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shellshocklove · 13 days

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does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This new temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 8 months

Text

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Cigarette Burns

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, tw: near-death experience, trauma from abusive mother, DESCRIPTION OF BURNS

—————

When my time comes around. Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down

The cold is an enemy to fear more than infected or regular people in this kind of world. You could be in a remote area with no one for hundreds of miles, but the cold is always there. It doesn’t hide or wait for you to call it out, it attacks harshly and violently with no forgiveness. If you don’t have warm enough clothes, shelter, or fire you’re not surviving the night out with Mother Nature. It feels like thousands of needles stabbing into your skin repeatedly, or a numbing sensation that fills your body with panic when you can’t move your limbs. The cold could feel like you are melting it scorching your skin as it brings you to the sweet release of death. Cold isn’t a friend to any it went for everyone and everything, and only walked away knowing that you weren’t going to get back up.

Kansas winters were easier than Wyoming. Having a building to hide and be sheltered from, though run down with limited heat. You became resourceful, the puddle of blankets pushed right next to the heater waiting for the sputters and rattling as the heat flowed through it to get you through the night. The heater right beside the window allows you to gaze up into the sky connecting the stars to create paintings in the inky darkness. You are surprised how much was coming from the heater. It was never on for this long maybe a minute max but it was flowing steadily through.

“Honey?” The airiness of your mother’s voice threw you in a whirlwind not expecting the softness coming from the usual snarl and venom. “Come to bed with Mommy. Aren’t you so cold?” She stands at the doorway to her room holding her hand out as you push yourself up from the makeshift bed of blankets.

“But you don’t like me in your room.” You whisper out to her. It was one of the many things she ordered you to never touch. But her room was the biggest, she didn’t want you stealing anything as she puts it. She gives a soft smile still holding out her hand.

“Come on…daddy and I are waiting for you.” She says and you freeze. Your dad? But you never knew him, he left long before you were even born. A thing she constantly reminds and blames you for.

Ruining my fucking life….I should never have slept with that bastard…should have gotten rid of you the second I found out I was pregnant….bastard child along with a bastard father.

You always wondered what he’d be like, probably kind and strong, someone who would wipe your tears away when you were sad and make you smile from the jokes he would tell. To protect you from your bullies…to keep you safe from your mother. You wished he stayed so he’d take you away and it would be the two of you. But you never expressed those things. You tried asking about your father when you were very young but it only led to her screaming at you, how you were an ungrateful brat, after everything she’s done you wanted to think about being with your father. The guilt she held over your head like a toy twisting and molding it to have her be the perfect mother and you the horrible daughter.

Maybe you are a bad daughter…

Your father didn’t want you and she could have abandoned you too but didn’t. Was it love? You don’t think you knew what love is, whether platonically or romantically so those thoughts died. The idea of a father seemed like a fading thought, the idea seemed unrealistic like it was impossible to exist. Staring at the bedroom door that held your mother…and father waiting for you. To protect you…to love you.

“Come on kid!” A voice yells and your eyes snap open seeing Joel above you. Your body instantly shakes and you feel so cold and the striking pain in your shoulder and neck. It isn’t just the lack of body temperature that is painful each shiver and quake causes your body to ache and that produces more pain in your shoulder. Everything is fuzzy and dim your head feels like a dead weight as it almost lolls back if the man didn’t grab your neck to keep you stable. “Keep your eyes open. You’re alright,” He says before he yells over his shoulder, “Ellie where are those damn blankets!”

“I got them!” A young voice yells out and you see the girl holding a crap ton of blankets that she could barely see where she is walking. Another large shiver racks through your body an instinctive groan of pain as Joel looks over seeing your outerwear is off, your coat, socks, and boots are soaked in snow. The single layer of the long-sleeve shirt was still bleeding heavily and you weren’t even wearing gloves. Your fingers and parts of your face were bright red but he was glad to not see any signs of frostbite but mild symptoms of frostnip. The thick line across your throat from the cable made the flesh raw and irritated. He felt cemented in place trying to think of the next best step but he could only see his little girl in his arms when he had to carry you inside when you passed out from the pain and cold.

“Joel move, find the suture kit, and then get something warm for her drink. Tommy washcloths and gets some wood to start a fire. Ellie watch him.” Maria moves the older man aside before giving her son to the younger girl as she takes over the survival and motherly instincts coming out taking complete control of the situation. Your body practically vibrates from the cold and Maria moves closer you try to pull away but your shoulder makes you wince.

“You’re alright I need to take off your shirt so we can check your wounds. You have something under this?” Her voice is warm and comforting and she could see fear in your eyes surprising her used to sharp and cold ones. After gaining more sense of consciousness and understanding of the situation you were in you nod and she helps you sit up the blankets covering part of your stomach and your legs. Tommy returns with the washcloths and Joel with the suture kit before they return to their second task. Her hands move to your shirt and you stiffen and she waits noticing the uneven rhythm of your breathing before helping take off your shirt. Left in a slightly bloody tank top the shirt now clutched between your hands as you hear Maria’s sharp inhale. The noise drew the attention of the two adults just finishing their duties and the young girl.

Ellie had entered the kitchen with the baby to keep their view away from that finding the man standing there frozen unsure what to make, you couldn’t have coffee it could mess with your heart, and alcohol was out of the question. Joel had seen your aversion to the amber liquid. He hadn’t noticed the tightness in his chest and the ringing in his ears until Ellie grabbed his arm pulling him out of his state of panic.

“Joel..” The girl pulls him from his thoughts as he looks at his surrogate daughter, “You alright?” He wasn’t sure where this sudden state of panic came from. He had watched you ride out after one of the horses, himself and Tommy following after entering the storm urgency in them knowing you had no idea what was out there and you were defenseless. They had heard the large bang that sent fear through both brothers before the horses appeared without the rider. Joel headed off where they came from while Tommy wrangled the creatures. He had arrived just before it was too late seeing you being choked by a raider quickly shooting the one that was suffocating you seeing the damage you committed to the other raider. You had almost attacked him the fear and adrenaline probably overdosing your veins seeing the cold affecting you and the speckles of blood on your face.

It was that same fear in your eyes that he’d seen before. The years ago when Ellie had been kidnapped he was too late to rescue her from losing her innocence as she killed her captor, but the same fear that night all those years ago as his little girl clutched his arms as the life faded from her. He saw that same fear in your eyes and it sent him into a panic like he was reliving a horrid memory where he just kept failing. The nightmares he couldn’t remember when he woke up though he didn’t have them as often but when you came into his life they seemed to return. You are harsher and ruthless, everything he was during the beginning of the end of the world but you were only a kid. Tainted with the basics of childhood and thrust into the hate and death of the world. There are many things he wanted to know; how did you end up in Wyoming from Kansas, did you lose your parents during your travels, he wanted to know everything that there was about you. This draw and connection he didn’t think he’d feel. You are blunt, crude, aggressive, and an annoyance to him but here he stood panicking over you.

Why?

“I don’t think we have anything…to um..drink.” He says forcing himself to take a shaky inhale to calm his rapid heartbeat. Ellie seems to sense the panic and see the softness in the man’s eyes. Despite it being about a year in Jackson Joel was still a recluse, sure he helped around the community being a contractor in his past but he wasn’t one to make friends. He spoke in short phrases, grunts, and nods when people talked to him. It reminded her of someone she knew. He only really cracked a smile or told those dumb jokes around his brother or Ellie, and sometimes Maria. But you are here and she saw the softness as he held you in his arms bringing you inside or when he spoke to you before he was sent off into the kitchen. Ellie moves through the kitchen opening a cabinet reaching into the far back feeling the bag of treats she has hidden pulling out the bag of chocolatey goodness then to a fridge pulling out some milk. She puts the objects in Joel’s hands as he looks at them confused.

Ellie points at the chocolate and the milk, “Put that in there and heat it up, it’s good. It’s called-” “I know what hot chocolate is.” Joel grunts surprised to see the candy it looks handmade as he gets to work. He remembers a time when he made these during Christmas with small marshmallows and using candy canes to stir, even on rainy days watching a movie, or during sick days knowing they always warmed up Sarah making her feel better from whatever illness was affecting her. It was domestic and normal standing over the stove watching the milk heat up as he stirred the broken pieces of chocolate to melt once warm enough pouring it into a mug. He enters the room with the younger girl and his nephew and hears Maria’s sudden inhale and panic rises in him.

“What is it?” Tommy asks heading towards his wife stopping and his eyes widen taken over by shock. Joel was more panicked and Ellie was curious about what was going on as she and Joel took in what was shocking Maria and Tommy. They all noticed the scars that litter your arms, they expected something from someone who protected themselves out in this fucked up world. But they were crude the scars probably worse than the injury with the suture work you likely performed on yourself, but that wasn’t the scar and injury that had caught Maria’s attention and soon drew all theirs as Ellie tried understanding what a group of scars on your arms were.

“What is that?” Ellie questions the dot-shaped scars and Joel feels a sickness fill his stomach, “Are those burns?” She says that the adults in the room who did live in a normal world at one point recognize the scars that could only be caused by an object that was used by frequently stressed-filled parents with sticks of nicotine.

“Ellie take Liam upstairs. Now.” Joel’s voice is harsh and the teen tries to protest but with the look Joel gives her she doesn’t dare to defy taking the young baby upstairs the door to her room closing. Tommy stands up holding a fist to his mouth trying to hold in his rage.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Tommy spits the anger thick in his voice “Tommy.” Joel gives a warning tone to his younger brother.

“It’s fucking cigarette burns Joel. Christ,” Tommy wipes his hands down his face, “Those have to be years old.” You frown at Tommy's pacing vibrating with frustration and rage. The younger Miller seems to have noticed your look bending down to your level, “I’m not mad at you kid it’s just…you didn’t deserve this whoever did this to you.” You look away from the male using part of the shirt to cover your arms the small burns covered your forearms but the damage was already done they had seen it. Maria starts grabbing the needle and thread but you try stopping her.

“I can do it,” You look ashamed seeing their pity in their faces, “I don’t need your help.” Maria shakes her head.

“Just let me do this for you or we’re getting the doctor.” She places the final offer but you’re trying to pull your shirt back on biting your lip to stop the groan of pain and the once-clotted blood begins free-flowing. Joel curses grabbing one of the washcloths and presses it to your shoulder.

“Stop it! I don’t need your help!” You yell trying to pull away but it only creates more pain for you. “Stop it kid. You can’t see the full extension of it and your previous work isn’t a good show of trust,” Joel says and you glare up at him.

“Please kid, you’ve been bleeding for a while.” Tommy pleads and the rational side that wishes to live wins out but the more pissed off side doesn’t go down easy.

“I don’t want you here.” You say and Tommy sighs but if that was what got you to comply he gets up heading towards the stairs. You look over at Joel who hasn’t moved, “You too. I don’t fucking need you, Joel.” You hiss and for a second you feel guilty seeing his concern reveal slight hurt before it’s quickly covered by the mean expression constantly on his face. Joel nods stiffly moving out of the living room past his brother the door to his room slamming shut while Tommy makes his way to Ellie’s room to see his son.

The living room is quiet except for the occasional grunt of pain from you when the needle pierces through your skin and a murmur of apologies from Maria. Holding one of the washcloths to wipe away stray blood that spills Maria sits behind you as you sit sideways on the couch. Your gaze is drawn to the falling snow from the window in the living room counting the flakes that made contact with the glass.

“You know you should talk about it.” Maria speaks up and she watches your shoulders stiffen at her words before she continues, “You had us worried when Tommy and Joel watched you rush after that horse.” It’s quiet and she isn’t even sure if you heard what she said.

“We only want what’s best for you and seeing these kinds of injuries on your body. I worry Tommy worries, Ellie worries, even Joel. Especially Joel.” She says and a mixture of a scoff and laugh comes from you.

“What do you know what’s best for me…you’ve kept me here for your safety.” You say, “If you wanted to you could have killed me already so no one would find this place.” It was true if this had been any situation and you had stumbled upon them you would have been six feet under by now, but they met you, they came to the cabin, they decided to bring you back and help you. You could have bled out in that cabin if they had left when you told them to.

“And we didn’t because we are trying to bring back a sense of normalcy here. If we just killed people left and right we would be no better than those raiders after you,” Maria says and you hiss slightly from the needle entering your flesh. “In case you hadn’t noticed everyone in this building cares about you. And no matter how much you curse or say you don’t need our help. Deep down there’s a part of you that wants to let us in to ask for help.”

Maria lets silence fill the two of you as she continues her sewing and you don’t seem to even flinch at the pain. “It’s my fault anyway.” You say and Maria glances over your shoulder seeing you grip the bloody washcloth between your hands.

“I got myself in that mess and I found out what happened….I fucked around and I found out.” Your voice was thick tracing each burn on your arms with your eyes each ranging from light scar tissue from how long it's been others just as old darken from how long the butt of the stick pressed into your flesh. The young screams still echo in your ears as your arm was held to the table when it first happened just to get hit for crying. You learned quickly to not cry when she gave you that punishment.

“And who said it was your fault cause those don’t look like just a one-time occurrence.” Maria presses wanting to hear a name or someone. She prays whoever did this was long dead or suffering a horrible life. You felt a tightness in your throat at the question. You can still smell the nicotine and liquor on her breath the harsh grip of her nails breaking the skin with her warnings.

“Tell anyone and you’re going to wish you were never born.”

She isn’t here she couldn’t do anything. As much as you knew she was long gone Kansas City was running wild with infected from what Ellie described in her journeys.

“My..my mom.” It was so quiet you are certain she didn’t hear you but she did. She pauses the needle held in her hand as she looks at the profile of you. “It wasn’t her fault. She acts out when she’s mad. We were low on ration cards and I had gotten in trouble with Fedra.” It was a ramble of excuses that Maria knew did excuse burning your child. Maria’s silence makes you stop.

“Just…don’t tell them. I can feel your pity eating away.” You say and the older woman frowns she does feel bad for you. No child should have ever been treated like that and she was certain some of these other injuries may have been the cause of your mother.

“And your father,” She finally speaks up as she ties off the last stitch moving to clean the rest of the blood with the cloth, “He didn’t try to stop her?”

“A man that I’ve never met can’t really help ya know.” You say dryly. You wish he was there. Maybe he would have stopped it all, taken you away, and been the dad you’ve only seen in stories and dreams. But he wasn’t. Did that make him worse than her, he left a woman pregnant in a world that was ending around you all. Wrapping your shoulder in the bandage and briefly covering your neck she pulls back beginning to collect the items for the suture kit and bloody washcloths.

“Thank you.” You say and Maria looks back seeing you still not facing her and a small grin grows on her face. It was progress, slow progress but progress. More than a one-sided conversation though not a lighthearted one and a ‘thank you’ not some nod or even forced. Genuine.

“Just be careful with your shoulder.” She says before she heads upstairs to collect her husband and son from the event-filled night. When both Miller brothers, Maria and Ellie return downstairs to head out but also check in on you just catching a glimpse of you retreating to your room. The living room was back in order the suture kit was all packed up the bloody washcloths and your shirt was thrown away. Maria reassured the three of them you were alright and Ellie was a bit upset wanting to see you but retreated back to her room to sleep. Joel looks over at the mug still full resting on the table his gesture of help is forgotten and it makes his chest ache slightly.

“She’s gonna be alright?” Tommy says while fixing his grip on his sleeping son, the three adults had seen the scars and burns, and how you acted to them and towards people explained a lot.

