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val-the-protoss-simp · 5 months ago

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I ONCE AGAIN FORGOT ABOUT THIS DAMN BLOG

CURSE MY ADHD AAAAAA

ANYWAY

Part three of this ask, the Nerazim

Part 1/3 the Tal'darim

Part 2/3 the Khalai Part 3/3 the Nerazim <- you're here

Anar. The oldest of N&N babies. Nothing much to say about them aside from that they're a reclusive phase smith (or the Nerazim equivalent to one) They’re good at what they do and they know it, which can lead to them coming off as rather arrogant and full of themselves. They also have your average "oldest child syndrome" and tend to parent their siblings, who are adults and literally hundreds of years old in most cases, which once again is something that often makes them look patronising.

Elyon. A very underdeveloped character for now. I keep putting their writing off because I don't feel like I can portray their story adequately just yet. Yet. They're half Khalani, half Nerazim, the oopsie baby of Zhakul and Tali and because of this mixed heritage, they struggle to “decide” who they want to be in a world where the Nerazim and Khalai society haven't really integrated yet. In a world where not many mixed protoss exist just yet, they fel like they don't really belong in either society and grow up shy and reclusive because of this.

Their end game was to become an Alyssar. Because this little bean is, like, so hungry for knowledge. You know how humans are inherently hungry for money? Elyon’s like that, only with information. Anything is fair game, from knowledge about botany, philosophy, terran theater plays, the way plasma based engines work, molecular structure of a sandwich, etc. They don't necessarily want to do anything with it, like become a doctor or a politician or even a scholar, they just want to have it, to know, to understand. Eventually a few centuries down the line, they move their ass to Ehlna and join the other Alyssar.

You could also argue it's a coping mechanism. Elyon will live for centuries, like all protoss, but their terran family won't. The grief that strikes them when Jake passes away (and Zhakul's visceral reaction to it) as well as the horror of seeing Harper get older and older in front of their eyes while they stay young, frightens them. So they occupy their brain with other things just so they don't have to think about this, and learning about crop rotation and quantum entanglement seems to be the thing!!

Elyon also keeps their cords uncut despite frequently feeling the societal presure to do otherwise. This is mostly because it's the only way they get to feel close to one of their fathers, Talizun, who is a previously mangled zealot currently enlosed in the shell of a dragoon. They especially begin to rely on this bond after Jake's passing.

Nanzak. A very tall, very lanky middle-aged protoss lady. (middle-aged for THEIR standard. So she's like 600 years old) Very quiet, reserved, may come off as cold, unfriendly or even mean to others, but really she just likes her peace and personal space.

She's a performer and a dancer originating from a nomadic tribe deep within the midnight deserts of Shakuras. I really like the idea that a sense of family and tribes is very strong within certain Nerazim communities and Nanzak comes from one. The desert tribes have a different outlook on life, which then takes shape in their customs and culture. She'd be considered sort of an outsider in the more urban areas, mostly because she sticks to her tribe's customs and doesn't want to mitigate it whatsoever. She's proud of who she is, very secure in her place in life and society and if someone doesn't like it, that sounds like a them problem.

She's absolutely and irrevocably in love with her short husband, who she has like seven kids with (something very usual with the the protoss, since most have like two to three offsprings in life IN TOTAL) Speaking of-

Narzul. As mentioned previously, he's Nanzak’s short husband and a complete opposite of her when it comes to personality. He's social, loud, kind of a joker, open and curious. Also quite clumsy compared to her (everyone is clumsy compared to her)

He's a very skilled medic who was travelling all over Shakuras in his youth to quench his thirst of curiosity and that's how they met. They've been together for like four centuries now, have seven kids and are absolutely that couple in public that is way too comfortable with PDA. You know the one. He also absolutely will start talking about his wife and how much he loves her and how cool and perfect she is every chance he gets and won't shut up for hours. Your fault for asking.

After Haven and Shakuras boot up their diplomacy programme, he eagerly joins as the protoss's designated medic. Mostly because he's very very curious about terran medical science and wanted an excuse to to eagerly study it. Now he can do that while there's also so many terrans running around that he can talk to about their whacky boddies?? It's like a dream come true! (he WILL ask about your bowel movements nearly every morning buckaroo you better get used to it) which eventually leads to him being curious about different aspects of terran culture as well.

He also has a role as a sort of an emotional anchor (???) during the time Zhakul is expecting Elyon. This is an unplanned baby that neither Zhakul or Jake feel like they're ready for and are lowkey (highkey) panicking about it, especially Jake, who doesn't feel like he could ever be an adequate father figure to anyone ever. Narzul helps midigate that in a way only a wise old man that's seen it all can do.

Ulzea. The one thing I can say about her is that she’s very pink in my head. And that’s about it fjdvikjbvf

Funny how she’s existed for about *checks watch* fourteen years and there’s barely anything to say about her (even her name, Ulzea, was recycled from a different character that I renamed last year) This is because she was never really a person to begin with. I make it no secret that this entire AU is based off of my frequent daydreaming from when I was a teenager trying to cope with an unfavourable family situation. The thing with daydreams is that they make for an excellent distraction and are a good tool for coming up with ideas, but they make terrible stories when they’re put on paper, namely because of their overly long, complex and often nonsensical narratives that are more aimed to the be self-gratifying to the daydreamer rather than be fully realised, balanced stories.

But I digress. Ulzea is a victim of this. I think the best way to describe her would be that she’s to Zhakul what Vorazun is to Artanis during the events of LotV, that being that she acts as an exposition dump whenever he needs to listen to some Nerazim lore. Ulzea is worse than Vorazun, given that Vorazun is still, you know, a character of her own with her own personality and growth and so on. Ulzea never had this.

The reason why I never talked about her is because she’s essentially been written out of Zhakul’s story because of this. She was more of a narrative device for me to arrange my headcons about the Nerazim rather than anything else, which I achieved by having her dumping this information onto Zhakul, who only just got to Shakuras after living with terrans for some sixteen years and had no idea how to be a protoss. She’s just no longer needed as a character because Zhakul learns of his heritage in a more organic way, but recently I’m thinking about bringing her back if not for any other reason that she’s pretty (also because Zhakul just. Needs more protoss friends who are close to his age)

Uszadar. One of Narzul and Nanzak’s several babies. He lives in the more rural parts of Shakuras, specifically around the crater where the Xel’laga Temple is situated, but due to his lifestyle tends to be mostly nomadic.

I have a terrible habit of fixating on small features and details in media that regular people don't tend to give a shit about, which is also a case here. I love the kakarus. I have loved them since I first played Brood Wars at the ripe age of six. They were my favourite critter in the entire game and stayed as such to this day as well. I always envisioned them as, like, flying mounts for the protoss because kiddie me was obsessed with dragons, dragon riders and the 2002 Dinotopia miniseries that featured the skybax. So big flying lizard-thing mean alien ride too, yes?

