#why do i find everything ellie and dina coded i need help

[averyistired-62]

Just watched The Incredibles again and couldn't get it out of my mind that it's very Ellie and Dina coded (I think, anyway) Gonna beg the artists out there to make Dina into Elastigirl/Helen Parr.

It was unsurprising to me that I could barely find anything that didn't have Elastigirl in an uncompromising position (thanks, internet -_-) and I just want to have it out there: I am NOT AT ALL trying to sexualize Dina's character OR Elastigirl/Helen Parr. I am simply saying that I personally think Dina and Elastigirl/Helen have a lot in common. (Except Mr. Incredible/Bob didn't leave his family, but that's BESIDES THE POINT)

This image just screams fed up with (insert name here). I saved this image as "fed up Dina" because I can just imagine Dina being here after Ellie has done something stupid and needs to be saved by her.

Once again: NOT sexualizing EITHER characters - they both have a lot in common with each other and I think they are both amazing and awesome. Thank you, that is all.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Tequilla and Autumn Sunsets (Favored Ones, Part 9.)

Series description: Many things were surely fucked up in the year 2038, but no-one ever told anyone how all of it went down. What happened before a group of people left for Seattle to handle personal matters? Why did one girl refuse to leave all of it be? And why there were so many dead in the end?

Part Summary: So far, everything seemed to be good - you were happy with the thing Joel and you had, Jackson was keeping you busy and you were even talking to your friends again... Until one patrol came and everything seemed to change, making the cycle start once again. 

A/N: And I oop-

Warnings: Mentions of smut, violence, murder and guns.

Word count: 4.2 K

Tagging:  @nemodoren @xxgoldenhour @missdictatorme​ @peakymarvels​ @davnwillcome​ @pickleriiick​ @jodiereedus22​ @gladiosamicitias​ @tamkashi​ @eternallyvenus​ @avengerssstuff​ @fangirl-inthe-us

Series master list: H E R E

Joel Miller’s playlist for the bonfire occasions: H E R E

The fall of 2037, 5-4 months before the incident:

In the end, it wasn't as hard to make things work as you thought it would be. When you weren't in the mood, you just found a while to tell him. When he wanted you to come to stay the night, he told you. It wasn't even that hard or weird - sometimes, he just stopped by your shop to tell you, sometimes you just told him while having a casual talk when you met in town, and no-one was suspicious of you two talking. You did that before you were weird with each other - why shouldn't you do that when things were ok?

Joel showed you and taught you many things you didn't know about sex or yourself before - for example, what a doggy style means. Or that you can take cock much deeper in your throat that you initially thought.

Yeah, sure it was a long process and it was the try-and-see kinda thing, but Joel was the best person you could choose for this matter. Sometimes, when you weren't exactly feeling like fucking, you stayed up late, just drawing the curtains in his room while he learned you some more guitar songs. Or he was willing to sit through a movie with you - he especially liked these dumb 80s' ones, but you couldn't deny they're quite amusing to watch. The things were just like you were used to them - you joked around a lot, you laughed and had some good fun.

You didn't see each other every day. These sessions, which was a code name you came up with, were quite physically challenging at times. So when you or Joel had some stuff to deal with or you simply weren't in the mood, you didn't meet up for that day and once even for a week.

Diego somehow couldn't understand your sudden shift in behavior - before Joel asked you to see him again, you were affectionate with the boy, spending as much time as you could with him. But after that? He barely saw you. And it wasn't just him - even Dina and Ellie noticed that you're not spending as much time with them as you used to. But both of the ladies just dismissed as you being having too much stuff at the moment. Which was also true.

Tommy and Maria kept each of you properly busy. Sure, there were regular patrols and these where you had to take a random kiss from the group with you, but as the winter was coming by, there was more stuff to do - helping with harvesting the veggies, taking care of animals, occasionally even helping out with the pottery or sewing new clothes. It was almost November when you decided to visit Eve again, bringing her the last blossoming flowers you could find.

"Hey there." - You whispered, sitting down on your jacket while you looked at the tombstone. - "How you've been, hm?" - You asked, smoothing the leaves and other stuff out of the grave. When you were alone for almost a minute, you knew it's your time to speak up again. - "Geez, you can't shut up sometimes, huh? Let me talk too, man." - You laughed nervously. It was still strange not having her around to make fun of her, but you hoped that she's better now. Also, you could talk about Joel openly, and that wouldn't be possible if she would have an actual chance to respond.

"I am seeing this one guy. You would be weirded out, but its Joel fucking Miller. Weird, right? I can't quite process it myself if I have to be honest with you." - You giggled, leaning your cheek into your knee as you watched her name craved into the gray stone. - "But he's treating me nice, with respect. When I don't like something, all I have to do is tell him, you know? I trust him, I would say. He asks about how I'm doing even though he doesn't have to." - You smiled and looked at the grass.

You should've seen that there's something off about the whole thing way before you saw it. It was hard to determine what made you feel things such as these - if it were the nicknames he was giving you, or the stares he was watching you with or the warm approach to the whole situation. It happened a long time - you falling for the man. You just didn't know at the moment - your head was too distracted with too much of good fucking.

