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familyvideostevie · 6 months

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watching you with wonder

joel miller x reader joel claims to have heard something interesting. too bad he keeps insisting he needs more information before he can tell you | 5.4k a/n: same universe as come care about me but not necessary to read that one first! joel is soft, this is my version of him where he and ellie heal and he gets to have a life etc etc etc | domesticity, post-part i jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip but good thing you are too, a fair amount of kissing, fluff, softness, peace and all that good stuff. part 3 here! series masterlist here.

It's been a long day. The supply run you'd been dreading went off without a hitch but you were out of the gate at sun-up and in the saddle for most of the morning and afternoon. Your legs are sore, your back is sore, and you're dirty from a day outside the walls.

You haven't seen Joel since this morning. Not unusual, not by any means. Most days you're both doing something in town, occasionally one of you out on patrol. You're partial to the plant work and Joel likes to chop wood or check out houses that need upgrades with Tommy. But after a day like today you want nothing more than to go home and complain about how much you miss cars while Joel works the knots out of your shoulders.

But tonight is Festival Night. Nothing big, just a dance at the barn that serves as the community center with music and drinks and food. And Joel, despite his insistence that he's Jackson's resident grump, will be there, because Tommy will have asked him to go and he doesn't like disappointing his brother. And, though he'll never admit it even to you, he enjoys community events. He gets to see the people he loves having a nice time and feeling safe.

So you head from the stables to the main hall, not bothering to stop at home. Jackson seems to be lit up extra special, the air a little lighter due to the laughter and music brightening the night. The noise becomes almost overwhelming when you open the door and slide inside, dropping your pack against the wall. It's much warmer in here and you unbutton your coat as you make your way through the crowd, waving to people as you go.

Joel is here somewhere but you don't try too hard to spot him. You know he'll find you. Someone calls your name and you pivot on your heel to find Ellie waving at you from a...poker table?

"Wanna join?" she asks once you walk over. Next to her is Tommy, who looks significantly less excited than she does. "I'm teaching Tommy how to play poker. Oh, sorry, I'm fucking smoking Tommy at poker."

"I know how to play, you little shit," Tommy growls. "Who taught you? This isn't poker, this is a fuckin' massacre."

Ellie cackles and tips her chair back so she's balancing on the back legs.

"I'll pass this round," you tell her. "Looks like you've got him handled."

"You just want to find Joel." She looks at you in that uncanny way of hers like she knows all of your secrets. But this is one you have no problem admitting.

You smile at her. "Seen him?"

"Now that you're here I'm sure he'll slink out of whatever corner he stuck himself in," Tommy grumbles. "Girl, you sure you ain't countin' cards?"

You leave them to it and wander over to the bar. Astrid pours you a glass of something amber. You take a sip and let the burn warm your throat, your stomach. The music behind you picks up and there's laughter and you turn to see people pairing up and flocking to the floor.

You close your eyes to enjoy the sounds that mean peace, safety, home. It never gets old and you never quite get used to it. You inhale deep and -- ah, yes. There it is. A smile spreads across your face as you breathe in wood glue, gunpowder, the soap you make at home. Your heart beats a little faster, even after all this time.

"Hi," you say, opening your eyes. Joel stands in front of you, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass similar to your own. His hair curls at his collar, edges still a little wet from the shower he must have taken before coming here. His shirt is rolled to his elbows, his jacket clearly discarded somewhere. Your gaze trails up his chorded forearms, his watch securely in place as always. This is what you've called his "nice" shirt, a deep green that makes the grey of his beard all the more striking and brings out his eyes.

Eyes that settle on you in a way that sends heat up your spine.

"Howdy," he says. "You just get here?"

"Like you weren't watching the door for me," you tease. He shrugs and reaches for you, his free hand curling around your hip to tug you close for just a few moments. Joel presses his lips to your cheek lightly, his beard scratching your skin as he pulls away and settles at your side, arm resting on the bar behind you.

"Well, I ain't seen you all day," he reminds you. As if you could forget. Every second you're not looking at him you sort of wish you were. There aren't many good things left in your life -- all of them are in this town, now -- and you tend to hold on to the ones you still have with both hands. Joel, despite the fact that he'd argue with you over it, is your good thing. Your best thing.

