A smile curled her own lips. Okay. He could be 'sick' if he wanted.

"Here we go," she said, sitting on the edge of the couch. "A cold pack for your fever, and some juice to keep hydrated."

She placed the frozen bag on his forehead, and held up the cup for him to drink. He sucked the juice up through the straw, his violet eyes never leaving her.

"Ah, very refreshing," he said, laying back. The smile was still there. "My thanks, Me'na."

"My pleasure, ki'kone. Do you need anything else?"

He flicked his eyes to Tails, who was snuggled beneath a thick afghan, where Callie had tucked him in. Looking down at the blanket currently pooled at his waist, Knuckles looked back to Callie, a sheepish expression pulling his features.

Catching the hint, Callie pulled the blanket up, gently tucking it beneath the echidna's chin, snuggling him in nice and warm.

"Better?"

His smile turned shy, and he nodded. "Much."

Oh if this boy got any cuter she'd just keel over from adorable overload.

She leaned forward, lifting the frozen peas before placing a firm kiss on his forehead. "Call if you need anything, sweetie."

He nodded again, and she moved away, flicking the TV on to play softly before making sure Tails was comfortable. The fox had dozed off, and she dragged a knuckle across his muzzle as she headed for the kitchen.

She may or may not have snuck a photo to text to Maddie of both boys snuggled on the couch. Maddie may or may not have texted back a string of emojis to express her enjoyment of it.

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Yesss please sam drake food/eating hcs?? Fave meals, hated meals, etc

It is with great joy and great belatedness that I post my first Uncharted piece in ages. Thank you for the lovely ask, anon. :)

⋆ Sam Drake - Eating Headcanons ⋆

Two words: scarcity mindset.

After running away from Saint Frances’s, to claim money was tight is to be telling some humorous bit, Money was borderline non-existent. And as such, came what the Drake boys do best: theft. 

Liquor stores were their easiest, and most consistent source. Sam still takes great pride in telling his many stories revolving around ‘cashier meet-cutes’ disguising their proudest heist to date: a 12-year-old Nathan smuggling canned goods under a moth-holed hoodie. 

Because of this, gas station snacks: twinkies, Lays chips, slurpees, etc. all tend to give him this simultaneous sense of nostalgia and nausea. Like when you’re eating eggs and all of a sudden, your body gags on the next bite.

But on an especially shitty day, expect him to be gobbling a Big Gulp and a half-frozen hot dog on the nearest street corner, with a half-smoked cigarette still sunken between his lips. It’s the way he wallows. 

Secretly wants you to tell him how bad that shit is for him so he has an excuse to snottily spat back “who the ‘ell cares?”. He finds pride in not caring about anything. (He cares about everything.)

Getting fast food at the drive-thru? Man waves you off a total of three times claiming he doesn’t want nothing before proceeding to eat half of your McNuggets without asking. He loves BBQ sauce and needs Tabasco on everything like it’s his will to live.

Big fan of spicy, sour, and tart, anything that makes your mouth pucker. Pretzels, salt and vinegar chips, cottage cheese, pickles, pineapple (😉). “What can I say? I admire a fruit that fights back!” — he snorts before taking a raw bite of a lemon, just to squirm you out.

Maybe a bit of the masochist in him. 

When he and Nate were able to get proper gigs (12-year-old Nathan: illegally, of course), they were able to progress to the simplest of grocery outlet options. Eggs, instant ramen packets, canned vegetables that were 9 out of 10 times eaten raw out of the can with a fork, and more nothing-but-toast-for-dinner than they’d want to admit).

Sam and Nate spent most of their childhood eating their dad’s scrambled eggs and microwaved peas. When their mom passed, and dad released them to the state, Sam decided he’d only ever eat over-easy again.

Nate still chooses scrambled. He asks for cheese and green onions to split the difference, but always ends up only eating half of it before the memories come too strong and he has to push his plate away. 

QUICK eater. MESSY eater. And I mean quick and messy. 

Will use as minimal cutlery as possible, and if disposable, even better.

A scooper. Tends to be a chronic careless spiller with how frequently he tries to funnel all the last crumbs into his mouth, how quickly he chugs even a glass of water. (Most shirts of his are stained as a result.)

Tends to wait till the last possible moment to eat or drink anything. Breakfast basically doesn’t exist to him. 

Spills more beverage down his chin and shirt than his mouth (but a wet t-shirt certainly isn’t the worst thing to happen. Especially not to Samuel Drake. ;)

Pizza order: Meat Lover’s with extra sausage. Maybe some green bell peppers when he finally compromises with Nate during movie night.

Never, ever orders (well, non-alcoholic) drinks when eating out. And only water when he finally lets himself cave. Otherwise, he’s stealing sips from the nearest patron’s Jarrito bottle (his favorite is Tamarind).

Doesn’t bother cleaning up his fruit peels or peanut shells, even around others. That shit’s going on the floor without a second look.

Surprisingly, a king and natural on the BBQ. Despite having so little in their childhood, Sam still tried to go hard on the holidays for Nathan’s sake. Fourth of July is still Nate’s favorite holiday exclusively because of Sam’s public park-smoked ribs and the long, bumpy motorcycle ride up the highest hill in whatever city they were currently loitering in, just to see the fireworks. 

A dive bar master. Nate always orders whatever grease-covered appetizer they got in the back. Sam purposely keeps his stomach empty so there’s more room for whiskey. (Since nobody asked, incredible at pool, and will offer any woman in a twenty foot circumference a lesson. Cue the leaning chest over back, cue stick fantasy.)