“It was a pretty deep cut and her neck was raw as hell but other than that she’s alright,” Maria explains but Joel could see she was hiding something. There was a look on her face something she knew but she didn’t tell him even Tommy.

“And the burns,” Tommy whispers not wanting to speak up on it around his son even though he was fast asleep and too young to remember. Joel watches Maria as she pauses before fixing her coat.

“She wouldn’t tell me how she got them.” Liar. He could spot the lie as clear as day. But why was she covering for you? Joel nods and with nothing more to say the small family of three left to return to their home as Joel moves to the living room. Your coat hung on the hooks and your shoes and socks were piled neatly in the corner despite him ripping them off you in a panic. It’s as if you were never injured and sewed back together on the couch. Your features for such a young girl held such tiredness and stress even as you bled out. No fear though. Not a moment where you were afraid of dying just wanting this moment of weakness to go. A weight in his gut from the circumstances of today, thousands of scenarios running through his head, what if he and Tommy were too late for the raiders? What if your injuries were too severe for them to help you?

Stop it, Joel.

He shakes his head looking at the couch and your words ring back at him,

“You too. I don’t fucking need you, Joel.”

Pulling back like he was burned he returns to his room pushing away the insecurities and questions. The still-filled mug remains on the table the only thing holding the memories of what occurred tonight.

#the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel miller #joel miller x teen!reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x platonic!reader #ellie williams x teen!reader #ellie williams x reader #tommy miller #tommy miller x platonic!reader #tommy miller x reader

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madnessr · 11 months

Text

Vagabond

Vagabond — wandering from place to place without any settled home

Poly Lost Boys x GN Reader Synopsis: Forgiveness is a fickle thing. When four souls find each other, the world finds its equilibrium once more; until the absence of another tips the scale forever. What happens when a familiar face shows itself back at the boardwalk after twenty years of absence?

Warnings: slight angst, lots of historical information in the beginning

Word Count: 3k

By issuing the Declaration of Independence, adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4th, 1776, the 13 American colonies severed their political connections to Great Britain.

You had been ten during the conflicts between America and Great Britain, young and impressionable. Your family came with Puritans, who set sail to America back in 1630. Unlike the Pilgrims, who had left ten years earlier, the Puritans did not break with the Church of England but sought to reform it. All that happened before you were born; your ancestors had settled down and spread their roots into American soil.

You recalled little of the American Revolution; after all, you were very young back then, but you remember December 15th, 1791, vividly. Your mother couldn't stop crying that day, and your father had pulled out the oldest whiskey they had that day. America was finally severed from the tyrannical rule of George III.

You came to understand the significance of those dates more as you aged, growing into a strong individual as you helped your family on their farm. You never intended to marry; it wasn't something you had ever desired or looked forward to. The same year you had gotten married was the day you lost your immortality; both events are related but not necessarily connected. You were introduced to the vampiric community in New Orleans, a city that used the day to sleep off the mistakes you made throughout the rambunctious night.

You had lived through the formation of the Constitution of the United States of America in 1787 when the founding fathers sought to implement more structure into the now independent country.

The infamous whiskey rebellion. American drunks apparently were not too keen about Alexander Hamilton implementing a liquor tax to try and raise money for the national debt; asserting the federal government's power back in 1794.

Only nine years later, the Louisiana Purchase happened in 1803. The small land purchase for only $27 million created room for the states of Louisiana, Missouri, Arkansas, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, and Oklahoma, along with most of Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, and Minnesota.

Throughout the 1810s and 1830s, you had moved on from New Orleans and left for New York, seeking human connections and reconnecting with the younger generations. During that time, the Battle of New Orleans in 1815 and the Monroe Doctrine in 1823 seemed to fly past you.

Then, signed on February 2nd, 1848, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo finally brought closure to the Mexican-American war. At this time, you were no stranger to political conflicts anymore, and the stench of blood and sweat staining battlefields was, unfortunately, no stranger.

Life moved on regardless, no matter the horrid realities life provided. For a short while, life had finally come to a stand-still, guns tucked away as the world in America resumed its development. Until April 12th, 1861, Confederate troops fired on Fort Sumter in South Carolina's Charleston Harbor at 4:30 A.M., A day that changed America forever, the beginning of the American Civil War.

The Emancipation Proclamation, The First Conscription Act, The Battle of Chancellorsville, The Vicksburg Campaign, The Gettysburg Campaign, The Battle of Chickamauga, The Battle of Chattanooga, The Siege of Knoxville. The list continued, and the coppery smell of wasted humanity tainted the air, the wind carrying the cries of victims throughout the nation.

The war ended in the Spring of 1865. Robert E. Lee surrendered the last major Confederate army to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Courthouse on April 9th, 1865.

The number of soldiers who died throughout those four years eventually got estimated to be around 620,000.

Only 47 years later, on July 28th, 1914, the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, beginning the cruel trench warfare of World War I. In early April 1917, America aided the effort to join a war to end all wars. You had entered the war effort, like everyone capable at the time; from soldiers to nurses, everyone gave aid.

On November 11th, 1918, the war ended. Although the Allies won, you found no reason to celebrate. Not when mothers sold their homes since there wasn't a reason to have a multiple-bedroom house anymore, when graveyards overflowed with the dead, when people mourned their losses, when mothers' only answer to their missing sons was a notice declaring their child missing in action.

The stock market crashed in 1929, kicking off the Great Depression that would last for more than a decade.

On September 1st, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Kicking off World War II and beginning one of the most brutal warfare's, Blitzkrieg. On May 8th, 1945, Germany surrendered. After the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan surrendered on September 2nd, 1945, and the Second World War came to an end.

The war ended, and the surviving soldiers returned with missing limbs and broken spirits. You were a firm believer that humans were not meant to witness so much death; it tainted them; it dulled them. Although you were a vampire, a creature supposedly made for horror, you could not forget what you had witnessed in only the span of 21 years.

You were 201 years old now, relatively young in the grand scheme of time, but you had lived through a few of the greatest horrors the world had ever seen.

189 years of traversing the lands, you watched grow in a desperate search to find one of your own. Since you were turned and left New Orleans, you had not met a single vampire. You watched with sorrowful wisdom in your eyes as the world passed through you, virginity in people's expressions you wish you had. A gaze untainted by warfare, civil unrest, and brutality.

Although you have met the occasional human to brighten your own world, it did not cure you. Your search was desolate—fruitless.

Your feet had carried you to Santa Carla, the year now being 1963, and just as the five stages of grief had settled on acceptance. You bumped into a group of four rambunctious bikers that would change your life forever. That had been the first time you had met, and you had continued to live together, going on to live through the Civil Rights movement and grieving the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.

But on August 12th, 1967, you left Santa Carla. Your absence is only justified by a delicately written letter standing in your place. You had grown to love the boys, but you had lived differently compared to them.

Marko and Paul were younger vampires than you, having been turned while The Great Depression was bulldozing America. Dwanye had been older, abandoning his immortality in the 18th century along with David. All of them possessed the innate ability to move on from the past, a talent you, unfortunately, did not possess.

No matter how hard you tried, you could not find peace or excitement in the future. The uncertainty corrupted you, tormented you and your experiences, so you left. Not with the intent to abandon but to sort out whatever you had to sort out. Away from the prying eyes of those you loved, those who you did not want—couldn't disappoint.

Santa Carla, the town you had never been able to forget. It was 1987 now; twenty years had passed since you had seen the four vampires. You had missed them—a melancholic weight having nestled its way into your heart ever since you left. You regretted the way you had left through a simple letter. A cowardly move; you were wise enough to understand that. But at the time, you couldn't bring yourself to say it to them. How could you? Look someone in the eyes, someone like you—your own pack that never did anything but love you—and tell them you were leaving?

You didn't have the heart, and if you were a little more honest, you didn't have it now, either. But you missed them more than your hurt pride by walking what felt like a walk of shame as you wandered around the busy boardwalk. One thing you never could get used to was the constant shift in fashion, it felt like the ins became the outs overnight, and you never were able to keep up with it.

Bright colors were the most fashionable now, with teased hair and loud makeup. You enjoyed it, your knowing eyes watching over the crowd. The smell of hairspray permeated the air, wafting towards you as you passed people. Bulky and oversized clothes were spotted throughout the crowds, some men and women wearing specific member-only jackets. Ah, it seems the surfer nazis still haven't given up on Santa Carla yet.

The amusement park was new; back in 1867, the boardwalk had small shops littered around—like a market. Originally it mostly sold food and groceries, fish caught fresh from the sea, and farmers selling their produce.

How has the pier changed so significantly? If it wasn't for the bold, attention-seeking sign that said Santa Carla Boardwalk; you would've thought you were at the wrong address. But stepping on those old wooden floorboards of the pier that occasionally creaked or sunk under your feet was an all too familiar feeling. The smell of salt, rotting seaweed that had washed onto the shore, and the fresh street food made you feel all too at home.

It felt like you had never really left.

Your appearance had changed quite a bit since you left Santa Carla, so you didn't expect either the boys or Max to really recognize you. But although you were willing to stay under the radar for the boys, Max was another story. He was a head vampire, a coven leader, and therefore needed to be notified of your presence.

Entering Max's video store made you feel nostalgic, the same old grimy bell still hanging atop the doorframe signaling your arrival; you had been the one to put that there to originally annoy Max. You were surprised he kept it. The wooden floorboards and furniture gave off a distinct, homey smell. You had been there when the store was built, and the shiny coating across the floors now had grown mat, occasional wood panels brighter in color than before.

"I never thought I'd meet the day I saw you walk through those doors again."

Turning around, you met the stern gaze of Max. His outfit made you smile, a desperate attempt at blending in with the crowd. Max was always a stickler for blending in; if he had no intention of turning you; you had no business knowing who; or rather what, he was.

"It's good to see you."

"I'm flattered, but I doubt that I am the sole reason you returned." Max always carried that knowing tone, as if he's watched out every move you'd make before you made them. It reminded you that Max had a coven before the boys and you, one he rarely conversed about. Perhaps Max really had seen this turn out before, but analyzing that surprised expression, you could only assume who had left never did come back.

"How right you are," You sighed, shoulders dropping as you hopped onto the cashier counter. It was before opening, meaning you and Max had some time to chat privately.

"Twenty years is a long time," Max hummed, a low and almost chiding tone. "What made you come back?"

"To us, it isn't," You weakly argued back. The cumbersome feeling, or rather an awareness that you were in the wrong, was nearly unbearable. You were smart enough to understand that denial was a fruitless endeavor, and yet you couldn't help but let those desperate attempts escape you.

"For people waiting for you, it's an eternity." Max sighed in a calm but chiding tone. Although Max never did have to scold you the way he did with the boys, from not committing arson to preventing fights. Max instead focused his guidance towards you on a more emotional level, the morality; a bit ironic being taught by a vampire—but he did his best.

You glanced outside, through the glass walls of Max's shop, watching the bustling crowd pass you. Twenty years to a vampire was nothing, but somehow the short span of time felt arduous. Why did you come back?

"I never intended on staying away forever. I knew that when the time was right, I'd return." You explained, stealing a quick glance at Max. The older man had a frown etched onto his face, eyebrows furrowed as his own gaze lingered on the rambunctious humans outside. So unaware of the constant and unrelenting passage of time. It was cruel to be immortal; the passage of time no longer hindered you. But emotions are bendable and are the only aspect of ourselves that remains from who we were. Emotions were mortal.

"Santa Carla has changed, Y/N. It is not what you left behind; they are not the same as they were alongside you." Max recalled, his voice disapproving.

You knew Max was correct; you knew deep in your wrenching and twisting gut. You jumped off the counter, your feet hitting the floor like gravity had shifted around you, sinking your body into the floor. "I know," you knew; perhaps the boys didn't even want to see you; they could curse you out and send your name to hell for all eternity. They deserved to do it too.

But they loved you once, and perhaps you can't help shake the feeling that they might love you again this time too.

Max sighed, walking over to his front door and twisting the closed sign around, and pronouncing the store now open. Each tap of his foot, synced with his steps, was like a thundering echo inside you. It prompted you to get up and to provide closure for the others. You reach the door, opening midway before Max leaves you with some parting advice.

"I hope you find what you came here for, Y/N. But the time might be right for you now, but it might not be for them."

You nodded, not looking back as you walked out of the store. The air was warmer, humid from the ocean breeze mixing into the air, the notorious assassin for any styled and teased hair due.

Laughter was one of your favorite sounds. As cliche as that might sound, it felt rejuvenating to hear. Whether it was a loud cackle mimicking the call of a hyena or a high-pitched wheeze or whistle. There was a beauty in people's expressions, how their noses tended to scrunch up, or how others held their stomachs and nearly doubled over. Laughter was infectious, and you loved observing the dopamine spread to others. Strangers connecting over a similar sense of joy; there was a beauty in it.

The boardwalk was filled with it, people brushing shoulders against shoulders as they walked. Groups cackling and shoving each other as they enjoyed the youngness of the evening. Music booming from different directions, punks blasting the newest rap or metal music, hippies tuning out to a gentle jam, but the loudest seemed to be a distant concert down the boardwalk and closer to the pier. Like a bee sensing some honey, you followed. Dodging the occasional passerby, ducking out of the way from shop owners lugging their merchandise around.

The music got louder, and a small thread of excitement seemed to push you further, faster. Your small stroll transformed into a quickened step, your ears guiding you and your eyes following the crowd. The music was loud; a tight smosh-like pit had formed before the stage where people grind and brushed against each other to the beat of the music.

Looking around, you scanned the faces of teenagers and young adults. There was an eager but dreaded nervousness to your gaze at the thought of seeing a face that looked familiar. But it wasn't your eyes that caught their presence, but rather your sense of smell.

Copper.

Although it was harder to pick up when the wind stills its prancing, the occasional breeze led you further towards the pier. Away from the smosh pit, and where people stood to enjoy the music but not risk getting mulled over by a hormonal teenager.

There they stood, strikingly familiar. Although some of the fashion had changed, most of their originality stayed intact. That tiny red flag tied around Dwayne's waist was something the two of you had stolen from a stingy bar owner back in 1964; Markos jacket still had all too familiar patches sewn into its denim fabric; Paul still wore those bracelets you gave him, and David wore the most prominent reminder of you, his oversized coat.

The wind picked up around you, a cold and mocking breeze flowing through your hair and betraying your presence to the four men you had left behind all those years ago. One by one, heads lifted, smiling ceased, and laughter died. Although you had spent years preparing yourself for this moment, nothing felt so gut-wrenchingly real than standing before them.

How do you look someone in the eyes after you've abandoned them?

How do you move past that moment when the world around you stills and halts. When you lose yourself in the blear of the world when mortality reaches its hand around your heart and squeezes. A vice-like grip, a feeling blooming within your chest so heavy–so unspeakable. When you see those eyes, recognize the sorrow behind them and realize you were the perpetrator. You were the one who put that agony, that sadness there.

The burden of your actions ties itself around your throat like a noose, tight and unyielding, as you realize the cruelty was done by none other than yourself. And there is no way, in any shape or form, you could reverse the damage you've done. Pain is immortal, it might yield to its throbbing, but it never forgets.

A world with your boys back in 1967 exists now only in your memory. The four men, cold as the autumn waters, were your reality now.

"Hello, boys."

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romana-after-dark · 9 months

Text

The Wrong Way (Dark Ending): Going Under, Part 2

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Raider!Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Spotify Playlist

Summery: After you give birth to Ellie in the cabin, Joel fins you and Tommy, besting Tommy in a fight. What happens to you? What happens to Ellie, Tommy, Lorenzo and the rest of the family Little One has acquired? How does Little One learn to cope with her new reality? Does she fall into the darkness that surrounds Joel and all he touches? Can Joel really change for you and your daughter?