"Miss me?"

"Dumb question," he mutters.

His fingers brush against the back of your bicep, warm through your jacket. "How was the run?"

"Easy. Long." You take a sip of your drink. It's still warming but doesn't measure up to the solid warmth of the man beside you. "I came straight here."

"That would explain why you smell like shit," he drawls. You smack his chest. He doesn't so much as flinch.

"Rude."

Joel watches the crowd and you watch him. That's how it usually goes with you two. You figure he's watching for threats, for any sign of something going wrong. It's a habit most folks here find hard to break. He's watching Ellie, who has left the poker table behind, twirl some of the children around with Dina, he's watching Tommy try to teach a few drunk guys how to square dance like he does every Festival. Joel curls his hand around your shoulder and you lean back into the touch.

On a night like tonight when joy is more contagious than the fungus spreading through the rotting world, Joel loosens up a little. It's a good look on him and it only ever means good things for you -- he laughs more, he touches you more. But most importantly you know he lets life in. He lets that knot you know is in his chest, the one made of fear and loss and survival and all of the horrible fucked up things he's seen and done, he lets it loosen even just a bit. He lets himself feel the good things, too. How much the people in this town respect him, care about him. How much they appreciate him. How much they love him, how much you love him.

You look at him in the soft light of the barn. There's a tug to his mouth that you know.

He looks smug. It's a nice look on him, a relaxed one. He looks too handsome for his own good. And though you love him, love how he's enjoying the night, like hell you're going to let him stand there and get away with whatever he's cooking up.

"Joel Miller, why are you looking so pleased with yourself?"

"No reason," he says. He takes another sip of his drink, side-eyeing you over the rim. This man.

You tap the heel of your boot against his. "Don't make me beg."

His eyes flash but he turns into your space, the solid shape of him curling around you as well as his arm. In another world, in another life, he could be a handsome man picking you up at a bar.

"I heard somethin'," he says, voice low. "Somethin'...interestin'."

"Really?" You look around the barn as if the object of his gossip will materialize in front of you. "Tell me."

He leans back and you have to stop yourself from following. "Don't think so."

"Joel."

This man can be such a shit when he wants to be.

He holds the hand carrying his glass up in surrender, the brown liquor sloshing close to the rim. "Hey now, don't go shootin' the messenger."

"I can't because he won't tell me the message."

"S'not anything worth tellin' just yet," he drawls. "I need a little more intel. Y'know, make it worth your while."

You sigh, hamming it up a bit by thunking your forehead to his collar. Joel huffs a laugh and fully drapes his arm across your shoulders, warm and solid.

It's all fun but you know there's a note of truth to it. Joel can lie better than most people but he doesn't lie to you. "Fine. You get away with it for now."

The song changes to something old and slow, something you recognize but don't quite remember the name of.

"Only if you dance with me," you say. You swallow the last of your drink and push off the bar, sliding out from under his arm. You hold your hand out to him and wiggling your fingers. "It's only fair."

He sighs like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. And he is, sometimes. But right now his cheeks are a little flushed from the drink and your flirting and you want to see how far you can take it.

"Unless I smell too much like shit," you goad. You don't actually think he'll go for it. Joel doesn't dance. It feels like the kind of good time, the kind of joy that is forever stuck in the past, left behind twenty odd years ago. Honestly, you think he'll just drag you home and have his way with you in your warm bed.

But he manages to surprise you.

Joel throws back his drink and grabs your hand. His thumb strokes your skin.

"S'pose it is," he says. "You don't smell that bad."

A delighted laugh spills from you. He leads you to the already-crowded dance floor, pulling you close with a hand on your back. You rest your arm on his broad shoulder and hook your thumb in his collar.

"Not so bad, is it?" you say. Your faces are so close you're practically cheek to cheek. You feel his breath on the shell of your ear, his beard a little prickly against your cheek.

"Could be worse." You and Joel gently sway and you toy with the ends of his hair. Over his shoulder you can see Dina and Ellie dancing, arms wrapped around each other tight. You close your eyes and match your breaths to Joel's.