A love language that was a total surprise to him is his partner cooking/baking something just for him, especially if it’s from scratch. Gets that rare, soft look in his eyes as he watches them carefully place each steaming plate onto the table. And trust, he’s not looking at the food when it happens.

Loves his partner in an apron. Like… loves his partner in an apron.

Make him food, and as soon as it’s eaten, he’s eating you after. ;)

When he finally settles down post-Madagascar, it’s a fucking struggle to get him to go grocery shopping at all for the first few months. 

Self-punishment, maybe. 

Nathan buys them himself instead and leaves them on the porch of Sam’s trailer park home when he’s too depressed to answer the door. 

Basically has to be forced to eat actual meat and vegetables. For the first few months, he reverts and eats only familiar prison food. The same single pot of chili/beans for a whole week, half portions only for each meal. Uncooked canned carrots. Microwave popcorn when Nathan calls him asking if he’s eaten, and when Sam lies, it sounds more believable with the microwave droning in the background.

However, when he finally starts to pick himself back up, when he gets his first day job since prison, finally lets Nate buy him a used truck to get around, his first solo call from Sully, that’s when he finally starts to eat.

And when he finally feels like himself again, when he finally lets himself want to live again, the first hobby that Sam Drake takes up is cooking.

[simplytheromanticistdoris]

Achilles And Patroclus: Love Between Ashes and Bones; Gods Folly and Quirks (a ballad)

Achilles to Patroclus

I could never be without you, my love, for you are the river I follow, afloat my body venture to you. The black silk of your hair under the doting of mine, your lips amiable to meet mine, and your eyes that see through the depths of my soul, it frets not but outshines.

I, a demi-god am bound to bask in the golden banquet of the gods, but I turn away and decline, for heaven is at dawn at hell, oh, you shall squirm at my touch as I sip the sweet nectar of your dew drop tears, from my folly unashamed tricks.

Let us be lost in the greeny valley of trees, and sit upon its shaded seat, secrecy it shall be, as we talk love and our future dreams, draped in dirt your tunic will be, drenched in life we smell of it, oh, dear, you’re a soul meek and the sweet scent of simplicity;

I find upon you the strength of a measly bird, but within you; the will to change it all. How does it feel to be my soul? To have my heart taken into the depths of the earth? How does it feel to steal my future and all?

I love you, I say, but my pride begs that I stay, it was a mistake, and now, you lay there pierced by the adversary of my fate, oh, the river flowed no more and life tasted like salt, the underworld claimed your soul and I shall follow.

Demise meets the man who claimed your life, his head touring around our great walls, and lamenting upon is all I could do as you smelled like the night of deathly sorts, and, oh, how does it feel to kill me, my love?

My life meets its due and I smelled you; will you greet me with a smile under the ash of this fight? Blood trickles down and my breath pulls out, oh, may my body be burned and reunite with you.

Erebus receives me as the swift-footed fool, for I am no different from the flesh of my kind, just a man, in love. My gaze wonders to find your soul but to no avail, I’m met with void, in between the borders you must be there;

Even death cannot possibly dare, to deprive me of the utmost source why my life is spared. The seasons passed and sang bitter-sweet songs, I waited like a rock devoid of soul, why must fate be so cruel?

Deep is my blue a feeling struck, before me the kindest man stood, silly he looked and confused at most, ah, you fatuous man you made me wait, now come lavish at my embrace!

“What more do I need but for the sole reason that I live and die, oh, my dear Patroclus, my Patroclus.”

Patroclus to Achilles

Golden locks of silk rests on my thighs, as he the fair youth plays on his lyre, his battle-carved fingers strum not the lyre, but my stringed life, for now, I am a piece, a symphony from his musical pile.

He is divine, his radiant hair golden amongst the light, and, oh, his lips lush and plump like life, and across his eyes the kind blue ocean opposed to his mother’s icy guile eyes, that dares choke me with vile.

You're a being dipped from Styx, the strength of hundredths of men but in one shell that represents all fiery admirable might to fend, but what of you my love, when your fate weighs too much upon your life to go on?

You are half of my soul as the poets say, your star dipped next to mine and I shall stay, oh, the onerous fate you weigh I will bear, for you are everything to me and I fear to see you in dismay, I love you wouldn’t you say?

The god they presume you to be, but all I see is a man I can’t let be, under the cosmos we gaze, draped in love we kissed ablaze, no sole rock will break us away, you tasted like everything but the future that has no place.

Wreath my heart to decay, split me in half to see blood spray, but none you get for he is the vitality in my veins, a kind fool lacking wits and trusts guile prompts, but I am half what he is not and I protect our love.

May he bask in the triumph he deserves, and when he tires, we spare some time, and he cuddles in my wing like two peas in a pod as we drift to sleep and dream, and there is a ponder within me that cannot bear to lose this golden-haired man.

I had pleaded with him not to go, but he begged that my life is on the line; a promise to save the dainty fair beauty, oh, we cannot escape our fate, and we march to the relentless eating time, to the Underworld we will bid our time, oh, Achilles, I wished we’ll be fine.

Swift-footed he is in battle and I watch awe in afar, I fear he’ll meet the man that’ll splat blood on his golden locks, please hurry under my touch and assure me sweet love along this bloody path of war.

Across this ghastly war and ruffian rule of men, there lies you dancing among the wolves and hooded sheep we called friends, they wait for you to die but like a god you prevailed, the wind uttered favor, oh, you couldn’t possibly look more graceful the hero of this battle.

But alas akin to you a thing named pride, it rivaled my full pledged love and I lost to its qualms, and you bade war alone to suffer whose won, but the tide had turned and we pace aback, oh, we’re shunned, many have died under the roots of your pride, but we shall settle this to save our might.