"When we were just laying there one night, he asked me about you and listened to every single shit I told him. It was nice. And I hadn't even cried during it, which is a big win, right?" - You sighed with a shy smile, hearing the first thunder in the distance. Well, at least you didn't have to go for a patrol that day. Or, so you thought until you saw Maria slowly walking to the grave with her palms behind her back. She waved at you and you waved back, not telling a word until she reached you.

"Hey." - She whispered, sitting down next to you as well. You smiled back, still looking at the tombstone. - "You weren't at home or Ellie's, so I figured out you'll be here."

"Did something happen?" - You asked back, being visibly alarmed at the moment. Maria shook her head quickly to assure that no matter the situation she had for you, it wasn't as bad as it sounded.

"It's just... Can I ask you something? I know you've been patrolling almost every day last week..." - She sighed. The matter was embarrassing. You were out of Jackson for almost every day now, each day taking a different route, yet she had to come and ask you. - "But Tommy had caught some cold or what and he's having a fever. And since he's in pair with Joel, he asked me to ask you if you'd be so kind and take this one. He told me 'ask that kiddo, 'cause she's probably the only one who ain't havin' tendencies to murder my brother while he sleeps'. Like... He told me he's good to go, but... And don't want to ask Ellie and you know Tommy." - Yeah, of fucking course you knew Tommy. He was probably even more hot-headed and mulish than his older brother at times. And the bit about murdering Joel? That wasn't too hard to believe either since he had the reputation of basically bullying down everyone when Ellie was about to leave Jackson. It was quite unbelievable, but these Miller boys were quite hard to get along with at moments.

You were fucking tired, to be honest, but you wouldn't Tommy go if he was ill. That would worry the shit out of Maria and you didn't like her when she was scared or worried. She was even more bossy, rude, and straightforward than normal. So you nodded.

"Of course, I won't let his sick ass to go on a patrol. Especially in this weather." - You looked at the iron clouds above you. The blonde woman sighed with relief, smoothing your palm with her while she closed her eyes.

"You're the best. I'll make Seth prepare you some extra tasty snack on your way, okay?" - She asked, getting up to leave again. You stayed there for a little longer, looking at Eve.

"Stop laughing up there, I can hear it down here. That's just my luck, you know?" - Just as always, you kissed the tips of your fingers, smoothing the cold stone. - "Take care. I'll see you again, okay?" - With that, you put the jacket on your shoulders, leaving to get your backpack. As usual, put the empty automatic gun there, a water bottle and in the end, you swung your bow and quiver of your shoulder. When you saw the damn weather, you packed another sweatshirt with you. A storm was about to start soon - which you could hear at the stables as well. The horses were far from calm, but Sadie got better once you smoother her neck and gave her an apple. Joel came there soon after you, having these small devils in his eyes. But to tell him nothing ain't happening on the patrol, you shook your head and as usual, the man calmed down immediately. It was nice to have someone who listened to you.

"Have the food and ammunition, I hope we'll get it done before it starts to rain." - Joel told you when you were leading your horses away in the direction of the gate.

"I doubt it. This route is pretty long and off-hand. But who knows?" - You smiled gently and sat on the horse's back. The patrol was fine - you were talking through the most of it, trying to fill the void on the road. You were barely three hours away from Jackson when you noticed it. There was a fire in the woods - but not a wild one. You let the horses on remnants of an asphalt road between a few houses, walking the rest on foot.

Joel saw them first, pulling them down to hide in the tall grass. You observed them for a moment, trying to make out if they were friendly or not. That was decided at the moment when you have seen a few dead bodies lying just a few meters away from them - that was the fire. The sweet smell was making you sick, but Joel put his hand on your shoulder, making you focus.

"I'll go in and try to take them out silently. Do you remember your way with the bow?" - He asked you. For a moment, you were just looking him in the face - these people killed other people. Which you'd be able to understand under some situations... But they were burning their bodies now. Which made your stomach turn upside down. - "Hey, no panic now, focus here. Right here." - The man whispered, catching your jaw in his palm. - "Do you remember it? I need you right now."

Finally, you nodded to answer the question. After that, Joel loaded his revolver for all the cases, giving you a magazine as well. He turned at you one last time before he finally sneaked off to take an upper hand on the situation. - "Good girl. Just stay with me until we done, 'kay?"

You nodded, this time to support and hype yourself up. Joel put his trust in you. You could do it. You trained for this - and you couldn't let Joel alone in this at all. Slowly, you moved into a good potion, hitting one of your palms with a rock. The pressure almost made your head pop since you thought they'll know about you, they didn't even notice - yet another thought crossed your mind. Distraction. Joel needed a distraction. So you picked the rock up and threw it off to a distance. It caused some noise that made the men turn around. There was four of them as it turned out when they started to inspect the situation around.

After a while, you saw Joel pinning one of them down, dragging him to the grass as he choked him. Your time to do something. A long breath left your breath as you positioned yourself, looking at one of the guys. What the fuck were you doing? This wasn't right. Maybe you and Joel could talk it out with them? Bullshit, they had a fireplace from a pile of dead bodies. They were a threat to you, Joel, and potentially to Jackson. You had to do it. It took you a long time to aim because you were shaking like crazy, but in the end, your arrow didn't miss its target - it ended up in his the guys head, and watched him as he fell straight to the fire along with other bodies. He was dead at the moment you did it. You were a fucking murderer. You killed a non-infected.