"We should do this more often," you say. "Bet they'd let you play guitar at the next festival if you wanted."

Joel hums.

"Don't forget you have to deliver the firewood to the school tomorrow." He presses his hand to your back and pulls you even closer. "Are you listening to me?"

"Mhm."

"Joel --" Your eyes fly open and you try to pull away to goad him but he holds you steadily against him.

"Hush," he says, fingers squeezing yours. "I'm enjoyin' the moment."

You allow it.

___

The gossip Joel mentioned is in the back of your mind but you know he'll tell you when he's satisfied with his information gathering or whatever the fuck he's up to. Sure, it's silly, maybe even pointless but you like to think of it as a display of the trust you have in each other. You trust Joel with your life and you've put that into practice, watched him bloody his knuckles for the ones he loves. You also trust him with your heart, your body, your mind. There's no part of you that his hands haven't touched, haven't loved in the jagged, intense way of his.

Plus you enjoy seeing him pleased with himself, which you know he will be once he has the whole story to tell you. It's not a mood you see on him often.

You finally have a free night and Ellie asks you to come over to try out a new video game Jesse found for her on patrol. Joel waves you off when you offer to stay in with him instead.

"Means I'll get some peace and quiet to finish my book," he grumbles, handing you your coat even though you're walking across the yard. He's already peeled off his boots and looks half-awake in the dim light of your entryway, glasses tucked into the collar of his sweater.

"More like you're going to sit in bed and fall asleep reading without me talking to keep you awake."

He sends you off with an eye roll and a soft kiss which you turn into two more, just because. Maybe a few years ago he'd sit in the chair downstairs and wait for you to come home. He does like to play his guitar on the porch when it's not too cold, keep an eye on things. But you'll be with Ellie just out back and it's been a long week. It's no small point of pride that, with the help of your reassurance and persistent care and his own conviction, Joel allows himself to relax a little. "Have fun."

You do. Ellie and Joel have a history that is complex and tender, so much so that sometimes it's too much for both of them. After it seemed like she was open to it, you've tried to make sure you and her have a relationship all your own. She's smart and funny and fiercely loyal to the people she cares about. You feel lucky to be one of them.

But she still annihilates your ass when it comes to video games.

"You know," she says, cracking her knuckles after yet another defeat. "It's embarrassing as shit how you literally lived in a time where you could play these like, whenever you wanted. And yet it's me, who was born after the world ended, who keeps winning."

You make sure to look unamused. "Whatever." You stand, stretching out your spine with your arms above your head and yawn. "It's teenage luck." You have no idea how this girl stays up so late all the time.

"I guess I'm just good at everything."

"Oh, you sure about that?" She hands you your coat and tugs on the strings of her sweatshirt. "I've seen you in a kitchen. You might want to rethink that one."

"Psh," she says, waving you off. "Who needs to cook, anyway?"

You slide into your boots and shake your head. "I'm actually shocked Dina puts up with you."

"Hey, fuck you!" she cries, though she's hiding a smile. "No insulting me in my own home. It's Joel's fault, anyway. He can't cook either."

You snort. "Don't I know it." She grins at you fully, the one you call her shark-tooth smile, and you grin back. "Thanks for this, kiddo. I had fun."

"Yeah, maybe one day you'll win." You tug her in for a quick hug which she allows before squirming away. "Alright, alright. Go make sure he didn't burn down the house without you, or something."

It's late, late enough that you feel yourself getting more tired with each step back to the porch. Joel left the back door unlocked for you. You latch the deadbolt behind you and peel off your outer layers in the dark. A quick glance in the kitchen tells you Joel put your stuff from dinner away and is probably in bed. He's left out your mugs, ready for the morning, and the list he's been making of things you need to do around the house before it snows. You love to see the pieces of your life on display like this -- signs that this is a home.

You don't bother being quiet when you climb up the stairs because you know he'll be pissed if you don't wake him to let him know you're home. The bedroom light is on but when you actually go in you see he's in bed with his book in his lap, glasses sliding down his nose. His eyes are closed and his bare chest rises slowly.