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WARNING, graphic violence, murder, manipulation, the horrors, Joel being Joel, Tommy being kinda pathetic, Joel's weird sexual fantasies, breeding kink, abuse of power. Just.... all the bad.

Extra on the executions. Suicidal ideation. Sorry, I should've put tjat in the warnings first chapter but I just came up, so this is your warning now. Im tryingto think of all the hardest stuff that happens now so I can warn ahead of time but sometimes it just happens while writing you know? Things come up. Dont say i didnt want you with major character death

a/n who watched Avatar TLA growing up? There a reference to it at the very end.... that episode traumatized me

*******************

It had been four days before Joel came and got you. The room was cold from the cool outside air; it was far from freezing, only a crisp Wyoming early fall so far. This had proven a benefit, despite the way you shivered under tattered blankets, as it aired out the bucket of piss and shit that was your toilet.

Ellie had to be dead by now. Infants need to be fed regularly, every 2-3 hours according to Maura… your breasts hurt, they hurt so fucking bad sometimes you cried from just that… but it wasn’t a hard leap from your depressed mindset. The pain was aching and you had to squeeze the milk out of your engorged breasts just to have a little relief. Your vagina hurt, too. Luckily you had stopped bleeding, although you wished you’d just bleed out already. Everything was pain and your dreams in the few moments you were sleeping were filled with nightmares.

You weren’t sure what you were living for. You laid on the mattress hour after hour, staring at the broken glass from your fit, thinking you could easily kill yourself… The only thing that stopped you was the effort it would require. Dazed, almost… that was the best way to describe it, all the hours blurring together

Honestly, you hadn't expected Joel to return at all. You figured he killed Ellie or just let her starve, killed Tommy and would just let you waste away in this god forsaken room, the room where so much happened.

Tommy taking your virginity after you begged him, playing go fish for hours.

Joel raping you, loving you, cuddling you.

Nick.

When he walked into the room, you didn’t even look up. You didn’t have the energy anymore. When his strong arms scooped you up, leading you out of the piss-smelling room, you instinctively wrapped your arms and legs around him like before… it had been habit at this point, after a year of doing this and you were no stranger to your body betraying you.

Joel, in turn, held you close. “Just look what you’ve done, hermosa… but it’s okay, we can fix it.”

“No” you whine, head in the crook of his neck. Why was his smell comforting after all that had happened? “We can’t fix this.” Your baby is gone, after all you did to try and save her.

“Yes, yes we can, you just gotta be good.” Of course Joel thought this was fixable. Ellie was only ever his replacement for Sarah, so she was replaceable herself. Joel would put a baby in you again and if it was a boy? Another one. And another, and another until you died, then he’d move onto the next vulnerable young girl.

Joel took you outside. When you saw the raiders all surrounding the yard, a yard that had previously been your comfort, a place you imagined your baby playing, you figured this is where he killed you. You were ready.

“Watch her” And he went into the house. The sunshine and fresh air felt nice, you had to admit. When he returned, he carried a little bundle; the baby blanket Mrs. Munoz knitted, with Ellie’s little face barely peeking out.

“ELLIE!” Joy and sunshine filled your heart again, and suddenly nothing else matter than the fact your daughter lived. Ecstatic, you dash towards her as all the pain of earlier seeming long gone in your desperate need for her, but Joel wouldn’t let you have it just yet. He moved her out from his firm grasp, still holding her but seemingly threatening to drop her. “JOEL NO!”

“She’s safe, little one, don’t you worry… as long as you behave.” He went back to rocking her, a soft expression as he looked at his daughter.

“H-how is she alive? She didn’t feed, I thought- I thought she was dead!”

“You really think I’d let my daughter starve?” His voice was condescending, a slight scoff at the end. “C’mon now, you can’t be that stupid. I know there's not a lot going on in that bimbo housewife brain of yours but I thought you had a little more faith in you than this.” He was… he was laughing at you. All the things he did to you, all the things he’s said… why did this hurt so bad? Joel never called you stupid before… and didn’t he… he threatened to hurt her just a moment ago, didn’t he? Or did he? Maybe you were reading into it too much…

“I’m not… I’m not stupid.” Defensively, you spoke but your eyes remained on your daughter.

“Oh, of course not, sweet girl, of course not.” Was he making fun of you? Why were the other men chuckling? “But I had a plan incase you couldn’t produce milk. I’ve got a freezer full of breast milk from other women, and even some formula. It’s expired but, it’ll do in a pinch.”

As relieved as you were about Ellie living, guilt punched at you. “You… Joel, you took milk away from hungry babies?”

Joel rolled his eyes. “No, of course not. Mrs. Little Feather was producing an abundance so I paid her well for a stash, just in case. I’ll always protect my family” He turned to one of the men and nodded.

Tommy was pushed out the house, hands bound behind him and he was shoved to the ground.

“TOMMY!” But you didn’t dare move, not when Joel had Ellie.

“Honey, fuck, I’m sorry, I-” He was cut off by Joel kicking him in the stomach. Tommy’s left hand was bandaged up from the stabbing.

But Tommy’s reveal wasn’t even the worst. Out of the house came Zach and Lorenzo, bound and gagged, quickly followed by the biggest shock yet. June. It had been a whole year since you’d seen her, never even saying goodbye when you were ripped away from your family. The four of them knelt on the ground, hands tied behind their backs, Lorenzo and Zach at one end of the yard, Tommy and June behind them. Joel shoved you towards Zach and Lorenzo, the guards taking off their mouth gags.

Zach yelled your name. “Run!” But Lorenzo knew better. Lorenzo knew there was no running from Joel, and there was no leaving Ellie behind. You stumble towards them, taking them in your arms. Joel was going to kill them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry…” You sob, knowing this was because of you.

“Sweetheart.” Lorenzo’s voice called to you, oddly calm given the circumstances. “Sweetheart, look at me.” He waited until you looked him, Lorenzo’s large, brown, droopy eyes calming you the way they always did. “It’s okay. Zach and I… we’ve already made peace with this. It’s gonna be okay.”

“No it’s not!” You protest. “He’s gonna kill you both we will have NOTHING!”

Zach. “You’ll have Dolli.” You look to your big brother. “And I know it’s hard, and I know it’s shit right now, honey it’s shit, but you can’t leave her with Joel, okay? So you gotta do this. Think of mom, think of all she did so we could survive.”

A fresh bout of tears. You sniffle, smelling the grass and the dirt and the filth surrounding you. “But I can’t.” You sob violently. You can’t do this without help, you never could.

“You can-”

“I’m not strong!”

Lorenzo. “You’ve already been strong, always. You survived a lifetime of hell and you put up a hell of a fight, again and again. You’re gonna raise Dolly to be strong like you, okay?”

Ellie. Ellie needed you. Nothing else mattered but her. “Her name… her name Ellie. Joel chose Dolly, I chose Ellie June.”

Zach smiled. “Ellie June. I love it.”

“Your goddaughter, Zach.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise. We both will.”

Joel steps up, still holding Ellie close to his chest with his left hand. “Alright, ‘nuff talk’n”

“No, Joel, please!” You desperately cling to your brothers, a feeble attempt to save their lives when you feel yourself being picked up by familiar arms; Tommy wrapped a strong arm around your middle pulling you away. “TOMMY LET ME GO!”

Kicking, screaming, fighting, you try to pull off him but your legs dangle, treading air.

“Joel.” Tommy called to his brother. “Dolly’s ears.” He referenced the baby in his arms as Joel pulled out the gun.

“There’s a silencer.”

Horror and anguish as you cry for your family, Lorenzo and Zach both mouthing that they loved you although you couldn’t hear a sound anymore, except the sharp eeeeee and muffled voices. The panic had set it.

Lorenzo and Zach come closer together, their bound up finger intertwining together. Joel strides up the the couple, covers Ellie’s ears with his hand and chest and-

BANG! BANG!

Zach and Lorenzo’s bodies felt limp to the ground, and you didn’t have it in you to scream any more. You went into shock, freezing up and zoning out, only barely aware of Joel comforting Ellie as she cried; no doubt startled from the shooting and commotion.

Joel spoke to his men, but you weren’t sure what he said… the only thing in your sights was your dead family and he thought that June and Tommy were probably next…wait, when was Tommy untied?

Joel hand grabbed your face and you heard a faint ‘Joel, stop’ but he didn’t. It was the middle of the sentence before you started to understand again. “-are both dead now. Jack is dead, Maura is dead. But her,” He pointed his gun at June, stepping towards her. “She’s alive. Zach tried to take her, thinking it’d save her. Look what good that did huh?”

You couldn’t speak, but Tommy did. “C’mon, man, she’s got nothing to do with this, don’t kill her.”

“Well Thomas, I’m glad you care so much, that’ll make the next part easier.”

“What are you-”

Joel ignored him. “Set her down.” Tommy did. You wobbled a bit but got to your feet, trying to concentrate on behaving… Zach was right, you needed to do this for Ellie. He walked back to you. “See how easily he listens to me? Like a guard dog. Tommy always was good at following orders.” He looked too Tommy again. “Take three steps back.” Tommy did. “Spin around” Tommy rolled his eyes, but did. “Shake you butt”

“Joel-”

“Do it Tommy”

Tommy did, looking humiliated in the process he wiggled his hips.

“Oh come ooooon” Joel laughs. “Put on a show”

“This is humiliating”

“THAT’S THE POINT!”

You wince at the outburst, wanting to hold Ellie so painfully bad… her little nose was getting runny from the cold, even with a little hat on.

Joel raised the gun to Ellie, and Tommy immidietly complied, shouting at him to knock it off. Jaw set tight, Tommy bent over and stuck out his butt, shaking it to the chuckles of the other men. Tommy fucking Miller, Joel’s previous right hand man. Feared leader, reduced to this indignity… You looked over to June, still bound and gagged and on her knees, looking utterly confused.

“Good job, Tommy” Joel turned back to you. “See how easy it was for Tommy to listen to me? Always been like that, following me around like a lost puppy, desperate for my approval… you know why I untied his hands, little one?” He didn’t wait for your answer. “Because I need you to know he watched. He watched me kill your brother and Lorenzo, he held you back while he watch. He watched me take you, he watched me fuck you on the table, he watched me brand you, and if he had been here last week he would’ve watched as I hung you.”

The whimper from your mouth at the memory is pathetic, but you keep your mouth shut as your eyes cry.

Joel perked up. It was like a shift, that dramatic change in his personalities that was so hard to keep up with. “So here’s my vision! It’s gonna take a while until we can all trust each other but I want us to all be a family.” He nudged his gun, and one of the men moved to June. Joel must have planned this all out, orchestrated it… He gave the gun to his man, and yanked down June’s gag. It was clear she had been crying heavily, but would not give Joel the dignity of begging for her life. June was strong like that. Sweet, kindhearted; a soft person who was undeniably stubborn. “Beautiful thing, aren’t you. Gonna make such a pretty wife.”

June was too proud to beg, but you’d been long suffering indigities. You had no pride left. “No, no, no, no, no JOEL! Don’t do this, I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Relax, bebita.” He laughed at you. “She’s not for me. You’re the only one for me, you know that right? You gave me my daughter back, you’ll always be my wife, no matter what.”

You were more confused than ever; a cooling breeze rustled your skirt, making you realize just how damn sweaty you’d gotten during all this. “Then what-”

Joel took the collar of June’s shirt, dragging her towards Tommy and throwing her at him as she squeaked in shock. Although he caught her, diving towards her falling body and preventing it from hitting the ground Tommy looked as confused as you did.

“I don’t want-”

“She’s your wife now”

“JOEL!” He held her and June clung to him. “This is insane, I don’t want a wife!”

Uninterested, Joel shrugged him off. “Fuck her, don’t, I don’t really care.” Joel strode towards you again but stopped to look over his shoulder at Tommy. “But knowing you, you probably will. Just a matter of whether you hold her down or not.”

Tommy, for all his weaknesses and flaws… you knew he was not that type of man.

“You and June will live in your old room. She can’t leave the room unsupervised until I say so” He turned to you. “Same with you, little one. But Tommy’s gonna watch you both. Know why?”

Finally, fucking finally, Joel handed you your daughter and you scooped her up, sobbing. “Hey baby, hi. Mommy’s here, yeah, mommy’s here now, it’s okay”

The sun was beginning to set, the shadows of the trees casting long over your dead family. “Because I’m choosing to spare his life, He owes me. And if we can all get along, no more run’n, no more fighting, no more ‘Joel stop!’” he mocked. “Then the 5 of us and whatever other children we’re blessed with can all live together as one big happy family.”

Joel sat you between his legs like you always used to after a bath, Ellie in both your arms as he nursed. “Knew you’d fuck up that room, little one. My brave girl. Always so strong, so resilient. You wanted to get to Dolly, didn’t you?”

“Yes” it was the truth, at least. You couldn’t help but feel comfort in Joel’s arms even now… what was wrong with you? Why were you like this? How had he broken you down this badly? “Just… just wanted to be with her…”

“I understand. She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

“Absolutely perfect” and she was, Ellie was everything.

A knock on the door; Joel beckoned them in.

“Watch your fucking eyes.” He snapped at his man bringing you food and water, despite this very man having been there when you were raped in the kitchen… a little breastfeeding wouldn’t had much to the fantasies.

When Ellie was done, fallen quickly asleep, Joel took her and laid her in her crib before doing what you knew was only inevitable.

He laid down beside you, handings trailing you body, muttering about much he missed you, how much he missed your body. “My perfect girl…” In gentle whispers, he spoke praises into your mouth between kisses, hand trailing between your legs. You hated your body for responding to him, you hated the way he made you feel so good and you hated how you would kiss him hours after murdering your brother and friend… But Ellie. Ellie is what mattered. Ellie needed to be safe, she needed her mom, and she needed no more of her family dead. So, you kissed Joel. You kissed Joel the way you had kissed Tommy only earlier this week as he swore to you he’d be the father of the child in that crib. Your life with Tommy crumbled down before you, as did any chance of happiness.

“Joel, I haven't bathed in days…”

“Don’t care, need you”

“Joel it huuurts” You begin to cry, despite knowing that only ever has turned him on more. “Please?” 4 days was not a lot of time to heal, the tearing still evident in you.

Pulling away, Joel looks at you, cupping your face with large, calloused hands. “We need to work together on this, little one. Give a little, get a little. For Dolly.”

Damn him. Damn him and the way he made your stomach burn, damn him and the way his touch felt so good and how you wanted to just be a happy family with him even now… And damn him for knowing how to use Ellie to manipulate you.

“Can we… can we do anal?”

The surprise was evident on his face, bed creaking as he sat up. “You’d prefer to take it in your ass instead of your pussy?”

As you gaze up at him, the concern on his face was clear… oh how he confused you. “I think it would hurt less.”

His features softened as you spoke, laying back down beside you to kiss your neck. “Just focus on my hand right now, sweet girl.” And you did. You did because you were a mess, you were disgusting, you were heartbroken and sad and lonely and you wanted Tommy but you had Joel and he had treated you well didn’t he? Maybe this was survivable… maybe. But you had to please him, and Joel always made you cum. Your pleasure turned him on… so you allowed yourself to sink into the swirling touch of Joel Miller’s fingers.