Sure, you were realizing you've just killed someone for the first time, but the adrenaline rush inside you, and the fear for Joel, was way stronger than that. Also, these bitches could notice where did that arrow come from, so it was a matter of time before they'd find you. And you were so terrified you couldn't move. For a second, you closed your eyes and prayed to God to be merciful and let them kill you fast without any fuckery around. Just when one of the guys was about to approach you, Joel caught the other remaining one, circling his forearm around the man's neck. - "Stop where you are and hands in the air." - Your old man ordered calmly, throwing the guy's gun on the ground, putting his revolver to his temple. When the other guy didn't listen and still aimed at Joel, Joel defused the gun.

"I ain't playin', son. Throw the gun on the ground right fuckin' now." - In horror, you listened to two shots being fired. With a cry, you jumped on the guy's back, stabbing his throat with your arrow again and again. You couldn't stop yourself - even when you were both already on the ground and his head was cut off of his body, you continued. You just continued with stabbing him as you cried. He shot Joel. You were too afraid to look if your man was alright, so you just sat on that guy's chest, finally giving in to the urge to cry. You were terrified of yourself.

You practically collapsed on the dead body, having a full-blown panic attack. At that moment, you felt someone's arm circling your chest, pulling you off. You tried to stab them as well, but firm hold on your palm made you realize it's Joel. A shaky breath left you as you gave in into the touch, having the man rock you from side to side.

"You're good, girl. You're good. You're good." - He whispered and hugged you even tighter. At that moment, a rumble of thunder shook the ground, and rain started to fall heavily. But you couldn't even move. All you were capable of was to climb deeper into Joel's arms while you cried. - "Lemme get you outta here girl, come on." - The man hummed into your hair, lifting you off of the ground.

Never, not even when you left the Fireflies, have you killed someone. At least not someone healthy. What the fuck have you done? What did you do? In the middle of Joel making your way to the houses, you jumped off and ran to puke the fuck out into the grass. You felt fucking sick. This was something so disgusting. You've just taken another person's life. One of your palms was leaning into a wall of one of the houses as you stood there, cried and puked. It didn't matter that you're soaking wet already - the rain couldn't wipe away what you've done, the blood was soaked into your clothes and even if you managed to get the blood off of your palms, it was still there, hot and sticky between your fucking fingers. Joel understood what you were doing through - he was the same when it was his first time.

But he knew that he has to get you out of the rain before it will be too late, you could catch tome flu or something like that. And he also knew that worse demons will find a way into your head once you'll think you've solved the matter for good.

"I need you to get inside the house. Can you do that for me?" - He came to you and smoothed your back gently. It took you a moment to nod. - "I'll brin' the horses in and come to you, 'kay? Just wait for me there."

You both did as you agreed on. Your way to the houses was rough - the ground around you was shaking and spinning, your knees felt almost too weak. Joel led the horses inside the garage and found you collapsed on the ground in front of the doorstep when he entered the front door. You were snuggled into a tight position, rocking yourself from side to side. You were pressing your head between your knees to find some relief, but none was coming.

Quickly, he prepared you a place to lay on, took the jacket off his shoulders before coming back to you. Just like the first time, you've almost attacked him before realizing who he was.

"Come with me, girl." - He mumbled quietly, helping you in your feet. Before he shifted his attention to you, he made sure that the doors and windows are closed - you were even so lucky to find a place with a fireplace, so at least, he started a fire. First, he took the clothes covered in blood off of you, putting your wet sweatshirt on your upper body. It was better than nothing. Then, he laid you down on the big couch, lying next to you so he copied your body with his before he covered you both with the wet sleeping bag.

You were shivering. And a feeling of being cold was taking over your body. Yet your brain kept on replaying you what you've just done. - "Attagirl." - The man mumbled, nuzzling his face to the nape of your neck before he kissed it. - "You're with me now. These guys won't hurt you."

With that, you turned to him, putting your palm over his side. Your faces were just inches from each other, so he could feel the rhythm of your warm breath gently breezing over his face. - "Am I a terrible person? I mean, what if he had a family? Kids? What if we misread the situation?" - With that, Joel could tell that you're shaken to your core.

It was more than understandable. If you'd be living in the old world, you'd never have to think about killing someone. That thought would probably never cross your mind if the world wasn't completely fucked up. And until that day, you never had a reason to kill a human being. Infected? Sure, he saw you killing infected. But to know it were normal, thinking, breathing living persons, that was a serious lot.

"I would talk to 'em if they weren't burnin' other bodies. These people weren't good ones, 'kay? You've done it for me." - There wasn't much more to say. In any way, no matter how hard would Joel try, he couldn't tell you anything to make you feel at least a bit better. With closed you nodded, finally closing your eyes.

"Will you sing something for me? Just like you did back then?" - You whispered, giving in to the feeling of Joel's palm smoothing your shoulder. Of course, he did sing for you. And this time, it wasn't some Johnny Cash song. You remembered this one - it was one of the songs he played for you when you sat at the bonfire.

To be honest, you fell asleep pretty quick - you were tired, every inch of your muscles hurt and the pain in your eyes was too great to open them. The man stayed up for another hour, watching small spasms and furrows changing in your face. The sleep sure as hell wasn't peaceful. Yet when he was sure that you'll sleep for at least a while, he took a quick nap next to you as well.