He's probably only half-asleep, probably heard you come in and decided it was safe enough to shut his eyes until you say something. So you get ready for bed quickly, tugging on soft clothes and brushing your teeth before creeping over to his side of the bed and perching on the edge of it, resting your hand on his thigh under the covers.

"Joel," you say softly. "Joel, are you asleep?"

"Yes," he grumbles. His eyes flutter open, the piercing grey a little clouded with tiredness. He reaches for his glasses and pulls them from his face a bit clumsily. "You okay? You n'Ellie have fun?"

"We did. She's so good at video games it's a little scary." You pluck the frames from his hand and fold them, setting them on his bedside table with his book. He grunts and pushes himself up a little more in bed, his leg pressing against your tailbone through the blankets. It's a real show of your restraint that you don't run your hands over the golden and hairy expanse of his chest, the broad line of his shoulders. Instead you reach for his face and he lets you, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tries and fails to hide his amusement as you trail your fingers through his hair. Just being here with him makes you a little sleepy, your body catching up with your mind at how you always feel safest when he's in the room with you. "S'cold, though. I think we might need to put some more insulation in the shed for her."

"Alright," he says. Joel wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls your palm to his cheek but quickly flinches away. "Christ," he mutters. "Your hands are cold." He encases both of your hands in his and rubs slowly, throughly.

"Let me get in bed, then." You make no effort to move.

Joel blows on your fingers and, in a move that's tender even for him, presses his lips to their tips. "I ain't holdin' you here."

"Sarcasm," you say. "And Ellie claims you're not funny." Joel scoffs and you laugh, rising from his side of the bed and making your way around to yours. Joel flicks back the covers and you slide in, facing him.

"Light off?" he asks. You nod. He shuffles around to flip the switch and then settles into his side with a groan. It's dark but you know his face with your eyes closed, let alone in the moonlight of your bedroom. The gash on the bridge of his nose, the scruff of his greying beard, the nicks along his cheeks and temples. The age spots, the wrinkles, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, these days more from smiles and laughter than stress and worry. Or so you like to think.

"Got any gossip for me yet?"

Joel huffs. "Not quite."

"Jooooooel," you whine, scooting closer. You hook a leg over his and slide your hand over his stomach, fingers catching on the hair above the waistband of his sleep pants. He makes a noise deep in his throat but otherwise allows it.

"I ain't givin' you half-assed information," he says. "It'll be worth the wait."

With Joel, it always is. You consider dragging it out a little more but you're cold and tired and he's so warm and you barely saw him at all today. "Alright," you say. You pull yourself even closer under the covers, dragging your nose over the hollow of his throat, his beard a delicious scratch on your skin. Your hand curls around his hip and he reaches for you on instinct, warm, callused palms sliding under your sleep shirt to press into your bare skin.

He huffs a tired laugh, chest rumbling with amusement. "What're you up to?"

"You're warm," you say into his skin.

"And you're handsy."

You trail your lips up to his and press them to the corner of his mouth. "You love it."

"Guess I do," Joel says. He catches you in a lazy, slow kiss, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you part them. He licks into your mouth like he's got all the time in the world and you let him. His nose presses against yours and you sigh even further into the embrace, pressing as close as you can, as if you could crawl into him and stay there forever. Any cold lingering in your bones is dispelled by Joel's touch, by the thigh he wedges between your legs. This could turn into something more, and you love when it does, but tonight it's just about being close. His hand trails up your side to cup your face as the kisses get lazier, sleepier. You're slotting his bottom lip between yours when he pulls back and --

Yawns in your face.

He looks a little surprised and then frowns. You laugh and smooth the crease between his brows before kissing him once more.

"Jesus, Joel," you say. "Bedtime."

"Was sleepin' fine before you got here," he grumbles, but in the same breath he wraps his arm around you and tugs you with him as he turns onto his back so your head lays on his chest. You match your breaths to his. He presses a kiss to your hair.

___

Two nights later you wake to an empty bed.