His touch was gentle but pressing and urgent; patience yet needy, as if making you cum would rebuild the bubble that he had built all those months… and it just might. Your cunt feel empty when it pulses around nothing but you are thankful you are able to get this wet, to orgasm still… The natural lubrication will help with taking his dick up your ass. When the climax was over, you took the chance to relax… it would hurt less if you relaxed.

“Roll over” He ordered, and you did as you were told before Joels straddled your thighs, hands rubbing up and down your mostly-clothes body. “Such a pretty girl… such a perfect girl, and all mine… I don’t care that Tommy fucked this sweet little pussy” Joel reached down to rub your swollen lips. “I don’t care. Once you’re healed up, I’m gonna cum inside you every goddamn day until you give me another baby, gonna fuck a baseball team into you.”

Of course he is. Of course. You wouldn’t expect nothing else from him; he wanted to keep you trapped with him forever… All the love you felt for Ellie was going to multiply tenfold, and you could never, ever leave with that many.

As Joel lined his cock up, swiping it up and down your asscrack and the crease of your thighs, you burry your face in the pillow. Joel wasn’t going to prep you at all, was he? He was going to just fuck you, rip you open and punish you-

“Oh little one… you’ve had a long day, haven't you? Yeah… You’ve been good, I’ll meet you halfway” Joel slid his cock between your plump thighs.

You lift your head off the pillow. “What? What are you doing?”

He began to pump, fucking your thighs and making the bed creak enough you made a mental note to ask Jack to oil it- fuck, Jack was dead, dead because he saw you trying to escape and took you back to Lorenzo. Dead because he went to get Zach to save his life… All of them ended up dead anyway. Jack, Maura, Lorenzo, and my dear brother who had only ever tried to help you. Now June was essentially Tommy’s wife just as you were Joel’s and although you trusted Tommy not to hurt her, she was in a house full of raiders… and Joel.

“Let it out, baby, let it out.” Joel cooed as he thrusted between your legss; one or twice he spit down between them to keep the lubrication going but it wasn’t long before he pulled out, jerking himself as he painted a picture of his cum on your ass and thighs. “Beautiful girl… beautiful.” The cum was like lotion as he rubbed it along you, rubbing your aching muscles… Did he love you? Truly?

When Joel leaves to boil water for the bath, you go to pick up Ellie. You needed her, needed her painfully. You wanted to make up for lost time in those four days she was gone, and away from you; she needed skin to skin, she needed love, she needed her mama’s voice… she needed you.

Joel could hear you from outside the door, peaking through the crack to watch you cuddle his daughter… you were a good mom. You loved Sarah like he did, you cared for her, you wanted the best for her. You just needed to learn, that’s all. Learn that Joel was the only man that mattered, learn that giving Sarah a family with siblings and two loving parents was more important than your own personal feelings. You simple needed to learn that Joel knew what’s best. He’d take care of you, take care of you like he always did; protecting you. He wouldn’t make the mistakes he made with Nick, Tommy, Lorenzo, Jack… Tommy would watch you while he was gone, but he knew Tommy, and Tommy was a simple man. Place a pretty girl in his bed, and it wouldn’t take long before they were fucking, and once Tommy fucked a girl, well… he latched on fast. Probably his mommy issues.

You were so sweet with Dolly, so careful, so attentive… even now, you sang to her and Joel thought this was the only sight he needed to see for the rest of his life: You, freshly fucked and beautiful with Dolly asleep in your arms as you sang.

What Joel didn’t know was your thoughts were consumed by your brother, dead outside with a gunshot in his head. Maybe you could ask him and Lorenzo to be buried together… it was the least you could do for your first protector… your soldier, your guardian who died in vain fighting for your safety after a lifetime of taking your beatings.

“Leaves from the vine

Falling so slow

Like fragile tiny shells

Drifting in the foam

Little soldier boy

Come marching home

Brave soldier boy

Comes marching home”

The bath after sex felt exactly like it always had.

*******************

YEEEEEEEEEEEESH goodbye Zach and Lorenzo!!! my babies! my favorite couple! (im so sorry fen. I murdered your boy!) Also sorry angela buuuuuuuuuutttt you knew this was happening.

Honestly my heart aches for Zach. I have an older brother who was largly my protector in my childhood, my best friend for so long and I love him lots. Thats who zach is based off of for me but i dont wanna give a faceclaim bc I tryyyyyyy to make little one race inclusive (i know i didn't do perfect with the details of her bruisings but it can be hard) If any of my mutuals wanna see a pic Ill show you XD

Remember when I said taylor russle was June's faceclaim? I lied. I saw a picture of Alisha Boe and was like!!!!!! wait no thats her!!!! so now shes on this header.

JUNE AND TOMMY PLOT TWIST what do we think will happen there??? (June is canon bisexual, so dont let her marrying Maura in ghost of you series throw you off. She's the one who told little one all she really knew about sex.)

PLEASE LEMME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS AND THEORIES!!!! RBS ARE SO IMPORTANT TO SPREAD WORK but I like you know what you guys are thinkig!!! what part was the hardest to read? what are your thoughts on how this goes? One june and tommy? the deaths of jack and maura as well as tommy and lorenzo? Joel suddenly being very condesending to little one and almost like a schoolyard bully to tommy? all this happening while holding ellie?

He kinda reminds me of Joe Goldberg in You lol carrying Henry around with him on his lil stalking trips

@pimosworld @rubyfruitjungle @moriartyyouwhore @k-ra @the-fox-den @jenna-ortega @alwaysmicado @lunar-ghoulie @ladynightingale @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @maura-honey @fandxmslxt69 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller smut #tw rape #dub con #non con #dark joel miller #romana after dark #dark!Joel #the last of us hbo #joel miller fic #joel miller reader #joel miller reade smut #dark joel miller reader #tommy miller fem reader #tommy miller smut #tommy miller fem!reader #the wrong way fic #the wrong way series #tommy miller

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sunflowervoltwentyeight · 10 months

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Happy 28th! Here's my July 2023 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. Enjoy!

I Found Love In You (And I Learned to Love Me Too) by CuckooTrooke / @larrydoinglaundry (166k)

After months of battling with his own demons, Louis goes back to get what he once left behind, but Harry's not sure if he showed up in time.

A journey of remorse, healing and love that's strong enough to break them down and build them back up again.

Sequel to 'love is a word, you gave it a name'.

Wild and Unruly by 100percentsassy, Gloria_Andrews / @100percentsassy, @gloriaandrews (123k)

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

I Don't Wanna Face the Music by hereforh / @hereforh (95k)

Louis likes to think he's a pretty normal, typical lad. He likes spending nights at the pub with his mates, he loves football and is very close to his family. So when he moves to London for uni, he doesn’t think much will be different.

Until he makes these new friends who are nothing like his mates back home and change his life for the better - and this one boy who messes with his head from the get go and makes him question everything he has ever thought about himself.

(Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites (86k)

“Sir, I can help you. Just let me — “ He tried moving closer but the eldest child blocked his way. He backed off, putting his hands out in a passive gesture. “I’m a physician. I can help,” he tried again.

The man shook his head vehemently, passing the cup back to his grandchild. “Tol’ ya. Don’t need ya.” All of the fire had gone out of his voice, leaving behind a frail, sick old man with barely any breath to talk.

“I have medicines...I could make you comfortable…” Louis’ voice was still small, but pleading.

“Mountain Mama cares for wha’s ailin’ me. Don’t need no fancy city doctors.”

Louis blinked at the man, still shaking from the coughing spell. Mountain — well, fuck. That backwoods, uneducated scam artist…

“Of course he is,” Louis said curtly. ***** OR a Northern Exposure AU featuring Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between.

King of My Heart by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (83k)

Harry shrugged, his shoulders brushing against Louis’. “I think since I was young, I craved that feeling, though. I didn’t always hate being a prince, but over time, certain aspects of it just bothered me so much. I remember being four years old and realising that every person in the world knew my name, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted that. I told my mum as much and she tried telling me that being a prince is not a punishment. That it was a privilege that I should be happy about it, but no one asked me if I was. But looking up at the sky, I remember that all of this will one day mean nothing, and neither will I. All the pressure will then disappear and I could just be.”

Louis stayed quiet, allowing Harry the space to open up because he knew Harry wasn’t looking for advice, but just someone to confide in. What he wished he could tell him was that in the short amount of time that he’d known the prince, in Louis’ eyes, he couldn’t be insignificant if he tried. He was brighter than every star up there in the sky. He was all Louis could look at and think about.

or A Red, White, and Royal Blue AU where Hollywood elite, Louis Tomlinson, finds himself falling for the closeted Prince of England.

These Bad Omens (I Look Right Through Them) by likelarry / @likelarryfics (82k)

How on earth does someone his parents' age look so damn hot? All of their other friends look... bland and boring.

But Louis, fucking hell. He's something out of Harry's wettest fucking dreams.

Where Louis is Harry's parents' friend and teaches at Harry's university. Harry can't resist getting a taste.

So Keep My Candle Bright by whisperdlullaby (78k)

Louis returns to his hometown after four years to find that the reverend’s son has done some growing up of his own.

Elephant Juice by stylinsoncity / @stylinsoncity (32k)

Harry doesn't understand boundaries. Louis doesn't mind at all.

#28th appreciation #2023 fic rec #larry fic rec #trackinghappily #hlcreators #trackinghome #1dficvillage #read

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sixhours · 3 months

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Chapter 3 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence

Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

May 2024 Jackson, Wyoming

“Help!”

You’ve been in Jackson for three weeks. It’s late, not quite 3 a.m., and you’re dozing in your office when you hear a voice from the lobby. A man bursts through the swinging doors into the back of the clinic holding a young girl in his arms, frantically looking around.

The night nurse, Shiela, is coming down the hall to see to the commotion, but you wave her away.

“I’ve got it. Right here,” you tell the man, gesturing to the nearest exam room.

“She passed out,” he says, desperation threaded through a gravelly Texas baritone as he lays the girl down in a hospital bed. “She’s been sick.”

“You the father?” you ask, checking the pulse point at the girl’s wrist where her heartbeat flutters. Her skin is feverish, eyes ringed with dark circles, lips cracked. You’d put her at 12 or 13, but she’s small, thin.

“I’m, uh–yeah,” the man says. “She started, uh, throwin’ up–”

“Any allergies?”

He shakes his head. “I dunno–”

“When did this start?”

“Three, four days ago, maybe. It was just a cough and a fever, she stayed home from school–”

“Has she been able to keep liquids down?”

“Not since last night.”

“She’s probably dehydrated,” you start to pull up the girl’s sleeve. “I’m going to place an IV so we can get some fluids–”

You stop short. The bite scar on the girl’s forearm is ugly and swollen, a telltale cordyceps rash snaking its way to the crook of her elbow.

Oh, no.

Your head snaps up to meet the man’s eyes, and it takes him a moment to register what you’ve seen. You’re reaching for the cordyceps monitor in the cabinet, the little device that will confirm the presence of infection, when he levels a handgun at your face.

“Don’t.”

You let out a soft huff, hands slowly moving up.

“She’s infected,” you say. “And you can’t have a gun in here. How did you–”

“She’s not.”

“The bite–”

“It’s a burn scar,” he growls, reaching over to tug at the sleeve of the girl’s shirt, covering the evidence. “She’s not infected. Use the other arm.”

“Joel?” the girl stirs, and the gun falters, his gaze immediately on his daughter. You reach for the detector again.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growls, his attention snapping back to you.

“Joel,” the girl’s voice is more insistent now as she tries to sit up. “Joel, you asshole–”

His eyes dart between you and the girl. “Use. The other. Arm,” he bites out.

You swallow hard, weighing your options. You think you could overpower him; he looks strong, but there’s a coldness in his eyes that tells you he’s not fully there . And you don’t want to be stuck in this tiny exam room when the girl inevitably turns…

“Fine,” you snap. “Fine. I’ll use the other arm.”

He nods once, not lowering the gun.

You back away, keeping your eyes trained on him as you make a show of pulling supplies from the cabinets, taking your time, trying to figure out how to proceed in a way that won’t get you shot or bitten. You pull up the girl’s other sleeve with shaking fingers and the man–Joel–seems to relax a fraction.

“What’s your name, kid?” you ask.

She looks at Joel as though asking for permission, then down at her arm as you insert the IV, watching with fascination as the needle penetrates the skin.

“S’Ellie,” she says, coughing roughly.

“Hi, Ellie,” you say, forcing a smile through gritted teeth. “I’m going to get this saline drip set up, I’m going to take your temperature, then I’m going to take a sample of your blood. And hopefully, your dad here won’t shoot me.”

The girl shakes her head. “S’like this with everyone.”

Joel’s jaw twitches and he shoots a glare at the girl, exasperation and worry in the deep-set lines of his forehead.

“How old are you, Ellie?”

“Fifteen.”

“Any recent injuries? Blood loss? Open up,” you say, inserting the end of a mercury thermometer. “Hold that under your tongue.”

The girl shakes her head, mumbling around the glass stick in her mouth. “M’ just tired.”

“That’s fine,” you say. “You can lay back, close your eyes. I’m almost done.”

Joel’s eyes are trained on you, watching your every move as you continue examining the girl, checking her lymph nodes, her breathing, asking her to swallow, pricking her finger to get a blood sample. You avoid her right arm, on high alert for any sudden movements, the twitching that signals the onset of infection, but Ellie remains still and listless. Joel is still holding the gun, but at least it’s no longer pointed at your head.

“You said this started last night?”

He gives a single tense nod.

“She’s in school, right?”

“Yeah…so?”

“Well, provided you’re telling the truth, and that scar isn’t what it looks like,” you say, biting out the words through gritted teeth, “I think she has the flu.”

Joel blinks. “The flu?”

“It’s early in the season, but it's going around. And the kids are especially good at spreading it.”

Joel’s shoulders sag; he finally lowers the gun to his side.

“This isn’t something to mess with,” you continue, moving to the sink, snapping off your gloves in irritation. “It’s not like before when we had vaccines. People die from the flu. Especially the most vulnerable, and she’s underweight, possibly anemic. I’d like to keep her overnight–”

“No,” he cuts you off. “No, she stays with me.”

“You can stay, too,” you say slowly, watching the panic in his face. He’s gone somewhere else in his mind, shadows moving behind his eyes. “But I want to get her hydrated and make sure this doesn’t progress to a secondary infection like pneumonia.”

He looks to Ellie, then to you, then back to Ellie. You watch his Adam’s apple bob under the scruff of his beard.

“Alright,” he says finally. “Fine. She can stay.”

You nod, turning to leave. “I’m going to run this to the lab, then I’ll have a nurse come in with–”

His hand is on your arm, gripping it, wheeling you around. “You’re not going to tell anyone…about the scar,” he says through gritted teeth. “Got that?”

You exhale sharply, narrowly resisting the urge to haul off and punch him. “Let go of me.”

“Say it,” he says.

“I’m not…going to tell…anyone,” you repeat, enunciating as though to a small child. Then, as a petulant afterthought: “But put the gun away, for god’s sake. You’ll scare my staff.”

He considers you, his grip loosening, receding. He tucks the gun into the back of his jeans.

“Alright. Go.”

~*~

“I’ve got a live one in exam room two. Think it’s the flu again. I just need last names–Joel and Ellie?”

“That’s the Millers,” Shiela says.

“Right, right. She’s staying the night, I want to keep an eye on her.” You swallow, turning away, hoping she doesn’t see the tremor in your hands. “Look, Shel, why don’t you go home? It’s not busy, I can take the rest of the night shift.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I have the walkie if I run into trouble. Go home,” you say, smiling in a way you hope is convincing enough. It must be, because she shrugs and packs up her bag.