Anyway, the joys of having my own AU means I can do whatever I want, so I say the protoss ride kakarus. It's mostly something done in the more rural parts of Shakuras because the more urban areas just use modern technology for the transport of cargo, people and messages. At this point it's the equivalent to how us humans keep horses. Something that used to be widespread and important for the function of society is nowadays mostly a hobby. Uszadar is mostly on the practical side of things, still utilising kakarus for transport and to reach the more rural parts of Shakuras, as well as doing conservationist work for the species, preserving their natural environment as well as studying them both in the wild and in captivity.

Meaning that, yes, he's a horse girl.

Zeredar. Once again, this is one of Nanzak and Narzul’s babies. She was originally gonna die during the second invasion of Shakuras but then my friends convinced me to let her live (boo) so she continues to unleash herself on the rest of the world. I see her as someone with a very dry sense of humour, which often makes her come off as rude or mean. She’s also the kind of person who can keep an absolute deadpan expression while telling the most hilarious joke you have ever heard. She’s also very dramatic and sassy, something she gets from her mother.

Funnily enough, however, I also see her as a fairly cheerful person, similar to how her father is, despite what her sense of humour may suggest. It’s a bit harder to see this side of her, you have to get to know her better first, but under all that sass and sarcasm, she has a generally positive outlook on life and people, doing what she can to see the best in everyone and everything. She’s very proud of her work and is confident in it's quality, similar to her oldest sibling, and is also a very confident person overall.

The injury she suffered during the invasion doesn’t slow her down one bit and she continues to find beauty and happiness in her life regardless of it.

Zhakul’s mothers

Yeahhhhhhh��they don’t have names ifgvidhvvd

I’m pretty sure you can see a trend by now aaaaaaaaaa

They’re just as old as him, turning 14 years this year, but unlike him, they're are barely concepts. Which is fine in the case of this particular story, given that it’s not about them and they more or less exist so Zhakul can have certain aspects of his backstory set in place, like that he’s related to Vorazun through one of them, or that he eventually decides to walk in their footsteps as an elite member of the Matriarch’s personal Shadow Guard.

They were fully dedicated to their duties and very happy as only a couple, never intentionally trying for a baby. Which is partially the reason for why Zhakul is born when they’re fairly old, being in their early 700s. They both loved him very very much and would happily claim that the few years they got to spend with him before their untimely deaths were the happiest years in their long lives.

Both of them die a few months before the events of WoL. With the zerg invasion beginning anew, many protoss colonies were evacuated as a safety measure, including the one they were escorting. This was during the time the Dominion was kicking its Hybrid Program into overdrive and needed, um, material, to be able to build these guys from. I see you know where this is going. The ship on which the protoss were being evacuated on got seized by Dominion secret forces, resulting in a great loss of life, which included both of Zhakul’s mother.

AND SPEAKING OF-

Zhakul!! My baby, my little innocent bean, precious cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure. Oh, how good it feels to torture him-

Um. Anyway.

This is the oldest OC I have. Period. He was conceptualised in summer 2010 when Wings of Liberty first came out and I played through the campaign for the first time. I fell in love with this game all over again, and came up with Zhakul as a way to organise my thoughts on it because I just could not stop thinking about it. Many things in the AU changed, he mostly remained the same. From the day I first imagined him up until now, he underwent very minor design changes and very small changes to his overall story. This is because he is perfect and has no flaw-

The only other character I can think of that I am more attached to other than him is Jake (who is also nearly as old as Zhakul) who he is essentially attached to the hip to and an integral part of his story, just like he is in Jake’s. They meet shortly after Zhakul is rescued by the Raiders from Castanar, where he was held captive and experimented on. The story of how the Raiders dumped him on Haven is a bit long and I think I already spoke of this on this blog anyway (???) He then integrates into terran society and becomes a part of Jake’s family, almost being like his adoptive brother but not really because he’s an alien being raised by humans. Still, he’s loved just as much by them.

He continues to suffer from terrible anxiety and rather intense ptsd episodes from when he was held captive and experimented on, which was something his terran family did their best to help him with, but there’s only so much therapy made for humans, by humans, can do to help an alien, not to mention when said alien struggles with trauma as heavily as Zhakul does. This eventually results in him severely hurting Jake in one of his episodes by slashing his chest open, after which he panics and runs away from Haven to Shakuras.

(How does he get to Shakuras? No idea. Its been a plothole for the past fourteen years.)

There he gets a bit of a culture shock because he’s been living with terrans for the past sixteen years or so and has no idea what it means to be protoss. Essentially, he’s a terran in protoss skin and I remember that one of my favourite things to think about was how confusing his learnt mannerisms would be to everyone else (like how protoss tilt their head instead of chuckling meanwhile us humans do it when we’re confused. I imagine this lead to quite a few SituationsTM)

A lot of stuff happens here. Zhakul originally only ran away for the sake of running away but eventually figured out the protoss will surely be able to offer better help than terrans? So he gets it into his head that he will go to whatever equivalent of therapy the Nerazim have and then come back to Haven, because more than anything he yearns to be with his family and with Jake. A lot of things happen here, namely events that include Dal and Tali, showing that him that he cannot deal with his issues by burying them deep inside him and pretending they’re not real, but rather by admitting to himself that they happened and learning to accept it and let go.

A lot of Zhakul’s story is about trauma, coping with it and about healing from it. About learning that your past does not define you as a person and that it’s on you to decide who you are, not other people. The past cannot be erased, so why continuously dwell on it? Mistakes are made, relationships are broken and lost, but being forever attached to all of this and pondering how it could have been different is pointless. What you can do is learn from it, change your future, put effort into being the best version of yourself that you can be, for the sake of yourself and those around you.

He does eventually come back to Haven to make amends, but what happens is once again long and convoluted and more focused on Jake rather than him, because the gremlin human also needs his own character arc. They end up leading a pretty interesting life together, full of adventure and other various shenanigans, but writing about that would end in a much longer essay than this is already. Anyway, Zhakul is my baby and a personal favourite, the One That Started It All and my favourite punching bag.