The smell of the burning wood had woken you up. It wasn't exactly the burning wood, but the smoke of the fire ending was tickling your nose so bad you had to sneeze. Fortunately, it didn't wake Joel up. When you opened up your eyes, you expected to see his face just inched away from yours, so you gently picked up your head, feeling the muscles on your neck and back hurt. It took you a few more winks to realize that you have a clear view of the fireplace. Joel was laying on his back with one of his palms used as a pillow, his other arm pulled over your shoulder.

Sure, it was pretty normal to sleep next to each other at that point, sometimes having his arm or leg thrown over your body, but you had never slept anywhere near to something like that... All snuggled up to each other. There was a contained smile on Joel's lips, even though he was asleep. And if you'd be okay, it would make you lose your shit for real.

But you just laid down again, watching the dying fire. It was just like being stuck in some kind of a cycle - there was a time you felt numb, not alive at all. This came after something happened - when you ran away from Salt Lake City or when you watched Harry getting eaten alive, the day Maria came to your home to tell that Eve didn't make it... And that evening as well. When you got over the bad phase, there was something you could call being lifeless. It were the days when all you could do was to lay down in your bed, look into the ceiling, thinking about your life. And when you'd get through this, you'll slowly get better as the time would pass. Just to wait before another thing comes and brings you down, repeating the cycle over and over again.

Joel was most likely right. He was living in this world for a lot longer than you were - he knew a lot of things you had no idea about. For example, the forearm which was holding you close and warm could suffocate someone. He also was very really haunting when he was holding one the gen as a hostage. How could the man who was calling you girl in the warmest tone of voice, the one who was playing guitar for you and the man who was fucking you like there was no tomorrow - how could he kill someone with such calmness?

The men certainly weren't good. They could be hunters - people you've never encountered, you've only learned about them from Joel and Eve, sometimes Ellie told you her stories about this kind of people. That would explain why they were burning naked bodies of people... But... What if they caught some sort of illness? What if the people were their friends and they had to kill them? Why didn't you try to talk with them? Maybe you didn't have to go in as hotheaded as you did.

At that moment, there were two people inside your head having a big argument - one of them thought about the thing you have done was straightaway bad, no excuses could explain what you did. ON the other hand, there was the other one, the cold one, was telling you that these people would fire a bullet to your forehead as soon as they'd see you approaching.

With a long sigh, you closed your eyes once again as you hugged Joel tighter, pulling yourself so tight you copied every inch of his body. This was helping at least a tiny bit. For the first time when the cycle had restarted, you didn't feel completely alone. There was someone you could pull yourself closer to feel at least a bit safe.

"How you feelin'?" - A raspy voice asked you just as Joel had woken up. Even when you were both up, he hadn't taken his arm off of your shoulder - actually, his palm started to draw small patterns there. Joel still kept his eyes closed and it could be seen that he's feeling completely contained at the moment. Which seemed weirdly off rails, but you decided to ignore it.

"I feel... Nothing." - You answered quietly, slowly getting up. This felt too emotional. Sure, it was probably just to keep you feeling at least a bit good and away from going coo-coo. And it worked just as he expected it to.

"Give it a few days, it'll settle down. You'll be good, trust me." - Joel mumbled and watched you getting food from Seth out of your backpack before sitting down to look at the dying fire. - "What made you conclude this?" - You asked and gulped.

"You're a survivor. Just like Ellie is, just like Jesse is... And just like I am." - He answered shortly, letting the silence to take over the situation you got there at the moment. Just like the last time you were on a patrol with Joel, everyone could tell that something went off rails as soon as they saw you in the distance. You were both late, and your trousers were covered in dried blood.

Ellie was patiently waiting for you in front of the stables to ask you about what has happened when Joel pulled you back a bit, looking you in the face. - "Do you want me to come today?" - He whispered. It was a nice offer, but you shook your head nonetheless. - "I'll see you... When I'll feel better, okay?" - You whispered back, having him nod with a neutral expression, and with that, you watched him leaving for home, not entirely sure what to feel anymore.

[joelmillerthirstqz]

Fill for this ask~

(slight liberty taken with request for reader to get excited about the shop; Ellie's working through sixteen-year-old, new-to-commitment-as-a-concept with Cat, pre-dina tattoo girlfriend, so i went with that)

Joel, y/n, and Ellie are all out on patrol and come across a small town. In the town, there’s an abandoned wedding dress shop. Y/n gets all excited and goes inside to see there are untouched wedding dresses. Joel’s slightly annoyed when y/n and Ellie want to try some on for fun. But then he sees y/n in a wedding dress and realizes he sees her as more than a friend.

yeah, of course I wrote with reference images up:

texture/sheerness/skirt shape/front dress ref back of dress ref, specifically the window-back with the little covered buttons up over the lower part of the hips

[I evade y/n as a convention like the plague, it’s really immersion crushing for me. However, I’ll edit it for your OC’s name if you hit the ask box, so.]

There's already a second chapter if you we want to get into this, comment or kudos and I'll get brave!

----

Ellie grimaces, scrunching her whole face. She looks across the main street of the town you’d come to scout out, Joel taciturn on his horse a few yards away, scanning storefronts and alleys.