I implore authority from your side, let me wear your scent and go about to fight, I’ll save your pride and the souls that are deprived, enemies wait no more and I shall take flight; you bid me good luck and a good kiss goodbye;

I promise my love I will come back, and we shall run with our heels and talk about life, I shall watch you spar and admire; your bodily move like the ocean tide, your voice is like a coir that replenishes me anew to a queer kind of guy.

I wear your pride soon a cascade of a fallen might, I aim your spear and a swain dies, and another kind, momentarily, I thought I was the preordained man with his swift-footed pride, I miss you then like I was to die.

To be the worthy facsimile of my man, I have uttered his sprightly livened trance and led the homely stricken souls; I say we go home and make about our humble abode.

I revel at the thought of dragging Helen out from the hen of our foes, she, that is the beauty, the root of all these woes will bring about peace and we go home, my Achilles and I snuggled in heavenly prose.

Serendipity reeled within my thoughts, unbeknownst a spear pierced my heart, what of the love we’re bound to make? What of Achilles the one man I’m willing to risk it all? Is he not to die too, by the hands that doomed my soul?

In between the borders I stay afloat, I have mingled with the winds and drifted from face to face to see delight and faze, but what prevailed was my man fallen out of grace, wherefore the Achilles with brimming pride? Oh, but how you cared more when I was dead.

Achilles, oh, Achilles he wails over a shell of no soul but a fractured man, I lament with him for he has died too, haughtily I dare not but I fear his life is almost due, slowly he drifts to a path divulge from the kind in himself.

I left you not in your grieving soul, I smothered you with love in your midnight woes, and I have bore witness to the wreath in your soul and how you bend to break it all, and apathy I have come to hate in your eyes as the head of Hector rolls like dice.

Soon enough you meet demise, and our ashes reunite but strangely naught I feel but your distant soul away from mine, impediment howls, and how your son is vile, now our roads diverge ever to reunite.

Upon your tomb there carved your name, besides I sit like a widow bae and I await, then your mother came, oh, she longed for you but she remembers little to faint, but this I say your son is great, I am the memory to deliver the beauty we have come to make, with the vicissitudes of our fate.

The song of Achilles sang to pave the way.

‘It is done’ your mother says, becoming kind so to say, besides your name a carve that says; Patroclus, and my mouth is agape, this means one thing and I’ll see your face; under the roots of the mead of green I’m new to this dreary scene;

Two arms reach a radiant light to grab me tight and reunite.

“Achilles, oh, Achilles my one and only life, the love I have for you triumphs over those who dare to ruin the heavenly love, we spare against the march of our fate and the relentless time, for you are the four seasons I have come to love but like the pristine calm of the sea, we come adrift and die, for we have now bade life goodbye.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’M HERE FOR THE TEA please can we see Mama Rosehearts seeing Trey again?? You know the boy she probably blames for leading her son astray with SUGAR 😆 maybe throw in the Clover siblings or Clover parents too? Only if you want to though!

Scalding hot tea to go with those banned strawberry tarts... 👀 (Not gonna lie though, it's so funny to me that Mrs. Rosehearts may see Trey, one of THE most normal and mild-mannered dudes in the main TWST cast, as some kind of twisted degenerate that peddles an addictive white powder to her child 🤡)

While writing this, I kept thinking of the passive aggressive dinner scene in Shrek 2 (that eventually turned into a full-blown food fight) 😅 Trey can be Shrek since he's green and Mrs. Rosehearts can be Fiona's dad since they're both protective parents-- (I decided to keep it to Trey, Riddle, and Mrs. Rosehearts! The rest of the Clover family would be a lot of people to account for in one interactions.)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Trey was used to cutting cakes, not cutting tension. The vice dorm leader job description had said nothing about the latter—yet here he was, newly saddled with the responsibility.

To his right was Riddle, forcing himself to maintain impeccable posture for afternoon tea. Back straight, head up, eyes forward, as he wove a teaspoon through a cup of warm liquid. Normally, he would slightly sweeten his tea with honey—but he went without it today, only stirring on reflex.

A ha-RUMPH! sounded as Riddle set the teaspoon down on his saucer. Their guest was disapproving, as Trey had expected. He gathered his strength and muttered a silent prayer to the Great Seven.

"Tea?" Trey offered the woman to his right, teapot at the ready.

Mrs. Rosehearts tapped a dagger-like nail against her arm. She had painted them a deep crimson, the exact shade of the red velvet cakes Patisserie Clover whipped up—though with the scathing expression she wore, Trey figured the last thing she wanted to hear about was baked goods. The woman looked like she was out for his blood, rich and oh-so-red.

"Okaaay, no tea then." Trey carefully returned the teapot to its spot and reached for a plate of the least sweet item avaliable. "How about a finger sandwich? We've got all different kinds of fillings, so just pick the one you like."

Mrs. Rosehearts didn't so much as pass the poor sandwiches a glance out of pity.

"Alright, I guess that's also a negatory?"

Her icy eyes bore into Trey, silently judging him. The tension thickened, turning heftier than a filling pea soup (though he doubted she was in the mood for any food at this point).

A hand reached over and plucked a sandwich from the top of the pile, staving off some rigidity in the air.

"Thank you, Trey." Riddle offered a small smile.

"You're very welcome. Don't eat it all up in one bite now. Remember to save some for everyone else," Trey joked light-heartedly. "You've got a smoked salmon on whole wheat there. I tossed the fish in lemon juice, salt, and pepper, then mixed it with a little cream cheese, dill, and minced onion."