#I legit forgot about these posts as soon as I landed back in the UK like thre weeks ago #Because of course I cought fucking covid while I was visiting home and that kinda left me not thinking about anything #Also the reason why I traveled in the first placed started to get under my skin too which once again left me feeling “meh” about everything #Up until like a few days ago #So yeah. I'm back. We're done with this finally dfvihdbhvb #This post makes me think about how much I wanna rdesign Zhakul's mothers #Their designs are so old and I feel like I can do much better here #Zeredar's injury comes from a baneling btw #I'm also thinking about renaming some of the siblings because while I thought ending all their names with “dar” was cool at first I'm-#-having second thoughts now #Elyon also need to have their design looked at too #I also need to finish the other four kids N&N have #And name Zhakul's mothers after one and a half decade #AAAAAAAAAAA #Starcraft #protoss #protoss oc #Nerazim #my art #original character #artists on tumblr #Anar #Elyon #Nanzak #Narzul #Ulzea #Uszadar #Zeredar #Zhakul

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majestyeverlasting · 25 days ago

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𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

This piece contains 18+ content Based on this lovely request pairing joel miller x female reader summary when the winds of change scatter the buds of a new, forbidden love, they bloom anew after the end of the world [wc 8k] contains pre & post-outbreak world, dbf age-gap relationship, fluff, smut, mentions of death, angst, hopeful ending

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

“I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside me there'll always be the person I am tonight.”

—F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night

Jakarta, Indonesia. An aerial view of a sea of skyscrapers shining in the night. Joel blinks drowsily as he spams the channel button several numbers ahead. If he lingered a second longer, he would’ve seen the overseas news coverage shift to a bustling hospital ward.

A black and white Western plays now; two cowboys fire their weapons in a quick draw. Gunfire from surrounding spectators ensues in a crisp, rapid spray. Sarah pads down the stairs just as a wounded man tumbles backwards over a second-story balcony.

“Dad?” she murmurs.

Joel mutes the movie at her tone. “Everything okay? What’s up?”

She nervously plays with one of her springy curls. “I forgot I had a project due tomorrow,” she says. Joel blinks a few times as if he misheard her. “For Ms. Johnson’s science class. We have to make a 3D plant cell model.”

That prompts him to sit up from his reclined position, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Sarah Noelle.”

“The substitute teacher forgot to remind us yesterday,” she reasons.

“C’mere.” She shuffles closer with big, doe eyes. “I ask if you’ve got homework every day after school, and what did you tell me earlier this evening? Bet you knew about this a week ago.” When her face falls even more, Joel resists his knee-jerk reaction to backtrack and comfort her.

“You gotta stay on top of stuff like this, bug,” he says. “Today it’s a project, but tomorrow it’s rent or a write-up for your job. Can’t hold off on stuff till the last minute.”

“I’m sorry.”

His knees pop as he pushes to his feet. “Don’t gotta apologize,” he says lightly. “We got supplies here?”

“Just stuff like crayons and markers,” she says.

Joel’s chest deflates with a heavy sigh, and Sarah bites her lip as he runs a hand through his hair. There’s more annoyance in his eyes than frustration, but she can understand that. It’s a quarter past nine, and it’s been a long day.

He grabs his phone and hands it to her. After years of owning a BlackBerry, he’d finally switched to an iPhone.

“See what places are open.” She nods gratefully. “And I ain’t mad at ya, alright? We all forget things sometimes.”

Sarah watches as he heads upstairs to change out of his pajama pants. As soon as he disappears, she taps into the message app.

Joel (9:17 PM) Are you awake?

You (9:19 PM) Sarah?

Joel (9:19 PM) Yeah it’s me! I forgot I had a project due!!! You know about plant cells right?

You (9:20 PM) Loaded question. I know enough, lol.

Joel (9:21 PM) Can you come help?? We’re about to go out for supplies

The night air is warm. Sarah trails Joel to the truck but doesn’t get in after rounding to her side. He watches her through the window as he starts the engine. She’s staring next door to Cal’s house, and he doesn’t know why until you slip out the front door, ready for an adventure.

It’s September now, and they’d attended your graduation back in May.

You’d moved back in with your dad a week ago. The two of you had butt heads in the time leading up to your college departure, and you didn’t see a lot of each other during those four years. You were finally starting to come back around. So much of his strictness and rigidity was born out of love, even if that truth got muddled along the way.

Not only was the move a means of saving money and rekindling your relationship, but Austin had way more opportunities than the college town you left.

Joel’s eyes fall on you as you slide into the passenger seat, all nonchalance and ease. A pleasant, floral scent drifts his way when you bend forward to set your purse on the floor.

“Long time no see, stranger,” you say.

“Guess somebody got phoned as backup,” Joel says as he pulls out of the driveway, one arm resting on the center console.

“Can’t blame a girl for employing all her resources.” You peek back at Sarah and share a smile.

Joel huffs an amused sound. “Cal asleep yet?”

“He’s hanging on by a thread,” you say. “Told him I was going out to smoke pot at the lake like old times.”

Sarah snorts at that, and Joel meets her gaze in the rearview with an unimpressed look.

“Dad, I’m twelve, not two.”

“Y'all are gonna make me go gray.”

“What are you, forty-five, forty-six?" you ask. "I’m pretty sure that’s already starting to happen.” You reach over to playfully twirl a strand of hair at the nape of his neck.

His shoulders square as he fights a shiver. Sarah is none the wiser as her laughter carries from the backseat.

•••

Broad-shouldered in the dim light of the kitchen, Joel stands at the sink, washing dried glue from his hands as he hums a low tune. The gentle rush of the water prevents him from hearing you as you tiptoe up behind him. Sarah went to bed fifteen minutes ago when the two of you insisted you’d handle cleanup. All things considered, the cell model turned out decent for such a late notice.

Joel jerks when you poke a finger into his side. You’re fixed with an exasperated glare as you withdraw your touch with an innocent smile. Then, foolishly, he redirects his gaze back to the sink. You promptly deliver a poke to his other side that makes him curl in on himself.

“Would you quit that?” he asks, voice tight with the threat of a laugh.

“No.”

Even then, he smiles as he dries his hands. You rest your forearms on the island and watch. When his eyes find yours, there’s a weight to your gaze. Joel doesn’t fight against the flutter in his gut. It’d been a couple of years since he had.

“Thanks for comin’ over for her,” he says.

“You know I’ve always gotta pull through for my little bestie.”

Joel chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck, eyes roving over you. “Never got to properly ask how you’ve been settling in,” he says. “Got stuck talkin’ about chloroplasts and ribosomes all night.”

“And the endoplasmic reticulum,” you quip.

“Can’t forget the good ole ER.”

The two of you share a hushed laugh. The crinkles around Joel’s eyes expand your chest with a warmth that no longer feels so wrong.

“I’m good, though,” you say. “Even though I have no idea what the hell I’m doing half the time.” The air shifts as you sigh.

“I don’t think any of us do,” Joel hums.