“What?” you jerk your head to her sightline and back at her, unholstering your revolver on reflex. Your horse snuffles below you, hoofing at the ground. You can never tell if the creature is clueless, indifferent, or confident in his rider, but he would certainly be perturbed if there were infected.

“Dude, people had whole shops just for weddings?” Ellie asks, snorting derisively.

You follow her extended arm to the storefront she points to, a frilly off-white dress draped over a sunken model, glass from the smashed display window embedded.

“I mean, you had to have seen them in Boston, plenty of bored people with money,” you supply warmly. You’d grown up there, a cataclysm between the city you’d known and Ellie’s birthplace. Weddings were for people who’d given up, who’d aged out of chasing their dreams, settled into dull domesticity. People, usually the woman-coded partner, whose parents had quarter of a million to drop on a party with lifelong implications.

You’d been a little relieved when social ritual had been mostly taken off the table by the apocalypse, so the wedding pressure never reached you. Hadn’t thought about the concept in years.

You wondered who in Victor, Idaho, just over the border from Jackson, had kept a bridal shop open even before the outbreak. The demand just couldn’t match thousands of dollars of dress.

“Oh, no,” Ellie said softly.

“Well, it was a whole thing. Get some champagne, drag a bunch of girls with you, try on all the shapes and get yelled at by your mom, make jokes about the wedding night. Mostly pointless rituals,” you explain.

“You ever go to one?” Ellie asks.

“I mean, I was my cousin’s bridesmaid, so I got drunk in one and shoved into a blue satin thing, if that counts,” you clarify, shifting in your saddle.

Ellie nudges Shimmer forward, Joel drawing up to your position with a helpless shrug to you.

“It was strange. Were you in Jackson for Tommy’s?” you ask. Maria and Tommy still have that thing where they see each other and tune everything else out, even for a beat, seeming like every sense recognizes the other, no matter what else they’re doing. It feels so belligerently normal, and you watch the younger couples in the town taking note to emulate it, like they knew what they were doing because they were born before.

“No,” Joel says, looking wistful. “Seen pictures,” he adds.

“Imagine they were a bigger deal in Texas,” you say, your horses trotting a few paces behind Ellie.

Joel looks at you, face cycling through the decision to keep speaking, the same circuit you always saw him loop before he bit down on a memory and fell silent. You let the afterimage of a smile cross your face before looking down, feeling like he needs the same privacy he’d proven skilled at respecting in your own expression.

—Yesterday—

“Ask you a favor?” you feel your bones leave your body and slam back into place with fear, registering Joel’s low drawl. You’d groggily found your way into the stables to start patrol, hoodie tucked over a beanie, praying not to be seen. Nobody was supposed to be awake this early—you were avoiding a less experienced, loquacious patrolmate you’d been sentenced to and your throat clasps around itself to find that the previous night’s team, Joel’s, was only just returning.

“How bad was it?” you tip your head at the blood spatter on the side of his jacket, reddened bucket and sponge set where he’d been cleaning the infected byproduct off of his horse.

“Oh, I straggled, rest gone home. Patrol route’s quiet now, though,” he non-explains. You’re not sure if he’s trying to keep his voice low out of respect for the early hour or if that’s just his usual rumbling tone resounding it in the stark, chilly air.

“Mhm. What’s the favor?” you ask, busying yourself with saddling your own horse.

“About scouting that town for the group to search, tomorrow. Ellie’s comin’ and…” he trails off, looking at the wood-plank wall, blinking an eye at the fierce early morning sun beaming through a sliver.

You’ve learned not to rush him, learned he’s easier to talk to with his hands full, and he finishes scrubbing off his horse’s bridle while you tack up your own.

“She talks to you, easier,” Joel admits, face obscured behind his horse, taking his time to brush through the animal’s fur, obliviously slurping hay into its mouth before crinkling it in its teeth.

“Huh?” you ask, marvel of articulation that you are.

“Ellie, she’s more talkative,” he repeats himself.

“No, I mean, what?”

You hear a sigh and he leans around his horse, hands on his hips.

“Please?” he asks, slightest edge of irritation at having to say more than he’d practiced. It's all insecurity, not directed at you, but you bristle anyway.

“Alright. It’s your business, but I’ll lend my girl talk instinct,” you prod with bite, stuffing your foot into a stirrup and swinging a leg up onto Clover, who’d been named before you got to Jackson. Your emotional labor threshold never existed, and Joel was fucking pushing it.

“That’s not what I meant,” he sounds defeated as you look down at him, Clover slowing helpfully. His eyes look full, and you peer at him. He looks a little vulnerable—even if your worst anxieties read it as him noticing that you squint to avoid looking at his mouth—which is parted a little, black beard flecked with, for you, exactly the correct amount of grey. Joel rubs his lips together three times, quick, the way you’d seen when he wanted to stop talking at town meetings, shy of the eyes on him.

You soften, aware you’re irritable from lack of sleep and scarcity of good caffeine. You look ahead, reins creaking in your gloves conspicuously in the still space.