"Is that right? It sounds delicious and healthy," Riddle said carefully, emphasizing the final word. He delicately nibbled at the crusts--still left on--while eyeing the contents of his teacup.

The table settled back into a stiff silence. Riddle staring at his drink, his mother staring at Trey, and Trey staring at the wall behind her. If he made eye contact, would she explode?

Trey rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. His hand came away damp with perspiration. He dared to say what was on everyone's mind.

"Well, uh... This is awkward."

There was an audibly sharp intake of breath. Riddle, paralyzed. His thumb pressed down hard on his sandwich, puncturing a hole in the bread.

"You're the eldest son of the bakers," Mrs. Rosehearts declared, her first utterance as prickly as thorns. "The boy who led my Riddle astray with sugar."

She makes it sound like I was peddling something way worse than what it actually was! It was only a slice of strawberry tart...

Trey bit back his protests and tried at a smile. He and Riddle had spent hours reviewing and rehearsing their game plan for this dreaded moment. "Don't challenge her, don't instigate," his dorm leader had instructed him. "Be agreeable. Lie if you must. Whatever it takes for us to come out of this encounter unscathed."

His had confidence wavered, worry in his big eyes. A flash of fear, and Trey saw the sad little child from years before, the fat tears that had been dribbling down Riddle’s contorted face. Sobbing, apologizing, pleading.

He had tipped his head and nodded. A mere card soldier obeying his queen. The line he parroted so often was spoken once more: “Yes, dorm leader.”

Trey reached within himself for the best he could manage. "It's nice to see you again, ma'am."

"If only I could say the same!!" Mrs. Rosehearts huffed dismissively. She then snapped, quick as a whip, to Riddle, who flinched. "It’s no wonder why you came home in such a sorry state for the holidays! I suspected it for a while now, but this confirms it. You’ve been reintroduced to bad influences at school."

“That’s not exactly…” Riddle trailed off, his voice weak. His mother continued to rant, undaunted.

“NRC has its fair share of students that cause trouble,” Trey confessed, tactfully cutting in. “Still, that’s to be expected of teenage boys."

“My Riddle rarely ever behaves in such a disrespectful manner,” Mrs. Rosehearts retorted. Rarely stung like a slap to the face. “Were it not for poor choices in friendship, he would never act out.

“Why a prestigious learning institution like Night Raven College would allow such riffraff in, I’ll never understand! They only ruin it for the others. It only takes one bad seed to spoil the whole bunch.”

She didn't name names, but it was clear who she was talking about from where she directed her intense gaze.

“I don’t know about spoiled apples, but bruised ones can still be used,” Trey pointed out, eager to divert the heated topic. “They don’t look the best, but they still taste fine. Bruised apples work for lots of recipes. Salads, sauces, ciders, jams..."

The smoked salmon sandwich slipped, falling into Riddle’s untouched tea. His eyes widened. Then Trey’s slowly followed. Both of them caught the misstep, their times staggered.

The scowl on Mrs. Rosehearts deepened, her crimson lips forming an almost bloody line. “You would just love to stuff my son with more of that sugary poison, wouldn’t you? Just like you’ve filled his head with your poisonous thoughts!!”

“What? No, I wouldn’t… I haven’t—” He instinctively pivoted to providing a defense, something to placate her.

It was an ill-advised mistake.

"Young man!!" Face red, she rose from her seat, slamming both hands on the table. The fine china and silverware clattered violently. "First you feed him that horrible junk food, then you've graduated to feeding him all these untruths!! You've done quite enough damage to my son."

He had one foot in the rabbit hole now, the situation spiraling into chaos. Trey braced himself against the verbal barrage, wincing as her volume climbed higher and higher, her features distorting from rage.

A part of him wanted to cry out. To argue, to shout. But fear clawed at his throat, seizing his tongue.

"Look where hanging around you has gotten him! He comes home over the winter break spouting nonsense—nonsense he no doubt picked up from you. I thought I had done all I could to rid us of the pests buzzing around him, but clearly even those efforts haven't been enough!"

"M-Mother, please... I can explain!" Riddle insisted, jumping up. His teacup wobbled, threatening to topple over and stain the table and rug. "I implore you, don't blame Trey--"

"A mother knows what's best for her child! I'll be speaking to the headmaster about this, and there WILL be some changes around here!"

Riddle recoiled, defeated. He balled his hands into fists on his lap—to stop them from shaking.

It's happening, Trey realized. Again, it's happening...

The edges of his vision blurring, his throat closing up. A distant memory of his parents profusely apologizing to a screaming woman. Riddle huddled behind her, in tears, tugging, begging to be heard. Him, standing frozen, unable to act.

"Riddle..." Trey made to place a hand on his shoulder to reassure him, but a protective arm blocked his path. He met the livid face of Mrs. Rosehearts.

"Don't you touch a hair on my son's head.”

His hand jerked back but refused to fall limp to his side. He frowned slightly, brows furrowing in hesitation.

But he pushed himself forward and tumbled deeper down the rabbit hole.

"With all due respect, ma'am," Trey said very evenly, "I get wanting to support and protect him, I really do. That's part of my job as his vice dorm leader—but Riddle doesn’t need it all the time. He’s not the fragile flower you seem to think he is.”

He was the thorns that warded off enemies. He was the stalk, morally upright and willful. He was the roots that burrowed deep and anchored the group.

He was anything but a rose.

“Frankly, I think you sorely underestimate how strong Riddle really is,” Trey continued. He must be, if he has the courage to speak up for me when I couldn’t do the same for him. “I don’t mean just in magic either. He has the will of a queen too.”