“It’ll get better,” he assures. “Wish I could tell you when, but one day you’ll look around and realize you’ve got a better grasp on things.” He thinks for a moment. “On who you are and who you wanna be.”

The gruff honesty of Joel’s words makes it easy to believe him.

After a few quiet beats, he twists an arm behind himself to scratch a tricky spot on his back. Unfortunately, his inflexibility hinders him.

Wordless, you step up alongside him and raise your hand to rake your fingernails just beneath his shoulder blades. He immediately relaxes with a grateful exhale. Your touch remains after the itch dissipates, shifting into steady passes of your palm along his back. Joel can’t find it in himself to break the still intimacy of the moment. When he does, the sense of loss is immediate.

“Appreciate it.” Joel clears his throat. “It’s gettin’ pretty late.”

Outside, there’s a quiet symphony of insects. A few moths fly around Joel’s porch light. The wood creaks under your footsteps as you head towards the stairs. Joel stops at the top, while you step down. He expects you to continue to your house, but you turn around to peer up at him with those knowning eyes of yours.

“Go on,” he encourages, tapping your chin with a gentle knuckle.

Your lashes flutter.

“Go.” His voice comes out thicker.

“Alright, alright.” The smallest smile curls at your lips. “I’m going, Mr. Miller.”

•••

Every once in a while, a night came along that reminded him that sleeplessness was never too far away. Never did he suspect it’d be because of Cal’s kid. Autopilot gets him through his morning routine, and, before long, he stands in a sunlight kitchen.

The coffee machine whirs as it fills his mug, the rich, nutty smell slowly permeating the air.

Sarah trudges over to snake her arms around his waist. He smiles when she nuzzles her face into his shirt with a sleepy groan, breathing him in.

Joel blows into the mug and takes a small sip. She holds out a hand for it next.

“S’hot,” he warns, but passes it over. A baby sip is enough to make her face scrunch in distaste. “Still no bueno?”

She shakes her head. He chuckles and squeezes her. “Uncle Tommy should be here soon. We’ll grab you a bite to eat on the way.”

Sarah makes a satisfied sound, steals his phone from his front pocket, and stalks away.

Joel (7:23 AM) It was really good seeing you last night

You (8:19 AM) Likewise <3

You hadn’t bothered asking if it was Sarah. Deep down, you knew it was, but you would’ve welcomed those words from Joel all the same, if not more.

He’s the one who ends up reading your reply.

•••

Come late Monday afternoon, the Miller brothers finish setting the last fence panel as fluffy white clouds roll in to shield Austin from the full brunt of the sun.

Back at home, Joel showers and eats leftovers. When he hits the living room again, he steps on a dainty hoop earring that he realizes is his ticket back to you.

A helicopter flies overhead as you get out of your car. The teenage boys playing basketball in the cul-de-sac gawk up towards the sky with exaggerated wonder. A presence wades into your periphery once you reach your trunk.

Joel stops a few yards away, still standing in the plush grass between your lots.

“I got it.” He gestures to the grocery bags and waits for your permission.

You step aside. “Thanks.”

Cal hasn’t made it home from the office yet, but inside, Joel moves as if his friend is bound to round the corner at any moment. After setting all the grocery bags on the island, he fishes into his pocket.

“Think I have something of yours.” He presents the earring in the palm of his large hand. “Look familiar?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Yes, oh my gosh.” You take it from him without hesitation. “Dude.” Joel's eyes soften as you gush. “Thank you so much.”

“‘Course.” He rubs his palms against his jeans and takes an easy look around. It’s quiet.

“How was work?” Your tone is genuine.

“Good. We, uh, had a fence job,” Joel starts with a shrug. “You know that new housing development on the other side of the lake?” He points in the general direction, and you nod. “A couple just moved in. Real nice lot.”

He gets a shy look about him for expounding, but you only smile as you unbag the groceries. “I think I’d tap out after getting the first couple pickets into the ground,” you admit.

“S’just patience and practice.”

“Imagine someone like me building a fence.” You motion a sorry hand down your body.

He takes you in. Perhaps, more earnestly than he should. You’re wearing a tennis skirt and a baby tee. Your skin looks soft. The air shifts.

As you grab a can of tomato paste to take to the pantry, you let your backside brush against Joel’s crotch with more pressure than necessary. He instinctively hovers a hand at your waist but takes a respectful step back as his cheeks warm.

After you put everything away, you study him. “I appreciate everything you said the other night about things getting better,” you say. “Sarah’s lucky to have you.”

Joel tucks his head down as if the compliment will fly over him and stick to something else. But it hits him square in the chest, seeps into his ribcage, and forces him to feel it. No matter how many houses or fences he raised, sidewalks or driveways he framed, Sarah would always be the best thing to come out of his efforts.

“I started pushing my dad away around that age,” you say. “It means something that she still thinks the world of you.”

You move to stand in front of Joel. He doesn’t back away. Not even when you pluck an invisible piece of lint off his shirt, then smooth a hand down his sturdy chest. The alarm bells are distant in your head, but chime louder in his.

Joel knows he should be the one to walk away, but reasons that there’s no harm in your crush. Before long, you’d find your footing in the world, and your focus would be swept elsewhere. The attention was nice as long as he didn’t bite back. You’d been biting since twenty.

This time around is different, however.

You take a chance and raise a hand to his scruffy cheek. “I think quite highly of you myself,” you murmur.

Joel doesn't push you away when you lean in to capture his lips.

His eyes flutter closed as he dares to reciprocate. Everything about him is impossibly gentle, from the way his large hands settle on your waist to the fragile way he kisses as if you’ll fall apart. A silent war rages within him all the while. The brush of his scruff is prickly, but his lips are softer than you imagined. He tastes like spearmint gum.

You startle away from him as another helicopter passes in the sky. The picture frames rattle. You lean in with the intent to continue kissing Joel, but he recedes up the shore instead of running towards the sea.

There’s a reluctant finality to the way he pushes you away by the hip and runs a hand over his mouth. It’s as if he’s attempting to rid himself of the feeling of your lips, except it doesn’t go away. Neither does the cloud of want clear from his vision.

“I should go.” His tone doesn’t match his words, but he steps forward to leave nonetheless.

You’re right there to block his way. There’s enough space to weave around you, but he pretends you’re keeping him here when he’s never in his life been pinned down by anyone or anything.

“Go where?” you challenge lightly. “Is Sarah home?”

Joel considers lying, but you’ve only ever drawn the truth out of him. “At a friend’s.”

“Then what’s the rush?” Your eyes don’t leave his. “Quit denying yourself for once in your life.”

Joel’s throat works. “This ain’t right.”

“It’s not wrong.”

Right and wrong. Good and evil. And now you’ve proposed a middle ground that, coming from you, sounds like a lovely place to be.