“Owe me a beer when I’m back tonight, okay?” you nod at him and press into Clover’s flank as Joel silently assents, focus snapping back to brushing out his horse. You risk looking back as Clover picks up, relieved and let down to see Joel doggedly focused on his task. You’d taken to drinking with the other patrolmen in the Tipsy Bison, edging into something resembling a social life borne of something like mutual responsibility. The group repeatedly made plain his welcome over the last few months until Joel had started to show up routinely, even murmuring a few words here and there, coming to the point that you’d notice when he wasn’t there.

—

“Okay but, why, though?” Ellie paws at a veil as you enter the store, pompous fabric ballooning halfway down the mannequin’s back.

“Dunno, it’s what people wore. I think that was for modesty, symbolically. Only went to a couple. My friends never hit the ‘wedding season’ stride. Too young,” you explain, your senior year of college on outbreak day. A look crosses Joel’s face and he spins the barrel of his revolver, leaning against the counter, trying to look busy checking the register, just in case something helpful lingered.

“Go try one on, Ellie,” you try, unsure what the sixteen-year-old is working through. Her attention hasn’t drifted to the next shops to explore, yet, so it clearly matters.

“Not for me,” she protests, hands raised. “Will you?”

You laugh ruefully, years away from the last time you’d put on something close to a dress, much less something formal, and you'd certainly never thought about being a bride. Not materially.

“C’mon, I’ve never seen like, a normal human in one,” Ellie pouts. You narrow your eyes for a second, lightly dubious.

“That’s not the best idea,” Joel grouses next to you, looking over both his shoulders like he was expecting an ambush even though it had been placid the whole way up here. Two of your three horses nudge each other for space near the tree you’ve secured them too, whinnying.

“I’ll keep my boots on for running. And you’ll keep a lookout,” you reply blithely, rolling your eyes at him.

“Yell for help!’ Ellie still discovering nuptial detritus she’d seen alluded to in comics at most.

You busy yourself finding something not set through with rot, moving towards the back of the store. Ellie swings open a display case and picks up a circular, springy fabric, a pale blue garter, squinting with the effort of discernment.

“Were the hair tie things a thing for a reason?” Ellie asks Joel, looping the blue-ribboned elastic around her wrist for later. Joel’s eyes widen in horror, ready to run towards the nearest infected to avoid explaining the whole garter thing to Ellie.

A second, more frigid wave hits him, remembering his own wedding day, Tommy helping him get just drunk enough to go through with the embarrassing ritual that complemented the bouquet toss. Sarah’s mom had loved all the stupid little wedding-day-things, though, so he’d accepted the shot(s) his brother snuck him and was grateful his red face would be under a skirt. He’d barely been eighteen, doing the right thing with Sarah’s mom pregnant, and two-years-younger Tommy held it together for him the whole day. He thought of not being here for the day his little brother had gotten hitched, a candid Polaroid in focus in the reel of guilt he’d built for himself these last twenty-some years. Tommy looked like his brother as he was before in it, looking up Maria with rapt awe as he accepted her hand to be led back to the dance floor. The crinkling at the corner of his eyes, though older, looked like Tommy again, and the joy Joel felt for him was dulled by the impossibility of ever speaking enough words to draw a partner near.

“Joel?” she pokes, twanging the elastic a little to jar him. He eyes it warily, expression the most intimidated you'd ever seen him.

You trudge past Ellie, awkwardly dragging a plastic-encased parcel of a voluminous dress, the best-preserved and least yellowed you’d found. You really didn’t relish the idea of figuring out how to get it on alone, but seeing their exchange, you fully self-preserved your way away from that particular explanation to the changing space.

“Fuck me,” you grimace, noticing the trail of covered buttons leading from the open mid-back to the very last point it could presentably grace between the dimples on your back. Wrestling this on would be a chore.

Before you shuck everything but your boots and socks, you try to smooth your hair down, the moss-flecked mirror of the changing space indicating how hopeless it is. You re-strap your pistol holster to your thigh, an overabundance of caution rubbing off on you from Joel's mere anxious proximity.

You look at your reflection a minute, appraising heavy breasts, softer hips than before. You’re proud that your abdomen and arms remain taut and toned from a combination of riding and patrolling, sprinting for your life, and helping around Jackson. For once in your life, you fall asleep at night when you hit the pillow, naked and alone, no longer captive of the ceiling���s backlighting of unidentifiable darting thoughts. Blinking your musing away, you remember how your cousin’s bridal attendant had made a circle of the dress for her to step into, and do your best to prepare it so you can slide it up and ask Ellie to help.

—

Ellie slingshotted the something-blue at Joel’s face as he finished explaining the garter tradition, hushing her ferociously and finally placing both palms over his whole face, crossing and re-crossing his ankles where he leant against the counter, rifle over his shoulder.

Ellie rolled her eyes, haughtily full of recent knowledge of thighs and what they connect to from Cat, fern and moth tattoo freshly peeling over her acid burn.

—

“Ellie!” you call once the skirt is over your hips, bodice with laced cap sleeves over your shoulders. You feel a little bad stepping past the carefully sewn fabric in your hiking boots and high socks, grimy from the trail’s dust, trying to hold it up while keeping the bodice straight.

She smiles wryly as her head pokes around the corner.

“I’ll help if you tell me if people really launched their bouquets at people and one person really pulled a—uh, shit, uh, thigh lingerie thing—off of the bride in front of everyone?”