Mrs. Rosehearts drew back, positively appalled. Her nostrils flared. "And just what are you insinuating?!"

Shock replaced the delicate discomfort on Riddle’s face. “Trey, you…”

“Ahahah… Sorry, Riddle.” He passed his friend a faint smile. “I guess I couldn’t help but meddle this time. I broke my promise to you. My bad.”

“No, don’t be.” His response was quiet, like the trace of a whisper on a breeze.

“I understand now. It’s not the school that needs changing, but you,” Mrs. Rosehearts snarled, jabbing an accusatory finger at Trey. “I’ll have you expelled from this school!! You won’t ever be put in a position where you can sink your venomous fangs into my…"

"Stop, mother...!!"

"Riddle?" Mrs. Rosehearts looked expectantly at her son. She had stiffened, the fire in her eyes now petrified to stone.

He hesitated under her gaze.

"... Hey. It's okay. You've got this," came a soft voice from beside him. From Riddle's right, his right-hand man. "No one else can speak for you but yourself."

Riddle swallowed. He tried to maintain his cool, but his words came out shaky.

"Mother, I..." He stopped and started again. "You may see Trey as a villain, someone who leads children astray from the good and morally righteous path with a house of sweets. But that's not what he is.”

Riddle remembered the scene well.

In a garden of rose hedges… Collars turned into fluttering playing cards. Then the pitch black had consumed him. A light he had reached for. The hand that had reached back. Someone calling out to him, panicked.

That person was…

"At my darkest moment, Trey was there to stop me from sinking lower than I already had. When I sought a hand in the void, it was he who reached back for me. His hand is what pulled me up when I was down.

“For that, I will always be grateful, no matter what you may think of him. He is worthy of standing by my side as Heartslabyul’s vice dorm leader. That is my decision—a decision acknowledged by all.”

His mother bristled. "You would side with this… this boy over me? Your mother? Your family?"

“I’m suggesting that raising a complaint to the headmaster wouldn’t change the circumstances. He, too, is aware of Trey’s merits as my second-in-command and would wish for him to stay.”

Riddle shared a small, knowing smile with his friend. Indeed, Crowley had been present for the debacle—and indeed, he would promote their support of one another. To save face and reputation. (“Wh-What nonsense is this!! Of course my students are well-mannered and cooperative! What would make you think anything less of them?!”)

“Clever,” Trey mouthed.

“Well, I never!!” Mrs. Rosehearts huffed, abruptly rising from her seat. “The depths of depravity know no bounds!! To think you’ve magically convinced the entire school that you’re good…!!l

“I’ll do my best to show you my good points too, ma’am,” Trey replied. He couldn’t stop a smirk from making its way onto his lips. “After all, everyone at NRC’s like a diamond in the rough. All they need’s their time to shine.“

At this, Riddle coughed into a fist to conceal choked laughter. “… Yes, one could say such a thing. Rest assured, mother; I’m in good hands. There is no learning institution more fit for me than here.”

At our Night Raven College.

[legendofmorons]

The LU boys and superstitions

Once again, I was thinking about things I grew up with/ learned about and applying it to the boys. I might add the colors and dark link later, I just couldn't think of any for them rn

Tw: mentions death

Fierce

Oh, he's so old he probably has a bunch he follows

He never leaves an empty rocking chair rocking.

He keeps any hanging horse shoes hung right side up (ends up so it's able to hold the luck)

Fierce also believes in wishing on shooting stars

First

Throwing salt over your left shoulder after you spill it

He will NOT wash clothes or clean things on new years day

Refuses to walk under ladders

Covering mirrors when someone dies in a building (stops them from becoming stuck in the mirror)

Four

Horseshoe hung up so the luck won't fall out

Breaking mirros is bad luck to him

He dosen’t have a whole lot, he thinks most wide spread superstitions are common sense

Hyrule

Ooooo boy

Faerie boy? He has some.

I think he's probably a summer /seelie fae so he probably has some superstitions around harvest time

Bottle trees keep away haints/ghosts/spirits

If your ear rings someone is talking about you

He HATES all horseshoes (iron is BAD for the fae), but if he must be near one, he would like it to be right side up

Legend

Breaking mirrors is bad luck

Rocking an empty rocking chair? No thanks, he's not inviting unknown spirits or death.

He keeps a mirror outside his house to keep away evil/the devil/ (demise??)

He eats black eyed peas on new years

He sweeps out the back door (never the front and NEVER when it's dark outside)

Will ward off evil with the three finger sign I always saw

Stays away from cross roads at night

Ravio

If you thought Legend had a bunch, Ravio has more

He has all of the one Leged has ofc

He also believes walking under ladders is bad

He covers mirrors AND stops clocks if someone passes away in his home

Holds his breathe while passing a grave yard

He always goes out the same door he came in through

He believes death comes in threes

He only walk beside his loved ones when going around a post never letting it go between them

Probably has many more

Sky

Not that superstitious actually. He tries to avoid breaking mirrors but not much else

Isn't a huge fan of black cats, but that's more because of nighttime remlits than anything

Time

By the end of his first adventure he has none

The superstitions he had believed were proven false over the years

Tries not to break mirrors but that's because he hates broken glass

Will participate in superstitions if someone he cares about asks. He knows it's out of love

Twilight

He dosen’t like empty rocking chairs that are rocking

He has a horseshoe hung up in his room to keep away bad dreams

Not too superstitious at heart, but so many people in his town are that it is basically habit for him

Warriors

Knocks on wood to keep from jinxing himself

Dosen’t gift knives to loved ones because he dosen’t want to sever the relationship

Wild

He remembers a few but isn't too superstitious

Likes four leaf clovers for luck though!