You slip a hand beneath the hem of Joel’s shirt, grazing your fingernails down the pudge of his belly. It’s a maddening, lighthearted gesture.

“The middle’s not so bad,” you insist. “We can make it good.”

•••

Joel loses his mind at some point between his front door and his bedroom. With the way you touch him, and tease him, and smile into too-short kisses, he never stood a chance. He’s heard all the jokes about what it takes to keep up with a pretty young thing, but now he’s living it himself. You’re both naked and wanting in his bed.

He’d had the upper hand for a short while, nestling between your thighs until you came undone around his thick, skillful fingers.

A lovely flush colors his neck and upper chest as he prepares to rip a square foil package. Before he can make a clean tear, you reach out to take it from him.

“May I?” Your smile is sweet.

Joel admires your French manicure as you pull the condom out, taking your precious time. His stomach flips when you meet his gaze again because the upturn of your lips now flirts with mischief. Impatience flickers in his chest as his want only grows.

“Ain’t got all evening,” he says, voice thick.

“I know you don’t.” The tip of your index finger finds the pearly bead along his slit, spreading it in a slow circle that makes his stomach quiver. “Practically about to fall apart on me right now,” you lilt.

Joel’s exasperation rises as a weak huff of laughter. He knows there’s nothing clever or provocative he can say to inspire a sense of haste within you. So he settles on the truth since it’s the only stripped, shaky thing left alongside his desire.

“I'm achin', sweetheart.”

The raw quality of his voice harkens mercy from somewhere amid your fun. The stars over Austin align in time with your careful roll of the condom down the veiny strain of his need. Joel trembles through it, jaw tightening when you seal the deal by reaching down between his legs to massage the delicate, hanging weight of him.

Without warning, Joel pushes you backwards, and your head meets the pillows as he crowds over you. It’s as if invisible chains have been broken. He braces one hand near your face to the flustered sound of your giggles while he gingerly grips himself with the other. A dark thatch of curls rests at his base. Your legs fall open wider for him with ease.

Your breath hitches when he bumps his tip against your swollen bud, then glides down to catch at your waiting entrance. There’s no further hesitation or preamble. Joel’s eyes meet yours in silent acknowledgement that your relationship will never be the same.

There’s no mourning, only your joint sighs as he eases into your warmth. It’s a slow, snug push that leaves you no choice but to be aware of every solid inch of him, every vein and ridge. The initial stretch makes way for the dizzying relief of fullness. Joel burrows until he’s encompassed so wholly that he can’t go any further, exhaling your name.

Your face scrunches as he begins to pull back out in a careful drag. Your hands grip his shoulders as your legs hook around him.

“Joel.” It’s an awed, desperate sound.

"I gotcha," he soothes. "Easy does it."

A whimper escapes you as he finds a deep, measured rhythm. He’s reaching a tender place within you that shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. Your mouth opens like you have something to say, but nothing comes out.

“Lost all your words?” He has the nerve to ask as if his voice doesn’t sound punched-out. “Had so much to—Christ—so much to say a minute ago.”

The rugged weight of him, paired with his body heat and the skilled thrusts of his hips, continues to render you speechless for the first time in a long time. All you know at this moment is him. It’s lovely and terrifying all the same.

Joel slows, realizing you need it. “Breathe for me, baby girl.”

He leans down to kiss your neck, scruff brushing your skin. His lips are soft enough to make you shiver and clench around him.

“S’just me,” he assures into your ear, voice like velvet.

Joel had seen you grow into the person you are today. Not only that, but he had done so without treating you like your maturity and intelligence stagnated at some point in the past when you were merely the younger girl next door.

“Just you,” you whimper in confirmation.

“Feel so good, you know that?” He gently thumbs over one of your pebbled nipples.

You arch, face hot. “Think so.”

He chuckles.

When you meet his eyes and see how dark and gone they are, you can’t help but laugh too, breathless. Joel places a steady hand on your hip to ground himself as you clench.

He exhales as his forehead touches yours. “Gonna make me come with all that giggling,” he whispers against your lips, then nuzzles your cheek. “Already teased me to goddamn pieces.”

“Maybe I want you to come.” Boldness settles beneath your skin as the pleasant knot in your stomach grows tighter. “You’re so big… can feel you everywhere.”

You miss the mark for Joel’s mouth and land a clumsy kiss on his chin. You lower a shaky hand from his shoulders and allow your middle finger to find your swollen bud. The firm, slippery circles make warmth pool between your thighs.

“Gonna try something, alright?” he coos in his low timbre. All you can do is nod earnestly.

One by one, Joel guides your legs over his shoulders so your calves frame his neck. You gasp as he sinks even deeper than before.

“That the spot, sweetheart?”

Soon, you can’t hold out any longer.

The rope snaps, and your walls flutter around him in unrhythmic pulses as your lips part. The rest of the world disappears, only to crash back in at Joel’s final pointed thrust. A guttural sound escapes him as he lets go. You watch the way his eyebrows furrow and his arms flex. The way his stomach clenches with each wave that rips through him.

It feels like you’re floating somewhere where real-life struggles and confusions can’t reach you. Here, everything makes sense. Everything is good down to the bone. And the best part is, you’re not alone; you’re drifting through this perfect place with Joel.

As September winds closer to its end, it wouldn't be the last time.

•••

One of Joel’s hands rests on Sarah’s shoulder while the other holds his phone to his ear. He can barely make out Tommy’s next sentence as a military plane flies overhead in the evening sky. The driveway shakes to the sound of the engine and the sirens wailing in the distance. Joel lets go of her in favor of plugging his opposite ear.

“You should’ve called me, Tommy... now you’ve got her out there in this crap… I didn’t say you weren’t capable of protecting her… Yeah, I know where it is. We’re on our way.”

As Joel hangs up, all he can think is, so much for a happy birthday—Tommy got arrested, you bailed him out, and it’s the beginning of the end.

He redirects his attention to Sarah. “It’s gonna be okay, bug. Gonna meet ‘em at the old commuter lot just before you get downtown.”

She nods even though her heart is beating in her ears.

“There are a lot of scared people out there right now. Might see some things. Gonna need to be brave for me, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, voice wavering. “Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Lightning fast.”

She jogs back into the house. Joel climbs into his truck, keeping a hopeful eye out for your dad. He doesn’t get the chance to call him again because his Mustang screeches to a stop in front of the driveway.

Cal sees red as he walks towards Joel’s door, dressed in his work suit and Oxfords.

“My daughter, man? Fucking Grace?”

That’s what he wanted to name you. The joke became that raising you took a lot of grace on his part, especially after your mom walked out of your lives. Joel knew the story.