When Shiela is gone, you lock the clinic’s front and rear entrances so no one else can get in. Then you retreat to your office, intent on finding the girl’s medical records, but there’s no Ellie Miller in the filing cabinet. On a hunch, you sift through the rest of the folders by first name and find the only Ellie in town–an Ellie Williams.

After a considered pause, you pull Joel Miller’s file, too.

You take them to your desk and spread them in front of you, all the while listening for sounds from down the hall.

Ellie Williams. 14 female. DOB: ??/??/2009. Intake: 12/16/2023.

Joel Miller. 56 male. DOB: 9/26/1967. Intake: 12/16/2023.

They came in the same day, so you’ve got the right kid. The forms are signed by Maria Miller, who you know is on the Jackson council.

A sister, maybe?

But there’s no other data, no medical history. Nothing helpful.

You toss the folders on your desk and head to the supply closet to grab blankets, Tylenol, and a paper cup of water. You hesitate over the surgical supplies, then tuck a scalpel in your pocket. It’s no match for a gun, but if the girl turns while you’re tending to her, you might stand a chance at making it out alive if you have a weapon.

Joel is pacing when you return. He looks at you nervously as you place the blankets at the foot of the bed, and the Tylenol on the counter.

“I sent the night nurse home,” you say quietly. “No one will be in until six.”

This seems to relax him a bit, enough that he finally takes a seat, deflating into the chair next to Ellie’s bed. His hands are shaking.

Ellie wakes up enough to swallow the Tylenol with a sip of water, then rolls over and curls on her side with a soft groan and a raspy cough. Joel is so intent on watching his daughter that he barely acknowledges you when you slip out of the room.

You sit stiff and upright on the cot in your office, fingering the scalpel in your pocket and waiting for the inevitable sound of infection from across the hall.

It doesn’t come.

~*~

They’re sleeping when you peek in on them over the next few hours. Joel’s lanky body is twisted awkwardly in the chair, jacket over his shoulders, his head resting on the bed at her side. Her right hand curls loosely in his hair.

By morning, the girl’s fever has broken, her breathing deep and even. Joel remains asleep at her side, snoring lightly.

You pause in the doorway, wondering if you should try to check the girl’s arm for signs of progression, but decide against it; Joel’s eyes flutter open as you reach to take her pulse. Your hand stops in mid-air, hovering over her wrist, half expecting him to reach for his gun, but he only blinks and raises his head, swiping a broad palm across his scruffy face.

“Just checking in,” you murmur. Ellie’s heartbeat is strong under your fingers, her lungs sound clearer. “She looks better.”

He takes this in, nods.

“I think you can go home when she wakes up,” you say, keeping your voice low. “We’ll give her another dose of Tylenol to keep the fever down, and you both need to isolate for at least a week…that means you, her, and anyone else in your household.”

“S’just us,” he says flatly.

“Okay. The staff will let the cafeteria know you’ll need meals delivered for a bit. If you start to feel sick–”

“I’m fine.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes. “Fine. But if you do feel sick and you have to go out, wear one of these,” you say, pulling two white face masks from your pocket.

“K,” he says, eyes drifting back to Ellie’s sleeping form. When he speaks, his voice is frayed. “So she’s gonna be alright? No pneumonia?”

You shake your head, crossing your arms. “Her lungs sound clear, but if the cough gets worse, bring her back in right away. And feed her. She’s borderline anemic. She needs to eat.”

He scowls, muttering at the floor. “She eats plenty.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “It’s not uncommon for kids her age to struggle with disordered–”

“She’s fine,” he cuts you off. “I’ll make sure she eats. Anything else?”

His eyes bore into yours like a challenge, a threat.

“If she gets sick, and I mean… sick ,” you say in a low voice, emphasizing the word until it’s clear you’re not talking about the flu. “I will make sure every single council member knows who brought it in. Understand?”

He considers you for a moment, then nods slowly. “I heard you.”

“Good,” you say, clipped. “One of the nurses can check you out when you’re ready. Maybe don’t hold them at gunpoint.”

#the last of us hbo #the last of us #fanfic #joel miller x reader #ellie williams #joel miller x you

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p-muffin · 1 year

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Death is at Our Door Pt. 1

Pairing : Joel Miller x Reader

Next Part

Warnings : Death of a loved one.

WC:2.2k

Summary :

Fort Vancouver, a happy and peaceful community in the north west. Y/n a kind, strong, and fierce woman. The world is peaceful for her and the people in her small town. Although when an unknown man and immune young girl are brought in from a clicker infested library, the pair bring unwanted visitors to the Forts front gates.

The fort of Vancouver Washington started as a settlement for the colonies when they came north and became a large trading post for the Hudson’s Bay Company. As the years went on and Vancouver grew, the fort became a well-known historic site. The great 20-foot walls ideal for the world ending. Just about five buildings were saved throughout history. As the fort became a settlement once again in 2004, the survivors added well over twenty new buildings/homes inside the walls.

Washington was known for its large and bruting Evergreen trees, the thick and sturdy wood perfect for building. The people were proactive in getting homes built for the remaining survivors. Carpenters, electricians - the old and young helped structure the cabins, drawing energy from the old Bonneville Dam. The homes were lit up with old grandmother lamps and string lights. A crisp woodsy smell filling each home beautifully. If the people needed paradise, this was it. Besides Jackson this was the most comfortable it got.

The leader, Vance Kelly – a humble but strong man, encouraged the people to build a log wall around the garden that laid outside the main gates. The fort had a well-functioning garden for decades before the world went to shit. Involved heavily with the public, it was basically a self-sufficient town. As Jackson Wyoming was flourishing, so was the northwestern community. One key difference being the lack of security from Clickers.

The hunting party was successful ninety nine percent of the time, getting most clickers and using whatever explosives they could find to dial down the infected rates. Vancouver was a large city before this. Almost one hundred and fifty thousand residents. Not including Portland’s large numbers. Vance was very forward about how things outside the community would go, the infected would be slaughtered – fully infected or not. No risks to be taken when it came to the town’s safety.

But, year after year the people of Fort Vancouver became strong and well equipped. Gathering supplies to feed and warm the group of one hundred-something people. Life was peaceful.

The autumn leaves spun in adolescent circles as they fell softly to the grassy ground, crisp air biting at y/n’s skin. A soft chuckle escaping her chilled lips as she walked down her rocky street. Pebbles popping under her worn boots. The woman clutched her thick Carhartt coat to her chest as the air nipped a little too much at her spine. Sun catching in her eyes, she kept her steady pace down to the gardens. People of the community waving as she passed by, gifting small smiles and nods as she continued.

Fort Vancouver was beautiful, only about three miles from her pre-outbreak home. The community members were hard working and skilled in protecting the haven. They had everything they needed to keep life peaceful. They did thorough checks when someone would go on a run and so there were never any cases inside the walls. Y/n was considered a lucky one, most of her family making it. Only her youngest sister perishing a month after everything went bad. Lost her to the nasty fungus.

The large garden came into her view. Birds sung in the trees above her, singing hopeful songs. Head falling back to gaze up, a shy grin grew on her cheeks. A quiet whistle leaving her cranked throat to sing back. Chuckling, she walked down to the potatoes. Gripping the plant tightly in her palms, she ripped up with little force. Dirt covered potatoes filled in her little woven bag y/n carried on her forearm. Turning swiftly on her heels, her feet led her to George – the garden trader.

“Good afternoon Ms. Kelly.” He smiled; hands folded in front of his old body. “Just the potatoes?”

Gazing down, she counted out loud. “I’ve got three potatoes and have three OPDIVO’s for Cheryl.” Y/n pulled a small plastic bag from her back pocket. Three little pills hanging loosely.

George’s eyes grew wide, the heavy stress falling from his shoulders. His wife now not having to worry as much about if she is going to pass from the cancer. “Thank you, y/n. Really.” He kindly smiled at the woman. Hands squeezing her own. He needed them.

Nodding politely, y/n walked off with her groceries.

Y/n was sweet, kind, and welcoming. When The neighbor lady had gotten too old, y/n took her in. Housing her within her family’s quarters. Now this old lady – Linda. Was of Irish descent and would beg for a colcannon potato, so as the oldest daughter of her family – Y/n would cook for Linda. Creating her own recipe and holding it quite dearly in her heart. The long afternoons when her and Linda would sit on y/n’s porch and laugh about stories they had come to write.

Her feet carried her to the steps of her cabin. Cabin number one, the largest home for the first family to arrive. The Kelly’s. The door swung open, hitting the logs softly as she scrapped the mud off her brown boots. Peering around, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Soft eyes gazing through the house, she didn’t notice anything out of place. They must be working, she thought to herself. Shrugging it off, y/n set the bag down on the wooden table.

Peeling off her layers – a scarf, her Carhartt jacket, and beanie. She smiled seeing her dads name written lazily on the tag. Vance. Her father was always up her ass about her layering, Vancouver was cold for about seventy-five percent of the year. Only summers giving warmth. The rest of the year gloomy and chilly. He had given her the beloved coat a year ago, when she had come back from gathering some seeds from a nearby abandoned nursey. The coat she adorned torn to shreds, blood staining it from the nasty rose bush she had admired.

Unfortunately, she didn’t gain a cool story from her trek. Just a sob story about how a rose bush jumped out and attacked her favorite coat.

The front door opened with a sharp squeak, the sound piercing y/n’s ears. Turning from the coat rack, her brothers wide frame stood in the doorway. Body stiff and eyes gazing off like a deer in head lights. Jacob, the warrior of the family. Never seemingly scared, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

Y/n’s hands reached out for him, her feet gliding her body to his. “J-Jacob?” Her voice almost at a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flickered to her; head hung low. Breathing shot and slow. “Cory.” He paused, licking his bloody lip. “They got Cory.” Chokes of tears belted out, tears starting to pour down his beaten face as he came to terms with the death.

Cory was Jacobs best friend, brother if you will. Y/n had known him since her father welcomed his family in. “Oh Jacob, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes searched his face for a moment. “Are you bit?” Words like stone, y/n needed to be sure.

His lips folded together, disappearing as he sobbed. A small shake of his head soothed her.

Thank God.

Jacob tripped into y/n’s open arms; body heavy as he cried out. He hadn’t cried in what felt like ages, but y/n knew he needed to. Otherwise, he would bottle it up just like when their younger sister Opal died. He sat locked up in a hotel room for days, unable to come out and face the cruel world. That’s when he came to fight for his family, stuffing Opals passing away in the back of his mind. He decided he needed to be the savior of his family, he needed to fill what he had lost.

A loud sigh left y/n’s lips as she guided him to the couch, plopping him down besides her own body. His whimpers filled the air. She hadn’t seen him this bent out before, honestly, she was surprised he went to her and not his girlfriend.

He grew quiet for a moment. “Do you think Ella is wondering where you’re at?” Y/n mumbled.

Sighing he sat up from her shoulder. “Probably. Thank you, bug.” Jacob croaked. Standing, he ruffled at his younger sister’s hair.

The next morning was colder than the one before, temperatures dropping quickly for the coming winter. Beautiful morning songs unsung, the birds flying south to warmer weather. Drapes feathered at y/n’s face as she slept like a milk-drunk kitten. Arm thrown over her head, she was the most comfortable she’d been since, well ever.

A crisp morning wind shot under her blanket, shooting herself awake with a deep shiver. Teeth grinding as her eyes stretched open. Room dimly lit by the morning sunrise; her body rose from her laying position like an infected. Fingers rubbing the sleep away, y/n stretched her long legs out. Toes tapping the end of the vintage bedframe. Beautiful morning.

“Vance!” A deep voice called, snapping y/n from her morning thoughts.

Peering out the second story window, she saw Bobby shouting up at the window besides hers. Weird, he never was so intrusive. Y/n’s eyes furrowed as she leaned out of her window.

Raspy still, she spoke out. “What’s up Bobby, I think dads showering.”

His eyes were heavy, the look of alert written all over his aged face. “A man and a girl were found about 500 yards out; we need your dad’s permission on something.” Lies. Y/n thought.

“If they’re not infected, they are not to be killed.” Her voice dripped with anger, Bobby was known to make rash decisions and the fact that he was here asking to murder two people was shocking.

A scoff left his lips, head shaking in humor. “Why don’t you come with Vance, you should see this too.” Hands on his hips he gazed one more time at her father’s bedroom window. “Tell him to hurry his old ass up.” With that Bobby was vanished.

The woman jumped out of bed with anticipation. The plaid boxer shorts hugging her waist as she raced to the bathroom down the long hall. Water splashing loud and pools of steam pouring out from the door’s cracks. Her fists pounded on the wooden door; eyeballs shut tight.

“Dad there’s an emergency at the gates!” Y/n’s voice rang high, the shower squealed off. “Bobby said two people showed up, wants us both down there.” She continued, running back down to her bedroom.

Y/n threw a grey hoodie, green flannel, and her carpenter pants onto her muscular body. Strapping her custom knife holster onto one of her thighs and her leather Smith and Wesson Pistol holder to the opposite thigh. Slinging her thick boot socks over her feet, y/n’s favorite pair of old doc martens covered the layer. Bent over, her hair fell to the front of her face – blowing it from her eyes.

Standing upright, she placed the gun into its holster. The wind creeping in once more as she turned to walk out of the cozy room. Vance doing the same, the pair in sync shuffled down the stairs. Feet clamoring the wooden steps, the two trudged down the streets to the front gates.

People gathered around the medic building, just next to the main posts. Vance softly made his way through the crowd, y/n following behind her father. The building was small, only three rooms inside. They made their way in, past the small waiting room. Bobby stood in front of the far-left room; arms crossed over his broad chest. Bobby’s rifle strapped tightly to his front.

Vance looked around before he spoke up. “What’s going on, Bobby?”

Bobby gazed down at y/n, licking his lips as he started. “A man probably early to mid-fifties.” He moved from in front the window, a man gruff and grey laying on the bed. Y/n’s eyes stared down at him, intrigued by the man. “He has a concussion and a stab wound on his left thigh” Bobby scratched his beard. “He’s not the special one though.” The group shifted their focus to the young girl strapped down to the bed across from the man. Soft chocolate brown hair surrounding her little body, pale skin freckled innocently. “When we tested them, they both came up not infected. When we checked for injuries, she had a bite that looks like it’s been healed for a while.”

Y/n’s father peered over at Bobby, eyes wide and worried. “Bobby, what if it was a false test?!” His voice not raising a whisper.

Bobby sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We did blood tests and the scan.” He paused. “Shes immune.”

The Inspiration board for this story

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine

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olowan-waphiya · 2 years

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https://www.yesmagazine.org/opinion/2022/06/30/abortion-indigenous-peoples-reproductive-health

The overturning of Roe v. Wade is part of a long legacy of American Christian values being forced on Indigenous communities. Indigenous peoples in the United States have only recently been able to assert their own religious ideas and practices. The American Indian Religious Freedom Act passed in 1978 after nearly 200 years of religious suppression by the United States government. This law guarantees that Indigenous people have a right to access religious sites, possess sacred objects, and have full freedom to worship and practice religious ceremonies. This includes reproductive health ceremonies.

Boarding schools run by Christian churches or the federal government also played a strong role in suppressing and criminalizing Native American cultures and religions. One impact that boarding schools had on Indigenous children and communities was loss of intergenerational cultural knowledge. The U.S. government is just beginning to address part of this history, as activists and members of Congress push for the passage of the Truth and Healing Commission on Indian Boarding School Policies Act.