And he dosen’t clean on new years

Wind

He will knock on wood

He also likes to pick up a green rupee for luck! (Originally a penny)

He also probably wants a luck rabbit's foot

[siyurikspakvariisis]

Today's lunch: a cheesy pasta bake.

But not just any pasta bake: a very BG3 one.

Spoilers for the Shadowheart origin run's epilogue to follow.

If you save Shadowheart's parents during her origin run, you get a letter from each of them. Emmeline's letter contains a recipe for a pasta bake.

[ID: two screenshots from Baldur's Gate 3, showing a letter from Emmeline Hallowleaf. It reads:

"My dear Shadowheart,

Here's the recipe I mentioned the other day. I wanted to write it down for you just in case it slipped my mind again. I can show you myself once you're home. Enjoy your party, and pass on my best to all your friends.

Love,

Your Mother

X

Feast Day Cheese Bake

For the filling:

One small onion, sliced

Half pound of mushrooms, quartered

Red pepper, diced small

Half pound of greens - spinach, peas, courgette, or whatever is in season in the garden - steamed or boiled

Quarter pound of streaky bacon, chorizo or similar. Fried and diced

Half pound of pasta

For the sauce:

Two tablespoons of butter

Two tablespoons of plain flour

One teaspoon of mild mustard from Cormyr. More if you are daring or congested

Ten fluid ounces of milk

Half pound of mature cheddar cheese, grated

A goodly fistful of breadcrumbs

Method:

Soften the onion in some oil, then add the mushrooms and pepper, and saute over a high flame. Combine with the cooked greens and meat, and set aside. Add pasta to a pot of boiling water.

Melt the butter in a saucepan, then add the flour and whisk over a high flame for one minute. Add the milk, whisking until boiling, then add the grated cheese and remove from flame.

Drain the cooked pasta and add into the cheese sauce, along with the cooked vegetables and meat if used. Combine, and pour into an oven-worthy dish (the square stoneware one with the floral pattern should do nicely). Add the breadcrumbs on top, ad well as some extra cheese if you are feeling wicked (your father often is).

Bake unil the top layer is bubbling and golden, or your loved ones are hungrily loitering about in the kitchen.

PS - if you do not salt the pasta water, you can save it to feed to the plants in your garden."

End ID.]

Today I made it with the following modifications:

I don't want anyone's nonna to slap me so I salted my pasta water.

I also undercooked the noodles - after all, they'd finish cooking in the oven.

I used some vegan sausage I had lying around as the meat. I think the one I used was a bit too dry and bland - a more flavorful and fatty, chorizo-like sausage, would have been a better option.

I used spinach as the greens, and instead of cooking them aside of the sauteed veggies, I wilted the spinach with them. If you do so, watch out! The veggies can become watery, as the spinach releases all its water. I was careful to not dump all that water in the stoneware dish when incorporating the ingredients and it all worked well on my end.

Of course I was feeling wicked and topped the dish with extra cheese :3c

Because most of the cooking has happened outside of the oven, I baked the pasta for 15 minutes at 175 degrees Celsius, plus an extra 5 minutes under the broiler. This is the part I'm less sure about - I'm not a great cook, I just follow recipes. I'd be grateful to hear your input here!

The result: a filling, cheesy, savory, veggie-loaded pasta bake. Next time I'll be more generous with the salt in the filling, though.

[fisheito]

if someone's having a bad day what's the comfort food Yakumo would make for them? and if Yakumo's having a bad day who's the one making comfort food for him and what food is it?

ooohhhhhhhhh you would do this to me. you would walk into my room! bring up food AND that accursed snake. in front of my tiny nightlamp!!! !!

*stares at the pit laid out for me*

*leisurely walks toward it*

i think i once read in fic that yakumo cooked congee for sick food and i couldn't get it out of my mind this was before i thought about the possible ethnic influences of each character ... but once someone (was it someone HERE?) slapped "yakumo" and "han chinese" together i went "WEL>LP! *slaps my thighs* *abruptly stands* *walks out the door with my hands in the air* GUESS WE'RE DOIN THIS FOREVER, THANKS"

so. now yaku will default to making the absolute lightest congee as a "SOMEONE IS SICK AND NEEDS TO EAT" first defense unless:

-the Someone normally likes congee a certain way, and asks him to make it THAT way ((i would do this. just because i'm sick doesn't mean i'm allergic to salt. please give me my seafood congee i'll cry if it's just rice)) -the Someone has a known, OTHER preferred sick food, which yakumo will cater to the best he can. i KNOW he has a section in his brain dedicated to everyone's food preferences.

if someone doesn't like congee, he has an entire repertoire of soups to call upon. they can act as temporary sickfood til the *perfect most desirable* dish can be made what? sickie doesn't like congee? no problem. we got chikken noodle. we got cream stew. aster can procure an entire beast for bone broth in no time at all. u want blended veggebable mush? no peas, right?

example! if for some ridiculous reason dante gets sick at the mansion and he complains about the lack of solarian food while bundled under 300 blankets

yakumo is IN the library. he is OUT IN THE STREETS. researching. gathering ingredients. finding substitutes for that one solarian spice whose flavour profile is unlike anything in the light territory but HEY if you blend these 4 things we DO have together ,,it's similar enough...?