“Get the hell out of this goddamn truck and talk to me like a man.”

Cal flings the door open, and Joel’s face is hot with embarrassment, guilt, and frustration. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry right now, Cal,” he asserts as he slides out. “Something’s going on.”

“I’m sitting in traffic, when ding—a lovey ass text makes me double take. Then I get a, ‘Sorry, wrong person’ like it’s no big fucking deal.” Cal shakes his head. “You. It was meant for you.”

“Cal, listen—”

“I trusted you all these years. Let you into my home.”

He shoves Joel. Hard. Joel takes it.

“You sick fuck.”

Joel’s shoulders sink as he holds his hands up. “Cal, please…” He racks his brain for a quick explanation, but nothing comes.

That’s when the door to the Adlers' house swings open, and Mrs. Adler comes staggering out. Her gait is strikingly abnormal, oddly stable in a jerky, disoriented way. Her head twitches as she catalogs the sounds around her, face more gaunt than Joel has ever seen it.

“The hell are you looking at?” Cal barks, pinning Joel to the truck.

At the outburst, Mrs. Adler starts towards them in a clumsy shuffle.

“Bigger fucking fish, Cal,” Joel grouses. “Turn your thick skull around.” Joel finally manages to shove him off, and he stumbles with enough force to fall.

Mrs. Adler speeds up at the prospect of an easy target, but before she can lunge for Cal, Joel grabs a brick from the stack near the garage and hurls it at her head. The impact disorients her enough for Cal to scramble to his feet with a string of expletives. Joel grabs the sledgehammer from the bed of his truck and delivers a fatal blow to the woman’s head.

“Is that Mrs. Adler?” Cal says in horror. “Is the rest of the family okay? Shit, we gotta check.”

“It ain’t worth it, Cal—”

But Cal doesn’t listen. He marches straight into the house.

Further down the street, a fire hydrant shoots water like a geyser as a car crashes into it. Joel reluctantly trails after him until he hears Cal’s pained screams erupt from the inside. A sound loud enough to make his blood run cold.

Sarah hurries back out of the house carrying a photo album she didn’t have before. She stops at the sight of Mrs. Adler’s crumbled frame. Cal’s Mustang registers, then the screams.

“Get in the truck, Sarah,” Joel urges. “Right now, bug, get in the truck.”

The tone of his voice spurs her into action. Joel slides behind the wheel with ringing ears. His hands shake as he starts the engine and banks to the right to avoid Cal’s Mustang as he drives off the bump of the curb.

“Were those Cal’s screams?” Sarah asks, frozen in the passenger seat. Joel remains quiet, eyes glued to the road. “Why aren’t you answering me? Dad?”

Joel’s phone rings, displaying your name. His hands still haven’t stopped trembling as he raises the device to his ear.

“Joel? Hey,” you say, light but focused. “Tommy and I are almost at the commuter lot.” Joel hums in acknowledgement, scared his voice will betray him. “My dad says he’s swinging by the house first, but knows to meet us there.”

“Sarah and I are en route.”

He can feel his daughter’s gaze boring into him when he hangs up.

“You didn’t tell her?”

“That’s not the kind of conversation you have over the phone,” Joel justifies, his voice thick but measured. “‘Specially at a time like this.”

Sarah catches the tear that slips down her cheek.

Cal’s life isn’t the only one lost that day.

Joel and Sarah never reach the commuter lot, but you and Tommy do.

From then on, the world is never the same.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

Maroon, gold, indigo. Pale streaks of colored light span in thin bands over the empty pews of the chapel as the sun shines through the mosaic windows. On the stage, a short way behind the pulpit, stands an empty wooden cross.

Your gaze remains on your arms, where they rest crossed over your stomach. The few tears that once streamed down your cheeks have dried in stiff trails. You hadn’t bothered swiping them away.

You hadn’t prayed either.

Coming here usually meant something akin to that: sitting in silence with your eyes closed as the room’s serenity washed over your unspoken words. You weren’t expecting any kind of miracle. Waking up in Jackson, Wyoming every day already was one.

A long, quiet squeak rises from behind you, followed by the rattle of a closing door. You don’t look over your shoulder as footsteps pad in, but you grow intrigued when they freeze. Upon turning around, a young girl with a ponytail stands at the back of the sanctuary, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” she says, mindful of her volume. “I didn’t think anybody was in here.”

You shake your head and face forward again. Her footsteps retreat, then she changes her mind. You listen to the swish of her pants as she grows closer and closer. Soon, the pew creaks as she sits beside you. It’s quiet for a while.

“Does he listen?” she murmurs, eyes on the cross. Her voice carries a hopeful hint of wonder beneath the quiet default of disbelief.

“I like to think so.”

She relaxes back into the seat, puffy coat rustling.

“I’m Ellie.”

•••

Spring nears before long.

A cheerful bark of laughter emits from your right, while Tommy’s gaze bores into you from the left. You can sense him even as you stare into what’s left of your blackberry moonshine.

In contrast to how you feel, the Tipsy Bison is alive with an early evening crowd. The bartender bounces around to those seated alongside you, fulfilling refills and carting away empty glasses. You don’t look at Tommy until he knocks his knee against yours. His eyes look painfully like Joel’s under the dim glow of the string lights.

“Can’t run from him forever,” he says.

You rest your elbow on the counter and pinch the bridge of your nose because you know he’s right.

When Joel arrived with Ellie a few months ago, the three of you sat in Tommy’s living room to catch up. An hour that went on to become the most harrowing of your lives.

It’s where you learned that you had two more stones to add to the cairn of remembrance in your mind; one for your father, another for Sarah.

You built walls around yourself after Outbreak Day. Not letting anything or anyone become significant enough to settle beneath your skin. Never again would you relive the feeling of leaving everything you loved behind: the city, your friends, your father.

Joel.

He was the source of so much to you when you needed it the most. Wisdom, comfort, affection, and validation wrapped in a package with the kindest eyes.

Those last few weeks of summer with him constitute the last of your old-world memories. You were bitter that you couldn’t press rewind. Bitter that Joel had been taken from you—that he’d broken his promise that everything would be alright.

In the haze of your naivety, you had built him up in your mind as ever-dependable. When the world laughed at your appointment, dethroning that idea of him felt like destroying a part of yourself.

That evening at Tommy’s, Joel met your gaze and uttered a hoarse apology for everything he never said.

Outbreak day had been an impossible situation that forced everyone to make impossible decisions. Except you refused to believe he’d made the right ones.

If he were a religion, your words were a renunciation of the faith:

“Damn your sorrys,” you said. “Do you know how many years I’ve spent holding out hope that my dad was still alive?” Joel tucked his head down. “Hell, that you and Sarah were still alive, Joel.”