Revitalization of Indigenous Knowledge

Though Indigenous communities deeply suffered from the intentional destruction of our cultures and religions, there has been a vibrant resurgence in traditional ecological knowledge in our communities, including reproductive health care practices.

Indigenous people are revitalizing coming-of-age ceremonies that mark when someone begins menstruation, including Ojibwe berry fasts, a year-long period in which young people abstain from eating berries and learn from their elders, and Hoopa Valley Tribal Flower Dance ceremonies, which Cutcha Risling Baldy, a professor of Native American studies at California State Polytechnic University, Humboldt, calls “a tangible, physical, spiritual and communal act of decolonization.” Indigenous doulas and cultural birthing practices are also on the rise, with collectives popping up throughout Canada and the U.S.

In the days since the Supreme Court decision, several states with large tribal and urban Indian communities, including North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Idaho, and Oklahoma, have passed or introduced laws that ban or severely restrict abortion. Indigenous people on reservations seeking medical abortions or contraceptive care already face barriers; medical abortions and even Plan B pills are rarely available on reservation Indian Health Service facilities, where many Native people receive health care. The recent decision to overturn Roe v. Wade will likely exacerbate these barriers to Western health care.

What remains to be seen is how the decision and resulting state laws that ban abortion will exacerbate barriers to utilizing traditional medicinal practices and Indigenous knowledge—and if this is a violation of Indigenous peoples’ centuries-old cultural and religious rights.

#indigenous #native american #ndn #indigenous issues #indigenous rights #abortion #religion #indian boarding schools #boarding schools #article excerpts #native #colonialism

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basiccortez · 2 years

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Beaches of Cheyenne- R. Abbott

pairing: Rhett Abbott x female!reader word count: 4k (Issa long one) warnings: it's a g Cortez classic angst fic: cursing, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, death, allusion of suicide. synopsis: based on the song 'Beaches of Cheyenne' by Garth Brooks A/N: I know this is usually a gvf blog but surprise shawty. I'm opening this back up to the multi fandom mess it once was. so why not kick it off with the cowboy who has stolen my heart (sorry Rip Wheeler) and thank you @mayhem24-7forever for reading it over!

Perry stopped at the post office after church to pick up the box. They could feel the sad stares of community members. The news of what had happened had spread across the town like wildfire. The Abbotts did their best to stand strong, and pay attention to the sermon that was given, but the second the priest said something about the two young lovers, Cecilia lost it, and left the church in tears. Royal gave a quiet nod to the church before excusing himself and going after his wife.

“Here ya go,” The office worker said, handing the box to him, “Heavy box.”

“It’s his saddle,” Perry said in a monotone voice as he finished signing for it.

“Sorry about your loss, can’t be easy losing-”

“Thanks,” Perry didn’t want the conversation to go on any longer, as he picked up the box with a grunt and walked out to his truck where Amy was waiting for him.

When he got home, he placed the box on the floor of the living room in front of his parents. He stood off to the side as they opened it, pulling out Rhett’s saddle and his buckles. The tears hadn’t stopped running down Cecilia’s face since she came home, and holding Rhett’s buckle to her chest, she sobbed. Royal held her close and kissed the top of her head. Perry pushed off the wall and walked over to Amy, and finished taking the rest of the items from the box.

None of the Abbotts had flown out to the coast to see how the house was and to clean it out, but from what they had been told by one of their friends, the house was nearly destroyed. Royal had called in a local worksman to fix up the walls and the door. The walls were littered with holes from her fists and the glass was shattered all over the floor. Apparently, Y/N had just gone crazy when she got the call about Rhett.

— — —

When Rhett first laid eyes on Y/N, he knew she was the one for him. He had missed his chance with Maria, holding back on his feelings and letting her walk out of his life. But when he saw her standing on the fence line as he lowered himself onto his bull, he knew that she was going to be his wife. He held on for his life, lasting the whole eight seconds, and impressing her. The boost of confidence from the ride was what he needed to go over and talk to her. Her cheeks turned red as he invited her for a dance, telling him that she can’t dance to save her life, but he assured her that it was okay. He had kissed her that night.

After that night, Y/N basically disappeared. She was nowhere to be found and it seemed like no one really knew who she was. Rhett had asked around town, asking pretty much everyone where the y/h/c girl went and who she was. It had dawned on Rhett, he never got her name. When Rhett was ready to give up, throwing in the towel that she was just a one-night stand sort of girl (even though they didn’t hook up) he had received a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” He asked, creasing his eyebrows.

“Rhett Abbott,” Her voice was like honey, and Rhett chuckled to himself.

“How did you get my number but I never even got your name?”

“I asked a friend,” She smiled.

“I asked a friend about you, but it seems like you are just some figure of my imagination.”

“I can assure you that I am not.”

They had talked for hours on the phone after Y/N had explained who she was. She was originally from Amelia County, but as soon as she graduated high school, she packed her bags and went to the coast. She would occasionally fly back to Wyoming, the last time she flew back was to watch her little brother ride against Rhett. Neither one had noticed the sunset, and the moon rising in the sky, or the first strands of orange morning sun. Rhett woke up to his alarm clock and looked down at his phone to notice that he was still on the line with her. He smiled to himself and whispered a ‘sweet dreams darlin’’ before hanging up.

And that’s how it went for weeks. He would call Y/N after dinner and they would talk for hours about everything under the sun. He learned that she was studying to be a nurse, in her third year at USC. Y/N learned that Rhett had made it to the finals, and she was already looking at flights to come watch him. Rhett rode one of his best rides when he noticed her smile in the stands during the finals. He focused on her the whole time, and the second he heard that buzzer go off, his mind was locked on finding her. The next morning they found themselves wrapped up in each other's arms.

They continued their relationship long distance for about two years until she graduated college. Rhett had saved up his rodeo money and packed up his truck and headed out west. He stuck out like a sore thumb as he walked around campus in his levis and blue flannel. He was going over in his head what he was going to say to her. The last time he had seen her was over six months ago when she had flown home for thanksgiving. Rhett was going to propose to her, he had already asked her dad for her hand in marriage. He easily found her dorm room, and waited on the bench until she came out.

“Why look at what we have here? You lost Cowboy?” Y/N asked as she walked out the door. Rhett stood up, holding the bouquet of carnations in his hands.

“Slightly,” Rhett said with his usual half smile, “For you,”

“Thank you, love,” Y/N took the flowers, and then placed her hand on his face and brought him in for a kiss.

Their date went off without a hitch, Rhett taking her to a look out spot that he had heard about. He laid some blankets down in the back of his truck and shared the sandwiches and stuff he had prepared. She talked about her final days at university and how she got a good job at the children’s hospital nearby. Rhett told her about how he had finally gotten away from his family, and Y/N was shocked. She never thought she’d see the day where Rhett Abbott left his family’s ranch, but here he was. He took her to the one bedroom apartment he got which was covered in boxes. He tucked his shaking hands in his pockets as Y/N walked around the small place and explored.

“Rhett this place is- what are you doing?”

“I’m proposing,” Rhett said, as he was down on one knee with the ring box in his hand.

“I know, why?”

“Because I love you enough that I want to be with you forever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,”

“Yeah, yes! Yes!”

Rhett placed the ring on her finger, and held her tightly in his arms. He made love to her for hours that night, trying to make their bodies as close as possible. They felt as if they had truly become one, their hearts, minds and souls.

Their wedding was small, held back home in Wabang. Perry and Royal had worked hard to clean up one of the barns so they could have a reception out there. It was no secret to Royal that he wasn’t thrilled about the wedding and his youngest son fleaing out west. He had hoped that Rhett would take over the ranch when Royal couldn’t do it anymore. Perry was happy to see his brother finally settle down and had hoped that this would stick. Cecilia was also happy to have another daughter in the family. The two of them seemed very fairy tale-like as Rhett held his new wife close to his chest as they swayed on the dance floor. But the honeymoon feeling came crashing down quickly.

Their first fight had been an ugly one, over Rhett’s drinking. Years of riding bulls and popping pain killers had become a second nature to him, something he quite couldn’t let go of. Rhett had found a farm to work as an extra hand, but it was quite enough for him. He thought when he left Wabang and chased after the woman he loved that it would be enough. Having her be his, his own Mrs. Abbott, would be everything he had ever dreamed, and it was. But he fell back into his old ways. Y/N would get pissed as he’d stumble in at odd hours of night as she was trying to sleep before her early morning shifts. She had finally had enough of it.

“Jesus Christ Rhett,” Y/N cursed under her breath as she looked at the drunk man who had just knocked over something, “Why do you constantly do this shit.”

“Do what? I’m too fucking drunk to do this shit with you right now.” Rhett slurred.

“Well Rhett! The hell do you expect!? This is the fourth night in a row you have come home completely trashed. You keep doing this shit, enough is enough,” Y/N yelled.

“What do you mean?” Rhett sobered up as she climbed out of bed, and grabbed a bag from her closet, “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.”

“No, baby please, I’m sorry,” Rhett grabbed her hands to try and stop her, “Please, you can’t leave me,” Rhett’s voice cracked, “You’re all I have. I left everything behind to be with you. I have nothing.”

“I never asked you to do that,” She bit back tears.

“I know, baby, please don’t leave me.”

And she didn’t. She stayed by his side, even when he told her that he was going back to riding. She was actually proud of him for getting back on the bull. He had done his best to stay away from the temptation of the old life; the booze, the pills, the pussy. But old habits die hard. His body was older now, taking rougher beatings when he would get bucked off. He would have a simple celebratory drink with the guys after the rodeos. Rhett found himself out later at night, coming home to a quiet house with his wife at work. Their schedules hardly ever matched up. He got bored of using his hand in the shower, and he could hardly remember the last time he and his wife made love.

He didn’t fuck them at first. He’d only let them suck him off before a ride, releasing the tension. But that only did so much. The rodeo hands seemed to look the other way when it came to his infidelity. He’d fuck the no name buckle bunny before the ride, not bothering to learn their names or even show them the ounce of respect. He saw them as playthings to fill the void he was missing from his wife. He thought he was good at hiding it, but Y/N had always been smart.

She knew that he was hiding something from him. She could tell in the way he wouldn’t touch her, his kisses were just pecks, he avoided looking in her eyes. Y/N had even seen it with her own eyes at one of his rides. She had gotten the night off of work last minute and decided to surprise him. The whole crew seemed to act weird and barely pay her mind as she walked through the trailers to find him. The smile ran away from her face the second she saw him walk out of his trailer, fixing his belt and a bombshell walking out behind him. Y/N felt her heart break as she leaned against the side of the trailer away from his eyes.

Y/N felt bile rising in her throat as she emptied the contents of her stomach. Rhett heard the sounds of someone retching and walked around the side to see his wife. His eyes widened as he ran over to her, and moved her hair back.

“No!” Y/N cried and pushed his hands off of her.

“Baby, you’re sick, let me-”

“Get the fuck away from me!” She yelled and Rhett stepped back in shock, “Fuck you, Rhett! I saw you! How could you?”

“Babe I’m-”

“Your shit will be in the driveway.”

Rhett had come home that night to exactly what she said, his stuff in the driveway, but he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. So he sat outside the front door and waited for her. Y/N felt bad when she saw him in the morning and let him in. She ignored him the best she possibly could, but it was hard to do. Rhett could hear her break down while she was in the bathroom and it made him shed a tear himself. He sat on their bed and waited for her to come out of the shower, he could see the dried tear stains on her cheeks.

“I promise you, I’ll never ride again. I never wanted to hurt you.”

And he had stayed true to his word. He had told his dad over the phone that he had officially given up riding. That he and Y/N had decided to start trying for a family. Rhett didn’t want to spend his time away from his family or worse, like some of the legends in Bull riding, dead or gravely injured. Rhett had stayed away from the rodeo life for about six months. And in those six months, Y/N and his marriage was completely worked on. They went to therapy, talking out their transgression and disagreements. They got back to the basics, bringing back romance into their lives; going on dates and trips. They had some of the best sex they had in years. They had both seemed to forget what had happened six months ago, until he got that call from Royal.

“I told her I wasn’t going to ride,” Rhett whispered as he stood in the kitchen. He was making breakfast for Y/N, after a busy night of love making.

“We’re in danger of going bankrupt, we need this,” Royal said, “We can’t lose the farm.”

“There’s nothing you can do?” Rhett ran a hand down his face.

“You know I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if there was,”

“Fine,” Rhett said, “When is the ride?”

“Three days.”

“Three fucking days?! That’s our anniversary.”

“I’m sorry Rhett.”

“I gotta go, she’ll be up soon.”

Rhett had gone to the rodeo by himself, it didn’t bother him, he was used to going by himself. It did make him a little upset that she didn’t even bother to come with him. He stood in the waiting area as he waited for the name of the bull he would be riding. The second he was given the bull, he knew it was a lost cause. The bull was impossible, no one had been successful in completing a ride. His team gave him a pat on the back and Rhett gave them a shy smile. The first person he had called was her.

“Is there anything you can do?” Y/N asked. She was sitting on the back porch of their house, looking out at the waves as they crashed on the sand.

“You know how these things go,” Rhett said as he leaned up against the side of his trailer.

“I don’t like this Rhett,” She said honestly. Silent tears were running down her face.

Rhett could hear the sadness in her voice, and could only picture the tears running down her face as she looked out at the setting sun, “I know you don’t. But I promise, I’ll come home to you.”

“You fucking better Mr. Abbott,” She sniffed and wiped her tears away.

“I will, Mrs. Abbott,” He smiled back, “I gotta go okay, I promise I’ll call you right after.”

“I love you Rhett.”

“I love you Y/N.”

She had watched the clock, as she settled down in a chair in front of the fireplace. The class of whisky was cold in her hands as she counted down the seconds until Rhett’s ride. Rhett said a small prayer as he walked up the metal steps towards the bullpen. The crowd was going wild as he waved his hand and greeted his team. They helped him down on the bull, and it already was bucking the second Rhett put his weight on the animal. Once it settled, Rhett tied the rope around his hand, making sure he had a tight grip on it. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, seeing glimpses of his future life with Y/N, a few kids and a beautiful house back home on the Abbott Ranch. Rhett opened his eyes the second they opened the gate. It didn’t last long until a consuming darkness filled his eyes once again.

Time seemed to tick on slowly, and her eyes never left the clock as she waited for the call from Rhett. Assuming from the time it had taken from the ride until now, that it hadn’t gone well. Everyone in the community knew that the bull Rhett had was a troublesome one. It was known for bucking off its riders in the first couple seconds. The second her phone rang, she picked it up. His name hadn’t even slipped past her lips when his team manager told her what had happened. Her heart was shattered in her chest as she dropped the phone on the carpet. Her knees shook as she collapsed to the ground screaming out his name.

Her eyes were blurred with tears and her head was spinning as she pushed herself up from the carpet. Her phone was still on the line and they could hear her screaming for him. She walked out into the sand, her chest felt on fire as she let out loud sobs. She didn’t stop as her feet hit the wet sand from the waves. The further she walked into the water, her clothing felt heavier and heavier. The waves would crash and pull her underwater. She fought to keep herself above the surface, keeping her lungs inflated with air. The saltiness of water strung her eyes as the waves hit her. She looked up at the sky, looking at the stars and feeling the heaviness in her heart. She felt her feet leave the ground and she took a deep breath, as she felt a wave pull her completely under.