but BEFORE all that, dante is still hungy. so if picky king dante refuses to eat unless it's the Comfort Food of all time (i doubt he would refuse food all brattily in this scenario, but i'm gonna pretend he's a picky baby for fun)

then yakumo needs to prepare a pre-meal quickly! before venturing out for the grand solarian sickfood quest

in that case, i imagine he'd prepare a l'il something... where the texture and tastes are familiar to most people... like a bowl of cut up mixed fruit? or a bit of soft bread? porridge? a simple veggie broth? to fill the belly with something warm

Oh wait I REMEMBER SOMETHING FROM THE ARTBOOK. SOMETHING Like THIS!!!!!:

NNOW FOR THE OTHER SIDE OF TEHQ EUSTION *SLAPS THE WALL WITH RENEWED VIGOUR*

WHAT HAPPENS IF YAKUMO GETS SICK?! he exhibits wounded animal behaviour and drags himself into a dark corner to suffer where nobody can see him hahaha

wait. we have plenty of chefs in the mansion. that's easy enough. if any of the clan members have witnessed the secret knowledge [childhood gossip from his grandparents], then all they have to do is relay the info to the chefs.

"yakumo's grandparents always made him _____ when he was feeling bad" and BAM! professional dish ready in minutes

(i am once again assuming it'll be congee bc cooking habits are passed down LOL but if it's not that i could imagine it being a simple steamed dish like root veggies/cabbage)

that's the practical answer at least. because who wants to serve a subpar dish to chef yakumo?? in his time of weakness?!?!?

BUUUt because it's yakumo, Sappiness will help him heal faster. in which case, you could argue that a dish cooked by a mediocre-skill clan member will be as powerfully healing as a comfort dish cooked by a professional stranger.

aster would obvs make the chefs do it, and morv is not to be trusted with sustenance that is not cum. so...

safer choices: eiden, if he's better at cooking in this world now than in yaku SR intimacy rooms LOL..... but because it's eiden, even if the food is bad, yakumo's taste buds will be overshadowed by his grotesquely overwhelming love oli, who can likely cook up meals of (at least) average difficulty with consistent tastiness garu, making simple familiar meals like he did with gramps quincy, if available and willing

potential recruits: edmond under supervision, blade with a clear recipe+instructions laid out (also under supervision)

do not think about it: kuya (i bet he knows how to cook, but in ?WHAT?? universe????? would he give up his time to prepare a homecooked meal and NOT infuse it with weird stuff),

dante (i assume his cooking skills have suffered due to, you know, having to take on several other more pressing responsibilities),

rei (he will eat a poisonous shrivelled mushroom off the floor of his cabin. one that he accidentally tracked in via his boot a few weeks ago. he will consume it just to stop Father from pestering him about eating. he has no time for culinary duty)

[cooking-thru-shortstack]

Cardamom & Coconut Milk Sweet Potato Pie - 5 Stars

Vegetarian (depending on fat selected for the crust)

This is a heavenly pie. Cooking through these books has made me very familiar with the process of baking a pie from scratch, and while this one is not the easiest to make, it is worth so much more than the effort it takes to make it.

The cardamom and coconut milk bring out the natural sweetness of the potato while giving it a creamy, light decadence and a touch of sophistication. This pie made people light up at work, and having tried it still warm from the oven and then again when chilled, it's fantastic both ways -- but best when cold, which is the mark of a good pie in my book.

The crust is also one of the less fussy and neat crust recipes I've made, possibly ever? It's buttery and flakey, and you can apply this crust easily to something savory as well as the crust itself is not sweet. According to Scott's notes on the subject, he got the dough recipe from Cook's Illustrated, and the fat needs to be extremely cold. I used lard for the first time and put it in the freezer about 30 minutes before beginning the crust, and the results were fantastic. Shortening works too.

I had to take this pie out and bring it over to a party (we were running late), so the picture below you can see the surface that the pie hasn't fully settled just yet. Didn't stop anyone from enjoying it.

Ingredients for the crust:

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting

1/2 tsp kosher salt

1 1/2 tsp sugar

6 tbsp cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/4 inch pieces

4 tbsp cold lard or vegetable shortening

1/4 cup ice-cold water

Ingredients for the filling:

1 1/4 pounds sweet potatoes (about 1 extra large potato or 2 medium potatoes)

2 cloves

3 cardamom pods, smashed

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/2 cup tightly packed light-brown sugar

2 tbsp all-purpose flour

3/4 tsp kosher salt

1/2 (14 oz) can unsweetened coconut milk(shake the can well before opening and measuring)

Make the crust: In a food processor, pulse together the flour, salt, and sugar. Add the butter, using your hands to coat the pieces with the flour. [Actually, don't do this. This is a bad idea because if you do and you want to do it safely, you have to remove the blade and therefore flour will get into the space where the blade normally rests and it's annoying. Scott, not sure if you were thinking this one through, bud.] Pulse for five 1-second bursts. Add the lard (or shortening) and pulse about four more times, until there are no dough pieces larger than a pea. Don't overprocess. Turn the mixture out into a large bowl.

Add 2 tbsp of the ice-cold water to the dough. Using your hands, fold the water into the dough, pressing it into a ball. The dough is ready when it barely comes together; add another tbs of water if needed. Use your hands to shape the dough into a flat disk about 4 inches wide. Wrap the disk with plastic wrap and put it int he refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. (You can leave it there for up to 2 days.)

Lightly flour a work surface. Unwrap the chilled dough and, using a rolling pin, roll it into a circle about 10 inches wide, dusting it with additional flour as necessary so that it does not stick to the work surface. Transfer the crust to an 8 or 0 inch pie tin.