“Was gonna tell you at the lot.” His voice was a murmur of pain and regret.

“But you never made it to the lot, did you?” Both brothers stilled at that. “And I’ve been walking around for years with a hope I now know was false.

“At least you had closure for your losses. At least they were real to you, and not some perpetual fucking maybe weighing you down every day of your life.” Tears had begun to stream down your cheeks.

Joel hadn’t flinched at a single word. He sat there like a stone, eyes broken. Tommy had to encourage you outside for some fresh air.

“He’s hurting too,” he said as he stood on the porch with you.

The Tipsy Bison fades back in around you as Tommy speaks up again.

“You know that knot in your chest you walk around with every day?” Tommy questions. Your jaw ticks. “It ain’t gonna go away till you learn how to forgive.”

Aside from the revelation of Joel having known about your father’s death, the knowledge of Sarah’s death was another part of that night at Tommy’s that haunts you.

They never made it to the commuter lot because she had ended up dying in her father’s arms. By the time Joel did arrive, late and alone, all cellular networks had stopped functioning. Clouds of smoke rose from various fires. Chaos reigned as king.

By then, Tommy had already made the executive decision to leave without them, assuming the worst.

•••

The night of the spring fling, Joel stays in. He’d brought a tray from his workroom into the living room to whittle the finishing touches of the small horse figure he’d started a few days ago. He looks up when three knocks sound at the door.

The one person he’s not expecting to see is you.

“Hi,” you murmur.

His eyes are simultaneously unreadable and full of emotion behind his glasses.

“Hey.”

“Is it okay if we talk?”

Joel opens the door wider, and you take it as permission to step inside. Though his arm twitches, he doesn’t help you out of your jean jacket when you begin to shrug it off. But he does hang it on the rack for you.

“I was just sittin’ right in here…” he trails off and reclaims his spot on the couch. You follow, but opt for the accent chair.

Joel doesn’t know why he suddenly feels embarrassed—if that’s the right word to assign to the feeling. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of himself as he sits in his pajamas, with likely disheveled hair. It’s so quiet he can hear the refrigerator’s hum from the kitchen, the sound your clothes make as you shift.

You don’t know how to talk to him anymore. It’d once been so easy. A bit thrilling, even. He’d always listen and react in that distinct way of his, always ready to dish out a quip or a sarcastic remark when you got too big for your britches.

He’s not that man anymore. More of his hair has gone silver, and his face has aged slightly. His gaze carries a new intensity, like he’s alert and aware of everything.

“Is that a horse?”

It takes Joel a few seconds to realize you’re talking to him. He hums in confirmation.

“Nice,” you say honestly.

You hate yourself for dancing around the elephant in the room. But he’s right there with you, both of you clinging onto the same lifesaver in the middle of the sea.

“You can have it.” He shifts like he’s about to hand it to you, but you walk over to join him on the couch instead.

“How long did it take?”

“‘Bout six hours.”

As he turns it over in his hands and points out specific details, tears well in your eyes at the thoughtful cadence of his voice, the occasional way he pushes his glasses up his nose with an index finger.

By the time he stops talking and sets the horse on the coffee table in front of you, you’re crying. Joel noticed your tell-tale sniffles long before, but there’s a sympathetic flutter in his ribs as you actually begin to wipe your tears.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you murmur, voice cracking.

The weak question breaks through Joel’s internal debate to leave your side to get you a tissue.

You’d been avoiding him, but he wasn’t avoiding you. Not exactly.

Ellie doesn’t know all the details about you and Joel’s past, but you’ve crossed paths consistently since meeting her at the chapel. Almost every time you were together for a game night, movie night, or crafts at the community center, she mentioned that Joel either asked about you or said hello. Every time, it broke your heart even more.

What brought you to his door tonight is a quiet act of service that made it impossible to stay away. Word had gotten around about the broken fence gate in the front of your house. Joel took it upon himself to fix it while you were working a shift at the stables. On his off day, in the cold, no less.

You’d been treating him like he was invisible for months.

“I care about you,” he finally says, swallowing.

“I’ve been horrible to you.”

Joel doesn’t agree or disagree, just lifts a weak shoulder as if to acknowledge that things have simply been the way they’ve been.

Your entire face burns with shame. “I don’t know how to say sorry, but that’s all I’ve been.”

Your mind spins as you attempt to find a more eloquent way to express that, but a deep stillness overtakes you as Joel pulls you into his embrace.

It’s not neat or composed. You sink into him, face tucked into his chest, mere inches away from where his heart beats behind his ribs. Damp splotches of tears darken his gray shirt. You’ve missed his scent, the safety of his arms.

Maybe you’d stayed away because you couldn’t bear to lose it all again.

Time escapes both of you, and you let it.

You finally straighten up, and Joel brings a gentle hand to your face to wipe the remnants of your tears. The urge to lean into his warm, calloused palm overcomes you. Your eyes are heavy as you turn your head to pucker your lips against it in a featherlight kiss.

Then you take his hand in both of yours, pressing more kisses to his fingers and turning his hand over to pay his scarred knuckles the same mind. Joel’s entire arm tingles from the attention. You scoot yourself even closer to his side.

He leans back into the cushions, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes slipping closed. It’s almost like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

That’s when your touch disappears.

You study his brow bone, his nose, the relaxed pout of his mouth.

Joel opens his eyes, accepting that this moment of affection may’ve reached its end. But he’s grateful it happened at all. He hadn’t been touched so tenderly since five years ago in Austin with you.

The two of you hold each other's gaze as a deafening silence stretches between you. A dog barks somewhere in the distance.

The couch dips as you carefully move to straddle him. His weathered hands tentatively grip your waist as you settle on his lap. You’re beautiful in the lamplight. Beautiful all the time. History knows he’s terrible at denying you.

Joel straightens from his reclined position and speaks what you both desperately want to say.

“I’ve missed you.”

It was a dangerous thing to want something in this world. To crave, to long. But tonight you do because you have each other to satiate the thrum.

You carefully pull his glasses off his face and set them aside. He blinks to reacclimate his eyes.

“Can you still see me?” you murmur.

“I see you, baby girl.”

You lean in to kiss his nose, then his lips.

Your joint breaths are uneven when you pull away from the kiss that nearly took them away. You stay close, nose to nose, quietly alive with the proximity.

Your tongue pokes out again to gently trace his lower lip as if it’s enough to truly get another taste. You move to kiss the corner of his mouth, then trail an eager line of kisses to his jaw. His fingers dig into your waist when you lower your head to mouth beneath his ear.