In the black abyss she had fallen into, she could see the man she had always wanted. Rhett stood there waiting for her, his hand outstretched. She smiled at him as she placed her hand in his. He placed a hand on her cheek, brushing the tear from her cheek. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

“I told you I would come home,” Rhett said.

“I know you did,” She spoke to him.

— — —

They had sent someone over to see if she was doing okay, but there was not a single sign of her. The back porch door was wide open. They looked over the house, trying to call for her but they got nothing in response. The only thing they found was her diary which was open by the bed. They didn’t even bother reading it, just closed it and put it in the box with Rhett’s buckles and hats. Perry had seen the green notebook with her handwriting across it and picked it up. He opened the page that was dogeared and read it to himself.

The pages were detailed on what had happened the night Rhett left for Wyoming. She explained that they had a fight about Rhett going to ride again. She was angry that he had been talked into riding for the sake of his family’s ranch. Royal had gotten them into financial trouble again, and Rhett knew that he could help them out with this ride. Y/N had given Rhett an ultimatum about it. She was worried about him riding after what had happened the last time he had ridden. The images of the night had filled her head over and over. She tried to push them away but she couldn’t. No matter how many times she had said it, Y/N had never really forgiven Rhett Abbott. Y/N had gone in on him, yelling that he had broken his promise to never ride again, the fear of past mistakes seeping through the harsh words she spat at him. Y/N saw her whole life with him, she wanted their future to be long lasting and full of love.

Rhett told her that he was going to ride with or without her approval. Y/N looked him in the eye and told him that she didn’t give a damn if he ever came back from Cheyenne.

The next couple lines were scribbled and had tear stains on them. It was full of regret from what she had said and didn’t know that their last conversation was going to be an argument about him riding. She had told him that she loved him, but she didn’t know if he forgave her. She wrote about how she was going to fly in the next day and surprise him back in Wabang, as he was going to stop there after Cheyenne. The writing ended abruptly with her saying: ‘I can't live in a world where Rhett Abbott doesn’t exist.’

It was late, the night was illuminated by the bright moon up in the sky. Perry was standing in the kitchen looking out the window, sipping on a glass of whisky. He turned over his shoulder to see his dad walking into the room. Royal gave him a nod and walked over to the cabinet, getting a glass and pouring himself a drink as well. They stood in silence for a moment before Royal spoke up.

“They never found her body. No body can explain it,” Royal said, looking down at his sock covered feet, “Some say she just disappeared, and others say she’s still alive. I just don’t-”

“She said she couldn’t live without him,” Perry said, running a hand over his face, “No body, no note, just footprints in the sand. Some people say they’ve seen her since that night.”

“She’s just gone, like a ghost, like she never ever existed. Like neither one existed.” Royal turned to look out at his land. Perry placed a hand on his father’s shoulder and then walked out of the kitchen back up to his room with Amy. Royal finished his drink and placed the empty glass in the sink before going back to his wife.

The beach was always the same, the setting sun warmed the sand and the breeze rolled in off the ocean. She would come to the beach night after night, and would sit and wait for him to show up. Her footprints would lead from the house like a trail as she walked towards the water. She would stand in the water up to her ankles as she wrapped his blue flannel around herself. It was like clockwork when he would show up, standing next to her with his hat on. She looked up at him with a smile and he looked down at her with the same expression. He’d take the hat off his head and place it on hers, and would kiss her. His lips were soft and he smelled the same of tobacco and Armani cologne. His hands were still rough as he would caress her cheeks, and look into her eyes.

“I love you Mrs. Abbott,”

“I love you Mr. Abbott.”

Every night it was the same, the two of them would walk the beaches of Cheyenne.

-- -- --

well. . . be nice pls:)

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conradscrime · 1 year

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National Park Nightmare: Jane Constantino

April 18, 2023

Jane Constantino was born in 1947 and grew up in Long Island. Jane moved to New York to attend college, and after graduating she worked for several years as a social worker.

Jane soon grew tired of her life and knew she wanted more -- she wanted to travel around the world and see things, experience things, live life to the fullest. Jane traveled to Europe, where she met a man there who was from Denver, Colorado.

Jane fell quickly and the two returned to the United States and continued their relationship, eventually getting married. Jane moved to Colorado, but unfortunately their marriage only lasted two years.

The end of her marriage though did not mean that Jane was going to leave the Denver area, she actually loved Denver and had loved the area so decided to continue living there by herself. She rented a small apartment and took up a job as a waitress, working 6-7 days a week to be able to afford this apartment.

Jane lived minimally, driving a new car, wearing second hand clothes, while saving most of her money. She wanted to use the money to travel and explore. Jane earned a lot of tips, some saying she was one of the best waitresses they had.

Jane began getting feelings that she was not going to live to be an old lady, instead she felt that her time on Earth was short and that she was going to die young. Because of this premonition, Jane wanted to live life to the fullest and have as many experiences as she possibly could.

She would work like a dog for the majority of the year, and then take a few months off so that she could travel. Due to her having all of these wonderful experiences exploring and travelling the world, Jane had run into a few near death situations.

In 1974, Jane was 27 years old and went to Wyoming to climb the Teton mountain range. She was struck by lightening at 14,000 feet, and she clung to the side of the mountain. She walked down to the nearest ranger station, where she had been burned incredibly badly.

Jane had to stay in the hospital for almost a month, leaving with a huge scar which she called her “Badge of Life.”

Jane actually had a fear of drowning, and water, despite her seemingly fearless in nature. Jane actually began kayaking, despite almost drowning in Alaska. She also conquered her fear of water by scuba diving.

Her third brush with death happened when she fell in Yosemite, while climbing, only leaving with a broken ankle and a concussion.

Jane took up bicycling, wanting to bicycle from Nova Scotia to New York. She almost died during this, getting hit by a truck. She was only in the hospital for a few days, and then left and finished her bike ride to New York.

In 1979, she was 32 years old, and kept climbing mountains and bicycling. Jane then began to feel like she was slowing down, her previous injuries starting to ache. Jane then rode from Denver to New York with her brother. Jane then wanted to ride from Denver to Washington in the same summer.

Jane was going to ride solo from Denver to Cape Alava, in Olympic National Park. Jane made plans with her friends in Seattle, to meet up with them on July 24, 1979 after she had finished this journey on Cape Alava.

On July 23, 1979, the park had a lot of hikers, and a group of hikers noticed a woman who appeared to have fainted in the middle of a trail. The woman had not fainted, she had actually been stabbed multiple times. This woman was Jane Constantino.

The hikers notified authorities immediately. Authorities discovered Jane had been stabbed 6 times in the chest, she was still clothed and there appeared to be no signs of sexual assault. They initially believed she must of known her killer, that this was a crime of passion or had been stalked.

Authorities believed a man was her killer, as Jane was extremely strong and fit due to her physical activity, they determined it was unlikely that a woman would not be able to have overpowered her.

News quickly spread about the fact that a dangerous person was likely still in that area, as it appeared Jane had recently died when the hikers found her. Other hikers were notified of this, especially women hikers who were travelling alone. One woman told authorities that before Jane was discovered, she was hiking alone in the same area when a weird man approached her from behind.

She described him as being in his 30′s-40′s, wearing a purple t-shirt, but had a dark demeanour. He had curly hair that was sticking out from a cowboy hat and he was large, over 6 feet tall. The man told her he was a photographer from Playboy and offered $50 for her to pose nude for him right there in the park.

As she was about to say no, the man noticed another woman, and immediately dropped the conversation, leaving the original woman free to get out of there as quickly as possible. The woman said she was almost sure the other woman the man noticed was Jane Constantino.

The authorities soon came across this man wearing a purple shirt, and although the shirt did not appear to have any blood on it, it was soaking wet. They searched the man but he refused to answer any questions, only stating that his name was Dale Harrison. While searching they found Dale had rope and a hunting knife with him.

Dale was arrested and because the crime took place on national property, the FBI took over the case. Dale was visiting the park that day, and originally lived in a small farming town in Washington. He had been arrested several times before, 20 years ago, including molesting young girls.

Dale’s purple shirt had been dunked in ocean water, but there was blood on some of the fibres. The hunting knife matched the wounds on Jane, and several hikers picked him out of a lineup. Dale played dumb at first, claiming he didn’t know a murder had taken place.

He then changed his story and said he had witnessed the murder, but was not a part of it. He said he did not come forward because he thought he would be looked at as a suspect.

One of Dale’s friends came forward claiming Dale had told him about a fantasy he had about finding a woman alone in a park, tying her up, and making her his sex slave. Dale’s friend also claimed Dale had asked him to join in on this fantasy, though the friend did not want to be a part of this.

Dale went to trial in 1980, and was sentenced to life in prison without the chance of parole. Ann Rule, famous true crime writer who wrote about Ted Bundy, also wrote about Jane’s case in one of her books, theorizing that perhaps Dale did not intend to actually murder Jane, rather he wanted to play out this sex slave submissive fantasy, and perhaps Jane fought back due to her being incredibly fit and strong, and Dale was not prepared for this, making him angry and lashing out to kill her.

Jane was the first person in the Olympic park’s 42 year history to be murdered, she died at 32 years old, meaning her premonition of dying young was right.

#true crime #Crime #murder #homicide #national #Park #olympic #washington #hiking #climbing #near #death #solved

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 year

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A Sheep Farm on the Moon: Joel Miller x F!Reader

A Sheep Farm on the Moon.

Summary: When Joel and Ellie wander into Jackson you don’t think they’d be more than a welcome distraction from your chores for a few hours. But between Ellie, a sheep, a bottle of whisky, and that killer smile of his, Jackson might finally start to feel like home.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this first chapter, it’s my first TLOU fic and I’m already enjoying it!

18+ NFSW, Minors DNI.

This chapter has some allusions to smut but nothing heavy yet. Language befitting Joel and Ellie, hurt/comfort, angst, sexual tension, alcohol use.

4.7k words.

AO3 link

Masterlist I Next Chapter ->

Chapter 1 - Whisky.

When Tommy’s brother rolled into town, ragged little kid in tow, you thought nothing of it. Just another pair of wanderers looking for someplace to call home. You continued to shear the sheep, the musty smell of oily wool a comfort from a long forgotten time before the outbreak. The large, wrought iron clippers heavy in your hand as you diligently snipped away the noise comforting like the ticking of a wonky metronome. Only later did you learn that the stranger was Tommy’s brother.

“Hey Joel!” A young voice called out from the far end of the shed, “Look sheep!”

“Hey you’re right, lots of them.” The familiar Texas drawl made you think Tommy had stopped by, but she had said Joel. Seemed like he was always with the kid, protecting her. The thought made you smile as you let one of the sheep go, wool piling up around you like a warm, stuffy fortress. You got up and stretched in the mid-morning chill of Winter in Wyoming. Your back hurt, your knees groaned, but you were smiling.

Hard work is it’s own reward.

Your father’s words echoed in your mind, but you couldn’t really remember his voice, not anymore.

“Hey there miss, can I pet them?” The young girl’s voice broke you from your thoughts and you smiled down at her with genuine affection. She was small, wiry even, with a bright and eager smile and quick, bright eyes. The scar above her eyebrow made you smile, you had a similar one on your cheek, remembering the anxiety such a blemish had caused you as a girl before the world ended. The young girl seemed to wear it with pride, not covering it with a hat, or with her hair.

“Of course, sheep are like big dogs, they love the attention.” She replied, heading over to the gate at the end of the barn where the young girl and her guardian stood. You regard the gruff, angry looking man with a smirk, having dealt with his kind from a young age. He clearly didn’t think much of you, judging form his glare. But he seemed to look at everyone that way, everyone except her.

“You can pet them too y’know.” You say pointedly, catching the dark, brooding eyes with your own, challenging him a little.

“I’m fine.” He replied and looked away, not earning to hold your gaze.

“Joel what the hell, you love sheep, come on look at this one, it loves it!” The kid bellowed incredulously at his denial. You liked her already, The brooding, unemotional hard guy was powerless at the hands of the snarky girl.

Joel.

The name suited him, stoic, strong, fatherly, you thought to yourself as he caught your gaze again. His dark eyes softening slightly as he bent to the whims of the kid. There it was, the look that captivated you, the look that spread across his face despite himself as he lowered his walls. His full lips curved up into well kept whiskers, his strong nose in profile as you watch him. You find yourself imagining what it would feel like to kiss those lips, your nose ghosting up against his as he holds you tightly to him with those strong, work hardened arms.

“Oh you do like that don’t you.” Joel crooned to the happy little sheep the kid was fussing. You snap out of your inappropriate thoughts and saunter up to the pair, your overalls covered in sheep grease, your hair braided down your back, and your gloved hands on your hips as you really look at the pair.

“Why’re you shearing them in the winter?” Joel asks pointedly, staring you down, the look accusing you of doing something wrong. He clearly knew something about farming and sheep if he was already questioning your expertise, or he was just being a man, trying to tell a woman how to do her job. But you smirk at the challenge, you’d normally rip someone a new one for being so brazen about your work.

“Because, we need the wool, we have folks making clothes non-stop from our little fuzzy friends here.” You reply dryly, daring him to challenge you further.

“What about the cold?!” The kid protested as she realised Joel had a point.

“We have the dam to fuel the heaters here, you point to the heat lamps that lined the long sheep shed, we have to keep them penned in the Winter anyway,” You respond directly to the young woman this time, “Too many predators nowadays to let them roam, and it’s not like there’s much food out there for them anyway.”

“Nature restoring it’s balance I guess.” Joel said absently as he looked towards the mountain ranges to his right. He clearly had more to say but decided against it, you wonder if it was because you were now interacting with the kid.

“That’s one way to look at it,” You grumble at the stoic man with an exaggerated eye roll, “Hey what was your name kiddo?”

“I’m Ellie, and this is-“

“Joel, Tommy’s brother right?” You ask knowingly, the gossip had spread, and you knew you had taken a chance with the question but the guarded look the man gave you was enough to tell it all. You smiled brightly at him as you extended your hand to him to shake. He took it, his grip firm and warm. You extended your hand to Ellie as well, knowing too well the benefits of including young girls when it came to moments like this.

“Nice to meet’ya.” Ellie grinned, taking your hand in hers with vigour. You notice a small smile from Joel at the gesture and a small smile mirrors on your lips as you realise he’s absently approved of you, even if only slightly.

“I’ve got lots of sheep to shear today, but if you’re free later, I’d love to spend some time with y’all.” You smile brightly at the pair. Ellie looked ecstatic at the idea but Joel’s jaw clenched and his eyes darkened.

“I appreciate it, but we’re not staying long.” Joel deflected, his stony mask sliding back into place.

“No bother, but if you do stick around, you know where to find me.” You nod at the pair and return to the sheep. Your mind is distracted as you remember the small smile on his gruff, stubbly face. How you wanted to make him smile like that again, how you wanted to make him laugh.

You’d locked down that part of you, the part that never really had the chance to swoon over boys, because the world had been so damned harsh. You’d just gotten on, kept on surviving, moving when it was necessary. But you’d been alone for a long time, so the small twitch of his smile, the firm grip of his hand, it was exhilarating. You shake your head and smile at the silly feeling of butterflies in your stomach as you resume your routine. It was a lovely sensation, a blip in the radar of the monotony of life. That was surely all it was, just a fleeting sensation that would fade as soon as they moved on.

I forgot to tell them my name.

You laugh aloud to yourself, the noise earning an irritated bleat from the sheep you were wrangling as you cut a little too close to the skin.

“Sorry girl, I’ll pay more attention this time.” You apologised to the ewe and continued on, daydreaming about the broody man with a strong nose, and the quirky, strong young woman he protected as his own.