Make the filling: Preheat the oven to 325˚. Peel the sweet potatoes and cut them into 1 1/2 to 2-inch pieces. Add the sweet potato pieces to a baking dish small enough to fit them rather snugly (an 8 by 8 dish will work well). Add 1 cup of water: the water level should be about 1/2 inch deep. If it isn't, add more water until the depth reaches about 1/2 inch. Add the cloves and the smashed cardamom pods. Cover with aluminum foil. Bake until the sweet potatoes offer absolutely no resistance when their centers are pierced with a knife, about 45 minutes.

Pass the sweet potatoes through a food mill, potato ricer or sieve into a large bowl. Let cool. Strain the cooking liquid (you should have between 1/4 and 1/2 cup).

Increase the oven temperature to 350˚. Add the beaten eggs to the sweet potato puree, mixing well. Add 1/4 cup of the spiced cooked liquid and mix well. IN a medium bowl, stir together the granulated sugar and brown sugar until no clumps remain. Sift the flour and salt into the bowl of sugar and stir. Add the sugar-flour mixture to the sweet potatoes and stir well, until the sweet potatoes and sugar are uniformly combined. Stir in the coconut milk.

Add the filling to the pie tin. Trim the dough hanging over the edges of the pie and crimp the edges with a fork. Bake until a cake tester or knife placed in the center of the pie comes out clean and the top of the filling is cracked in places, about 1 hour. [Note: I did not have any cracks, but it was indeed cooked all the way through. Go by what your tester says, but if you want to bake longer than an hour, cover the crust with tinfoil.] If the edges of the crust start to darken before the filling is cooked, cover the rim of the crust with foil.

Let the pie cool before serving it by itself or with sweetened whip cream or ice cream.

[rosetyler42]

Some point after drawing Ericka + Simon with him wearing a mini sailor hat (dressed as Swee' Pea) I came up with this moment of Drac seeing Ericka wearing her captain's hat. She never wears it in the film except for the credits and I think he'd find it adorable. "It's nice and salty" is an awkward attempt at nautical slang - an old/veteran sailor is called an "Old salt." Of course, Ericka takes the compliment and smoothly flirts back.

Side note: I figure Ericka doesn't wear the hat much for alot of reasons. It feels too formal, it's harder to do gymnastics with a hat on, possibly a way to exercise choice considering how restrictive her life on the Legacy was, etc.

More fun with Ericka's hat! I love the idea of after Ericka's secret comes out, Ericka still continues blatantly flirting with him while passing it off as the charming cruise captain routine, but now even MORE shameless since she has no need to hide what she's doing now. And turns iout, there's a peice of Ericka's clothes Drac can wear after all!

@lovelylivelyv @black-ak9 @hotelt-resurrection @ssleeping-in-a-coffin @serial-serializednovelreader @deathfangirl9 @ebevkisk @twinklecupcake @heartsong1994

[bakingtherapy]

Just Keep Baking #11 Apple Butter Pie

Sul Sul, Gerbits. Today we are going to be making another apple butter recipe. Today we are going to be making an apple butter pie. This pie is really good. But confusing to the taste buds. When you look at the finished product you think that it is pumpkin pie. Because it has the same texture. But when you take that first bite, it screams of apple, not pumpkin. 

But overall it is a very good pie. Sometimes I just really like making pies. Cookies and cakes are fun to make as well, but there is just something about rolling out a pie crust and putting the whole pie together. 

You will need a pie crust or you can make it yourself.

I only have one recipe that has been passed down from Generation to Generation. It is the Betty Crocker pie crust. It is really simple. 

For this recipe, you will only need one pie crust. The ingredients you need for the pie crust are:

flour

salt

shortening

ice cold water. 

In a medium sized bowl you are going to combine the flour and salt. 

Cut in the shortening using the pastry blender or fork until the mixture looks like small peas. 

Now you are going to sprinkle your ice cold water 1 tablespoon at a time, tossing it with a fork until the flour comes off the sides of the bowl. 

Place the dough on a floured surface, and roll it into a ball. 

Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and freeze it for about 20 minutes. 

While the dough is freezing you can start on your pie filling. 

You will need:

sugar

eggs

cornstarch

cinnamon

apple butter

milk to make the filling.

Your oven must be preheated to 450 degrees Farenheight.

Mix together the sugar, eggs, cornstarch, and cinnamon in a large bowl. 

Then you will add the apple butter and mix it well.  

Gradually add the milk to the mixture and blend it together. 

Roll out the pie crusts. 

Pour the filling into the unbaked pie shell.

Bake at 450 degrees Fahrenheit for 10 minutes.  Reduce the heat to 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 45 minutes. 

Center will slightly jiggle. Allow to cool before serving. You can garnish with whipped topping if desired. 

Again this recipe is very strange. You go in thinking that it is going to be a pumpkin pie. It is very strange. Daphne told me that it was a strange pie. Because she didn’t like the first bite, but she liked the after taste. 

I hope that you liked this recipe. Feel free to check it out yourself. Vadish, Dag Dag.

Show the original author some 💖💖💖 Musselman's

Show the original pie crust, author, some  💖💖💖 Betty Crocker

Printable version of this recipe: on the blog

Printable version of this pie crust recipe: on the blog

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[chicago-geniza]

Combination POTS and gastroparesis is like. I had a late breakfast/brunch of quinoa, cubed chicken, and those mushy peas + carrots melanges the grocery store sells for pot pies and tricking picky children into eating vegetables (with gf soy sauce, Lawry's salt, and nutritional yeast; I do believe in flavor, even for bland ingredients). But now I have to take digestive enzymes and lie down for ~2 hours, otherwise I will throw up and pass out, because my body is so confused and upset by the process of "digestion"