As soon as he shivers, a small sound catching in his throat, you draw back. Not just away from his neck, but you ease yourself all the way down to the rug, where you spread his legs and kneel between them. You palm his bulge through his pajama pants one gentle time before your fingers curl into the waistband.

“You don’t gotta—”

“Please? I want to.”

After shucking his pants and boxers to the floor, you waste no time kissing up his fuzzy inner thighs. You don’t stop when you reach his arousal, gripping him at the base to kiss up the veined underside until reaching the flushed mushroom head. Joel’s legs quiver and fall open wider when you take him into your mouth.

There’s no teasing, no delay. You look up at Joel through your lashes, where the almost pained scrunch of his eyebrows tells you you’re making it good for him.

So much so, tension coils low in his gut, and his sac draws up in warning. He encourages you back up to his lap with a hand to your cheek.

Upon standing, you step out of your jeans and panties while holding his heavy-lidded gaze. When you settle back onto his thighs, you pull your shirt over your head, and he gently cups one of your breasts. Your soft hum prompts him to dip his head to kiss your nipple gingerly, then suckle it into his mouth. He’s painfully reverent and gentle.

As he lifts his head to switch to the other, you duck in to kiss him, nice and slow. When your fingertips find the hem of his shirt, he gently grasps your wrists. A thin string of saliva slinks between your mouths as you pull away.

“Everything okay?” you breathe, gaze searching.

“S’just... I got some scars.” He’s unsure if he says it so you’re not caught off guard, or because a small, self-conscious part of him has arisen.

You bring a hand to his cheek and brush your thumb over his scruff. “That’s okay.”

“Alright.”

Once he’s bare, your fingers map over the healed cuts and small divots scattered across the skin of his torso, each with its own story. It’s not as bad as you expected, just enough to give him a more rugged edge. He’s hairier now, across his chest and leading down from his navel to the wiry curls at his base.

You reach between your bodies and give Joel a few easy strokes before rising onto your knees and guiding him to your entrance. You run his thick head through your folds to collect the pooled wetness. Joel reaches down to make sure you’re ready for him and twitches in your grasp when his fingers easily slip around.

You’re so slick, gentle pressure alone is enough to breach your entrance. You shudder when he circles your clit in a few focused passes before settling his hands back on your waist.

Joel’s touch remains steady as you ease down onto him. He watches himself disappear in your warmth. When you’re filled all the way, you sigh at the overwhelming stretch.

Your hips circle a few practiced times as you get acclimated to welcoming him, anyone, after so long. As the delicious dull ache makes way for pleasure, you raise back up and sink back down. Joel's hands knead your backside and smooth up to your shoulder blades as you set a pace.

He sits there and relishes what you give him, occasionally shifting or raising his hips to complement you.

“Not gonna last,” he breathes against your lips. “You feel too good. Been so long.”

“Me neither,” you exhale, reaching down to rub circles over yourself.

Under your body and the intoxicating roll of your hips, it isn’t long before Joel feels a strong, hot tug low in his gut.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, gripping your hips to slow them. “M’close, lift up.”

“It’s okay.”

You brush a kiss along his cheek and circle one of his nipples with the pad of your finger. Panic licks within him even as he helplessly shudders.

“Mmmh—sweetheart.”

“I promise it’s okay,” you whisper. “I know my body. Always track my cycle.”

“You sure?” Joel’s brows pinch when you clench involuntarily.

“Positive.” You move his hands to rest further up your waist, then grip his shoulders as you fall back into a rhythm.

Pleasure swells between you so intensely that there is no more holding back.

Joel’s warm, muscular thighs tremble, then flex beneath you as he cants his hips upwards, a throaty sound escaping him. His stomach tightens as he empties himself into you with an awed utterance of your name.

The way he pulses inside of you makes you let go, walls fluttering around him as pleasure radiates from your core down into the apex of your thighs. You rest your dewy forehead against his as you ride out the aftershocks that render you spent.

The sense of fondness and relief that washes over you is so great that you have to run your hands down Joel’s broad chest to make sure he’s real. His palm splays in the center of your back, keeping you near.

He’s got you now.

And you could begin again.

•••

Behind the chapel, Joel sits on a wooden bench alone. A breeze blows through as he gazes at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. It’s quiet for an afternoon in Jackson, but he has no complaints. Some days were like that, slow-moving all around, as if a spell of stillness had chosen to settle.

As he waits, he turns over a tan rock in his hand, the edges so smooth it almost looks fake.

With the weather warming, he could get away without a jacket today. The forest green flannel he wears complements his dark wash jeans. He’d also combed his hair back with a natural gel.

Before he left the house, Ellie had eyed him knowingly.

"Who's the lucky lady?" she teased.

"Take a wild guess," he said. "I'll be back in a few hours."

Joel doesn’t look over his shoulder when grass crunches beneath the footsteps behind him. A smile tugs at his lips when they pause, then grow slower and lighter.

The world goes dark as two soft hands cover his eyes from behind, smelling faintly of lemon balm. You lower your lips to his ear as if you’re about to say something, but end up laughing, light and flustered. Joel can’t help but chuckle.

A feigned sigh of frustration leaves you as you give up, rounding the bench to sit beside him instead. Joel looks over at you, soft crinkles beside his sparkling eyes.

“It’s not funny,” you say lightly. “I was gonna try to pull the whole ‘guess who’ thing, but then I panicked and realized it’d be extremely obvious.”

“Woulda played along,” Joel says easily.

You know he would’ve. Levity was seeping in between the cracks more and more every day. It was nice to give in to a sense of play again.

“You’re early,” you say, letting your knee touch his. “It’s not even noon.”

He reads the face of his watch. “So are you.”

Your eyes drift to the rock he’s holding. “You found such a pretty one.”

Upon pulling yours from your tote bag, it’s smaller with more rigid edges. But it’s a nice rock, nonetheless.

“Ready?”

“Your turn to pick the spot,” you say.

He’s had enough time to think about it. You follow him a few yards into the overgrown grass. Grunting softly, he leans down to place his rock on top of the lone tree stump standing there. You balance your smaller one on top of his. For Sarah, for Cal. Stepping back a couple of paces makes them seem so small.

A moment of silence arises. You reach for his hand, a small gesture led by your pinkie. He takes your hand like every other fourth Thursday of the month at various locations around the commune.

The previous month’s cairns seldom remain standing where you leave them, but you never mind. It’s no more about permanence than it is about showing up. Remembering. Setting aside time for one another’s shared grief.

“Not gonna lie,” you start softly.

Joel looks over at you, ready to listen.

“The lunch menu’s not too shabby today.”

An amused puff of air leaves his nose. “S’that right?”

As you return to the bench to sit together a while longer, the wind blows, a refreshing whisper reminding you that you’re still here.

Thanks so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

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