You honk a laugh, a horrible sound, thinking of the velocity with which you’d seen Ellie launch bricks, knowing she has no sense of the soft lob of flowers at friends that she refers to. You guess she's picturing a full-bodied overarm spike ending in flower shrapnel instead of the over-the-shoulder choreography towards the bride's most single friend that happened in reality. You clasp the delicate buttons at your lower back together as best you can with your palms.

“Sounds like that was regionally universal in America, yeah, but—”

“Holy shit,” Ellie comments, suddenly shuddering in a very teenage, possibly exaggerated ripple of disgust. “Looked like a hair tie,” she mutters.

“Just—please help,” you hold the tulle and hand-cut lace near the buttons out to her.

“Wow, this was for everyone to see you in?” Ellie asks, alluding to the sheer fabric that gave the impression that the lace filigrees were directly applied to your skin. Asymmetrical, hand-sewn flowers cinch around your breasts and middle when she finally secures it.

You turn to the angled three-part mirror, noticing where your epaulet tattoo complicates the sheer effect the designers intended by the lace, nose bunching up. Not the flesh of the intended buyer of this thing, for sure.

“Come on, in the light!” Ellie goads gently.

Bracing to self-deprecate, you tuck your hair up in one hand and hold the front of the dress up and away from your muddy boots. You and outward, finding the weird little podium that was apparently customary—you remember your cousin twirling on it a similar one in delight when she’d found the right dress.

“Yeah, fuck, I can’t do this for long,” you bristle, feeling ungainly in the garment, dropping the skirts around your feet.

“And you’d just walk up to someone and kiss them in front of everyone and that worked?” Ellie prattles, tailing you closely.

Joel’s retreated to the store entrance, hunting rifle comfortable in his hands but pointedly ready.

He turns in the middle of running some sort of ten foot patrol route along the length of the store’s entrance, inevitable that he’d face you eventually. You realize he’s just pacing, the town quiet, stuck in a situation he accidentally created.

Ellie gives you a look that looks through you, and you recognize the contemplation in it. She’s thinking of someone, and what formalizing intimacy means, probably. Certainly where your mind was at around her age. Fuck, you’d not go back to sixteen for all the pre-outbreak world.

“I’m gonna go check the horses,” she mumbles, maybe in her own head, maybe more deliberate than that.

Your eyes bulge as you realize you’re stuck in this fucking thing and Ellie’s across the street.

You turn to Joel with a prepared face, tugging your dimples into a self-effacing “look at this shit” face.

“Wanna try one on?” you jab first, trying to get there before Joel can make this worse, more stupid. He’d kind of asked you, or asked for a favor that led to this, so you felt contented blaming him for it. You definitely will if his slight over-caution is vindicated and you get rushed by anything hostile while you're wearing this. Your holster may feel comforting, but the weight of the skirt would put a real drag on any reflexes you had if you actually needed your pistol.

Joel halted at the midpoint of his circling, rifle slack in his hands, hanging limp before him. The light from outside rings his form, broad shoulders and imposing frame worn uneasily in his posture.

His mouth parts the way it had when you’d ridden past him in the stables, chest expanding and falling in quick iterations, hazel eyes stranded on you.

You breathe as you hold his eyes, unable to back down from any time he proved capable of holding direct eye contact. Now that you had it, you realized you’d been teasing it out of him for months, forcing him to look right at you, any creative way you could, driving him up the wall.

Joel might as well have been waist-deep in water for how slowly he moves towards you.

“Sorry, not meaning to bring up anything—” you swallow the word painful, revising quickly, “from before,” you finish weakly. Gold star, idiot. You had no idea, but what if it had been a wife he’d lost? Fuck’s sake. Though, Ellie wouldn't be cruel like that—

Joel shakes his head absently, dismissive. He was run aground, captive to taking you in. The dress made no overtures to performative modesty, sheer tulle slits up to the edge of your hipbones, catching on your holster where you shift. Joel assesses the fabric spread over your chest quickly, mouth upturning too subtly for you to feel 100% confident you’d seen him do it. You’d seen him get the lay of a whole horde in a split second, and stood curious what it was he’d noted from the two and a half seconds his eyes drifted over you.

“‘m here, now,” he mumbles, looking down and pulling the bolt back, a dull click as it confirmed he’d chambered this particular round ten times in the last five minutes. If a weapon could sound exasperated with him, it did, and he jerks his head without turning it to Ellie’s retreating form.

Joel’s mind sprints between stations, picking up an artifact of your expression at each one: your body, your easy conversations on patrol, fumbling between them all, not sure where to start.

Ellie wasn’t far enough away for Joel to start this now, to cross the shop and kiss you, podium leveling you to the perfect height for him to lean into, hands on your face. Something in his posture looks ready to move quickly, and it's not to use the weapon his knuckles whiten around.

The edges of his eyes pinch, like he’s struggling to make sense of an indescribable noise. The tendon running from your ear to collarbone stands out as you look to the side, pretending to appraise the way the dress fits over your hips, snugly buttoned. Joel’s face shifts from startled to starved while you take reprieve from his focus.

Your furrowed brows while you watch Joel watch you spark understanding of the mechanics of a constant, firm draw towards your person. He’s recognizing you as more than a formidable shot he can be at ease with, not just a pleasant confidante with different but complementary pre-outbreak life experiences and a healthy sense of privacy.