***

“You ok?” The low drawl of Joel’s voice startled you. You look up to see that you had fallen asleep on the chair you used to work on, shears still in hand. You swear you hear a chuckle come from the intruder but it was brief and you were still groggy with sleep.

“Shit yes, what time is it?” You ask as you rub the back of your neck, the knotted muscles stiff and tender under the skin.

“Well after midnight.” He admitted with a chuckle as he shifted his weight onto his other leg, the gate squealing as the bare metal latch scraped against the gate.

“Damn it all.” You curse as you look up into the dark eyes of a man that captured your fancy. You had only gotten three quarters of the shearing done that was needed, you’d have to work through your day off tomorrow. You walk up to him with a limp as you knead out a tight muscle in your right thigh.

“Want to get a drink?” He asked, leaning against the gate still, as if barring your exit, he was a dark silhouette against the compound’s lighting. But you could still remember the strong curve of his nose, the silver peppered dark hair, his full, expressive lips.

“I need a shower and a change of clothes, do you mind drinking at mine?” You ask, not wanting to mingle with the rest of the commune members, and you needed to get the smell of sheep off you. It was cloying and comforting while working but the moment you want to relax it’s the last thing you want to smell.

“By all means.” Joel drawled, waiting for you to move, even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you could feel them on you. He still hasn’t moved and you feel your heart race.

Is he testing me?

“Alright, I’m game.” You scoff and shunt the gate against his hands, looking up at him as you do. He grunts and steps back, as if he forgot that he was leaning on the gate. You let out a clear, triumphant laugh, more at your own boldness more than anything else, your stomach is doing flips as he grumbled something incoherent under his breath as he steps away. You swing the gate out in the absence of his weight and step into the thoroughfare, re-seating the gate with a clang as you leave.

“After you.” Joel held his hand out, gesturing for you to lead the way. You are slightly grateful of the long walk to your home on the other side of town. It gave you time to judge this stranger before letting him cross your threshold.

“So, you and Ellie,” You muse after a few moments of silence, you had reached Jackson’s Main Street, sounds of general merrymaking buzzing about the different establishments filled the air, “What’s your deal?”

“I’m helping her get to where she needs to be.” He answered bluntly, a practiced, rehearsed answer. But you respect that, the world was a horrible place, not everyone wanted to be open. He doesn’t break stride, used to answering the question it seemed.

“Noble.” You respond softly, not really knowing what to say other than that. You both walk in an oddly comfortable silence for some time, the snow had begun to drift in again and you shudder. Without missing a beat, Joel was at your side.

“I won’t offer you my jacket, that’s a stupid movie cliché,” He grumbles as he wraps his arm around your waist, “But body heat is body heat.” The heat that flooded you had nothing to do with shared body heat, but the hand on your hip. You gasped as his firm hand held you tight against him.

“Bold.” You remark, having way too much fun as his warm body pulled you against him. His hand held you to him the whole walk home, it was purposeful but not probing. You begin to doubt how much was practicality and how much was just an excuse to touch you. You shake your head, knowing you’re being ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the blush creeping across your cheeks at the thought of the large man wanting you.

“I’m just practical.” He shrugged and you continued on for some time until the modest two-story building loomed up on the right. Your house. It was once a pharmacy, the little green cross still just visible on the swinging sign that no-one had ever bothered to remove from the porch overhang.

“Well, this is me,” You remark, pulling yourself begrudgingly out of the taller man’s strong arm as you reach the steps to your porch, “You still want to come in?”

“I didn’t walk this far in the cold not to.” Joel quipped, his smile infectious as you shake your head. You celebrate internally, you’d made him smile.

“Well, welcome to my home.” You shrug as you climb the steps, opening the door to the long hallway.

“Shoes on or off?” Joel asked almost without thinking, a hang-up from a long forgotten time.

“What do you think?” You ask him with a sly smile, but you shut the door behind you both, flicking on the lights as you made your way to the kitchen. You’re nervous, but so is he.

“Yeah sorry force of habit.” He shrugged as he followed you to the kitchen.

Old habits die hard.

You think to yourself as you try and imagine the last time he had to take his shoes off to enter a house. Once in the kitchen you gesture to the open plan living room, a single couch sitting facing the kitchen. You then head back along the hallway to the stairs, a little too eagerly as you practically charge up the stairs.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, please make yourself comfortable.” You call back to him as you head up the creaky stairs to the bathroom at the end of the hall. You lock the door and turn on the faucet, the old shower head spraying loudly into the bathtub as you pull the shower curtain across. You catch a look at yourself in the battered old mirror over the sink and laugh softly at the rosy cheeks and wide eyes looking back at you. You hop in the shower and wash the sheep grease, sweat and grime from your body and rinse your hair rather than washing it, not wanting to waste a moment more than needed. Towelling off in record speed you throw on an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt, you step into your slippers and head back down to find Joel looking through your small collection of books on the mantelpiece.

“Sorry, I’ll be with you now!” You call as you head into the dining room where the liquor cabinet held the last four bottles of real whisky you had been able to keep. You grab glasses and a bottle of good whisky from the cabinet, it was open but your dad always said whisky never went off. Scavenging for good whisky was dangerous, often meaning trips into Infected swarmed cities and large towns.

You walked into the living room, beckoning Joel to follow and took a seat on the sofa in the middle of the barren room, setting down the glasses and bottle on the old coffee table. The memory of your father brought you a strange feeling of melancholy as you mentioned him, but Joel’s excitement brought you back to the here and now.

“Jesus,” Joel breathed as he saw the bottle, “Is that the real deal?”

“Talisker Scotch, yessir.” You smile at his awe-struck face. He picked up the bottle and cradled it with the same care as one would have with a newborn.

“How?” Joel breathed, incredulous.

“My dad was a scotch connoisseur, I’ve kept a few of his bottles for special occasions.” You admit, holding your hand out to take the bottle back to actually pour the whisky. Joel eased himself down next to you, the sofa being the only seat available.

“You sure you wanna share this with me?” Joel asked with a raised brow.

“Shut up and drink with me,” You bark, desperate to just have a connection with another person for once, “I am sure I want to share this with you.” You admit, your cheeks flushed.

“Alright, don’t have to tell me twice.” Joel shrugged and you noticed his gaze wandering around the sparse living room.

“So, what do I owe the pleasure of you stopping by?” You ask as you pour a generous measure, the stopper of the bottle making a nostalgic squeak as you replace it.

“Honestly?” Joel asked with a smirk as he raised his glass to yours, “You’re the only person in this whole town who doesn’t look at me like I’m some feral dog. Tommy included.” Your glasses clink together and the smooth, slightly peaty spirit hits your tongue, the taste so familiar, yet so easily forgotten when drinking the moonshine of Jackson.

“Not one to sit alone with your thoughts then either?” You pry, if the man wanted to be alone there were plenty of places for him to go, his own accommodation for starters. You think as you sit in silence for a while, it was an oddly comforting silence all things considered. You, a sheep farmer with few friends, him a gruff outsider who didn’t seem to be looking for any.

“Got too much on my mind to be left to my own devices.” He shrugged as he nursed the whisky, his eyes not meeting yours. His brow was pinched, as if recalling something painful but he rolled his neck with an audible pop and relaxed.

“So, what did you do before the end of the world?” You ask finally, both to fill the silence but because you were curious. You’d guessed maybe ex-military from his general demeanour and build.

“Contractor, mostly house construction and renovation stuff,” He said with a soft fondness in his voice, “You?” He asked, a look in his eye you couldn’t quite place, maybe he was trying to guess your age.

“I was ten, planning to run away from home on the worst night in the world.” You say softly before exhaling a long, shuddering sigh. You drained the glass and cradled it in your hand, trying to distract yourself from the memory of that night.

“Shit, that’s rough.”

“Can’t imagine it was easy for anyone that day, no matter where you were.” You shrug, realising you weren’t ready to talk about that night, not now, not to some man you only just met. You’d never talked about it before, it didn’t matter, it was the past.

“No, I guess not, but ten that’s some shit to deal with.” Joel responded gruffly as he drained the last of his glass absently, looking down in shock and disappointment at the empty glass.

“Want another?” You ask, you still had a few unopened, rarer bottles to use for truly special occasions in your cellar, but this was the last of the less precious stuff before you had to go back to moonshine. But for some reason, you were willing to share with this handsome stranger with a stormy disposition.

“One more couldn’t hurt.” He smiled at you with pearly teeth, his eyes shining in the low light of your living room. You paused for a moment and took him in, the well kept but thin facial hair lined his strong jaw, his deep brown eyes, he was gorgeous. You were already memorising the way his smile made his cheeks dimple.

“Famous last words.” You chuckled as you pour another generous measure.

“Ten, Jesus what a rough time to have to deal with the end of the world, did you have any grand ambitions in life before it all came crashing down?” He asked softly, his tone brooding and contemplative.

“I wanted to design computers,” You laugh despite yourself, “Or maybe learn to code, or a vet, I was young it changed a lot, it didn’t matter though none of that was going to happen.” You shrug, letting the whisky coat your tongue as you take a small sip, letting it rest for a moment before swallowing.

“No? Why’s that?” Joel shifted on the couch so his arm draped over the old leather back, his left leg pulled up onto the cushion to look at you more intently. He was clearly trying to keep the conversation focused on you.

“I came from a family of sheep farmers from Montana,” You admit, catching the bemused smile on his face before he took a sip of whisky, “I know, the irony that it’s what I do now is not lost on me.” You roll your eyes and you catch sight of the bead of whisky that lingered on his lip, his tongue darted out of his mouth to catch it as he waited for you to continue. The vision of his tongue on his lip was burned into your mind as your stomach warmed delightfully.

“But yeah, youngest of four, only girl, Mom was raising me to be the woman of the house, and dad wanted me to keep farming. I was only just allowed to go to school, my brothers actually fought my corner on that one,” You smile, remembering when Tobias had argued with your father until they were both ready to throw punches, “But I bet you know what traditional families are like, coming from Texas.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Joel said almost fondly, the look on his face encouraging you to continue as you mirror his seating position, but instead pulling both feet up onto the sofa, settling back against the arm as you allow yourself to rest your sore calves.

“Yeah, I owe Tobias a lot, he was my oldest brother, fiercely protective, to a fault at times.” You laugh, the sadness still at the edge of your mind, but it had been twenty years, the tears had stopped coming years ago.

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Joel pushed, he was good at directing the conversation back to you. You barely remember what Tobias looked like, nor your brothers except they all had the same sandy brown hair, your mother’s kind eyes, and your father’s broad frame.

“Stories,” You correct him, taking another sip of your drink and he did the same, “But the best was when I was being bullied for being in computer club.”

“Computer club?” Joel raised an eyebrow playfully as his smile took your breath away. You cough to clear your throat and smile back at him.

“I was a obsessed with computers from my first day at school. I was the youngest sign up for AV and computer clubs, and the only girl ever.” You smile at the memory of how proud you had felt earning those titles, “I even tried to convince Dad to look into the developments of using computers for farming one time,” You scoff and look Joel in the eye, “Want to know what he said to me?”

“What?” Joel didn’t seem to mind you had diverted from the original story, he seemed to genuinely enjoy listening to you. His eyes were trained on you as he took a long, deliberate sip on his drink, his tongue scraped across his bottom lip, slower this time that you could have sworn it was deliberate.

“My father’s father survived without bringing phoney tech into the farm, as did my father, and I am not about to start letting the machines take my job.” You imitated his voice as best you could remember, but the message was clear as Joel chuckled, a short, barking sound that filled your already fluttering chest with desire.

“To be honest with you I never bothered with computers, wasn’t really my thing.” He admitted.

“It wasn’t many people’s thing, especially not girls.” You shrug, trying not to let the bitter feeling of regret tug at your mind, wishing the apocalypse hadn’t happened, that

“So what did your brother do?”

“Oh he kicked the asses of the kids who were bullying me and my friend Lee, got suspended for it too.” You go to take another sip from your glass but realise it’s empty.

“I should head back.” Joel nodded to the clock on the wall, it was two o’clock.

“Christ, yeah that’s not good, I’ve got so much work to do tomorrow.” You groan, you don’t want him to leave, you want to stay talking to him for hours, he actually listened, and seemed to be enjoying the distraction as much as you were enjoying providing it.

“I could always help out?” Joel offered sincerely as he finished his drink, setting the glass on the table, not taking his eyes off you the whole time. There was a burning sincerity in his dark eyes.

“I’d like that, I start at 6 though so you better be on your way.” You grumble, knowing you could have started later if you had finished the shearing today.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” He smirked as he stood, you followed suit and stumbled slightly, standing up way too quickly after two large measures of whisky. You pitched backwards and your heart flew to your throat but his strong hands caught you at the elbows and you blushed at the jolt of sensation of his rough hands on your bare forearms as he pulled you upright. Your toes curled against the wool lined slippers and a gasp left your lips as you looked up into Joel’s handsome face, “Easy there.” He mumbled, his voice husky as he looked down at you with a wry smile on his lips. You expected him to let you go but he didn’t. He just held you there, your face inches away from his chest.

“Sorry it’s been a long day.” You fumble as his thumbs rub absently across the thin skin in the crook of your elbow. The sensation is maddening, and the look he is giving you sends shivers down your spine. His eyes are hooded as he looks down at you through thick lashes.

“Thanks for the drink.” He breathed. You watched his lips move as he spoke, those thick, inviting, kissable lips. You bite your lip, the tension bouncing between your bodies as you beg him to lean in and kiss you.

“Any time.” You whisper in response, your body abuzz with anticipation. You feel yourself leaning in, desperate for the embrace of a complete stranger.

“I should go.” He murmured but his grip didn’t ease, and his eyes drank you in as he seemed to be transfixed. You were stuck in a mutual stalemate, battling reason with desire and it was agony. For you both.

“Yeah.” Your voice is so low you doubt he can hear you, but his grip tightens and his lips find yours, a gentle fleeting brush before he pulls away. You are on fire as the need to touch him grows and you close your eyes, fully expecting him to kiss you again. But it doesn’t come.

“Shit I’m sorry, this isn’t ok.” He releases you abruptly, your eyes spring open and you feel the bitter sting of rejection pierce your heart. You straighten up with a fake smile plastered on your face. Your hard walls struggling to come back up as you feel so dejected.

“No you’re right, this was a mistake.” You deflect, stepping back and straightening your jeans.

“Me ‘n Ellie’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked as he did the same, his face was blank, expressionless as you watched his chest heave under his plaid shirt.

“Only if you have time, no pressure.” You close yourself off again, the risk hadn’t paid off, opening up was a mistake.

“Alright.” Is all he could say as he avoids you gaze. You walk past him and practically charge towards the door as you fight back the tears in your eyes as your chest heaves with barely concealed sobs.

“Night Joel.” You say softly as he walks past you out of the door.

“Night-“ He falters realising you’d never given him your name. The realisation stung more than the rejection itself.

He doesn’t even know your name.

It was childish, bitter and petty, but you couldn’t help but feel angry at him, and yourself. You shut the door without even giving your name and lock the door with a fierce flick of your wrist. You head upstairs, flicking the lights off as you go, and throw yourself into the double bed face first. You hold your breath, face buried in the bedding as you will yourself not to cry, to be a fucking grown woman about it. But the emotional strings he pulled on today, the talking about your past, it was all just too much. You cried, body rocking sobs of grief as the tears you had kept bottled up for over a decade came like a tidal wave.

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