Joel glances down one more time, catching your eyes on the way back up as he clears his throat, finding you looking at him sheepishly. He hadn’t tried to say a word in minutes.

“I’m. I’m stuck in here. Ellie—” you stammer, face reddening viciously. This was going to be a long, tiring patrol excursion, and you worried you had already made it weird.

You idly wonder where he might put his hands on you if you were alone, right now, and your terror is visible as the thought drifts by. If he would.

Joel doesn’t look back at Ellie where you’d normally expect a concerned jolt at her name, hazel eyes heatedly dark. You can chalk it up to the dimmed interior of the shop, but enough sunlight streams in to make you doubt its just the environment.

Grimacing at a clearly out-of-earshot Ellie, you need to be out of this fucking thing and redouble.

“Joel, can you? I feel bad ripping it and would really like my jeans again,” you offer weakly.

Joel’s fingertips, fingertips you wish you didn’t know were callused and so goddamn cautious when they’d had the occasion to meet yours, flex on his gun.

“Not sure I know how to, I mean, those seem—special?” he stammers at the prospect, you having turned to bare your back to him.

Joel breathes in a way you can hear on the silent street, usually so contained.

She’s just helping you see the buttons. Joel thinks, counting out twelve of them, in total.

Joel steadies his gaze, tipping his head forward and choosing to take in the slope of your back, mostly bare and deep-dipping expanse scantly wreathed in lace. His face looks like he’s staring something potentially fatal down, gritted jaw muscles pulsing. He steps towards you, though. He’d never done anything in the right order, not Sarah, not with Tess, not a bit, one single time. Might as well get you dress off before he can even get the courage to kiss you.

Slinging his rifle’s strap over his shoulder, Joel keeps his fingers at a careful angle, purposefully not against your skin. Pushing the top button through the satin loop containing it, he steps up on the podium with you, only because it puts his lips well out of an easy distance to drag along the nape of your neck. Hoping he can feel his way down the buttons without touching or looking at you, he fails three buttons down, knuckles brushing the bottom of your spine.

You laugh nervously, looking back at Joel. Every part of your core is twining into a spiral, abdomen first, then a layer deeper, then a clench you won’t register because then you’d have to admit that something was going on.

For his part, his dark brows are furrowed in effort, decidedly back in the realm of watching every movement to avoid the electrocution he’d just experienced from grazing you. Now was the time for accuracy, not speed.

Joel takes in your little cap sleeves between buttons, down to the eighth of twelve. The hand-cut lace outlines your shoulders, leading to lean skin below, dipping lower in the front than he should be noticing now that you’ve turned away from him—but he’s too tall to miss it once you’re standing on level ground. He wonders what you would do if he pulled you against him now, back pressed to his front, his mouth on your neck before your own.

‘Thank you,” Joel says.

You crane your head to meet his eyes again, hands pressed to opposite shoulders to prevent the now-loosened dress from slipping all the way. Maybe you didn’t need the rest of the buttons, but there they went. You blink at him, wondering what would happen if you leaned against him.

“What?” you feel all wrapped in half-fabric, half-suggestion, no idea what the fuck he means.

“For comin’,” he gives. “Didn’t, uh, thanks for…” he trails off, so unaccustomed to indirectness and illocution that he doesn’t know what to call it. He clears his throat.

Joels hits the tenth button and breathes deep, flicking through the last two like he’s reloading, stepping back to reclaim his rifle and get so, so many feet away from you.

You turn to him, holding the weighty dress flush against your skin with both hands.

Joel’s chest is rising and falling every three seconds in rapid cycles, peculiar as you’d patrolled enough together to hear how he can silence his breath, the infrequent draws of someone yards underwater. He either can’t control this or made a choice to stop, and you can only think that the rust colored plaid he’d worn today was truly nice on him.

The rest of your scouting trip is deafeningly quiet, like Joel riding next to you and his surly expression produce volume equivalent to standing under a roaring set of falls. Ellie punctures it every few minutes with an attempted joke and you can almost feel Joel groan before you hear it each time, thoughtful.

Notes:

Here's the meta you didn't ask for

In current 2020, hard to see in weddings as anything other than class signifiers/routes to wife-n’ up, but:

holy shit does the apocalypse , esp. Tommy’s hope-imperative thing, make room for meaningfully coded rituals and aspirational ideologies not hijacked by the wedding industry’s profit motive.

Joel’s coming from the context of a wife who left Joel alone because having Sarah ruined her young life, so his view of it is understandably dismissive. Reader was more interesting to make opposite—college-aged asshole without responsibilities on Outbreak Day, less room for traditions.

But: Jackson is frozen in time and CRAVES ritual. Where it was meaningless in a world of abundance, you need markers of the years and ways to say “that person is my person;" it's joy as resistance.

For instance, something about Christmas hits different when you’re not fist fighting consumers for prelit trees after scuttling past a Salvation Army Santa in a mall. Jackson feels so sincere, every decoration scavenged or hewn with love, with purpose and forethought.

There’s joy in scarcity and glut in abundance is my point, I guess. Joel gets that on a basic level, even though he’s obstinate as hell about letting himself have anything good or even open to the idea.