You sleepily trail your hand through the sheets and find they still carry Joel's warmth. He must have gotten up a few minutes ago. You force your eyes to open but don't see a light in the bathroom, find no shadow in your eyesight. You can hear his voice in your head saying go back to sleep, s'nothin' but you know better than to listen to him when it comes to this. It's not like you'll be able to until you know he's okay, anyway.

So you wrap the blanket from the foot of your bed around yourself and shuffle through the house and down the stairs.

"Joel?" you call quietly.

"Kitchen," he replies, a warm grumble in the still of the night. You didn't even look at the clock when you got out of bed but it must be late.

He sits in the dark at your small kitchen table, eyes fixed on Ellie's garage out back. He's put a shirt on. Of course. Nightmare. This is where he always sits after he has one. His hands are wrapped around his mug. Based on the smell it's chamomile tea -- the only time he'll drink it instead of coffee is on nights like tonight. He had no idea it even grew in the greenhouses here until you presented him with a jar of it for Ellie back when you were still tiptoeing around whatever was between you. Those days are long gone.

"You okay?" You keep your voice hushed. It's rare these days that he'll want to be alone. You're the only one who gets to see him like this other than Ellie. It took a while but now Joel lets you comfort him, he lets you hold him together when he needs it.

He tears his eyes from the window to meet yours, chin tipped up as he gets a good look at you in the dark.

"M'alright." You take a few more steps into the kitchen and he frowns. "You cold?" He reaches for you with one hand, beckoning you close. You step into his space and he wraps one arm around you, leans his head against your soft stomach. You untangle from the blanket slightly to run your fingers through his hair. The touch is as grounding for him as it is for you.

"What can I do?" you ask him, ignoring his question.

You can feel the warmth of his palm through the blanket and your sleep shirt. "This is just fine. Just need a minute."

"You wanna take that minute on the couch?" He grunts his assent and you step back to allow him to get up. He leaves his mug on the table but catches your hand to pull you with him.

Joel sighs when he settles into the worn cushions, knees spread wide and head tipped back as be breathes. He doesn't look any more tired than usual but you can tell he's still holding onto whatever sent him down here.

You press into his side, legs curled underneath you. His arm settles heavily on across your shoulders and you rest a palm on his knee.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He turns his head to face you and his nostrils flare as he frowns.

"Nothin' new," he sighs. "A pretty old one, actually. Haven't had it in a while. 'Bout stuff from when we were on the road."

If he wants to say more he will. You don't know what it's like for him to worry about Ellie -- you only know how youworry. Once the sun rises he'll probably trudge over and knock on her door, ask if she wants to go for a ride. She'll complain about being woken up but she'll agree because she knows him, too. She'll see the tension at the edges of his eyes, in the set of his shoulders. There have been nights when you come downstairs to find her sleeping on the couch, too, just because she wanted to be sure he was okay.

You lean your head on his shoulder and breathe with him. He picks up your hand and rubs his thumb across the back of it slowly, as if he doesn't even know he's doing it.

Sleep is a near thing when Joel eventually clears his throat. "I got that gossip for you." His chest rumbles and you perk up, pulling back to look at him. His eyes have a bit more spark, a bit less of the far-away look he had when you came down the stairs.

"Oh, do you now? Finally?"

"You're just impatient," he says. "Hadn't heard directly from either of 'em so I wasn't sure. But I tracked it down and got it from the source."

"You sound like a detective from one of those old shows. Got it from the source," you say, pitching your voice low and imitating his drawl.

He manages to look unimpressed. "I don't have to tell you."

"Joel."

"Alright, alright. Well, it's about Wendy and Fred."

You sit up. "The couple that met on your group patrol?" It's something you and Ellie tease him about -- his accidental tendency to play matchmaker. Sometimes he leads group patrols for new folks or younger community members who are now old enough to join the roster. You think he probably enjoys scaring the shit out of them a little but he's also good at it, teaches them well and makes sure they're safe. Around the time you met you'd heard about a couple who met on a patrol and hit it off. It's happened a few more times with Joel's groups but Wendy and Fred are the only ones who have stayed together.

"Mhm. Word is they're gettin' married."

You gasp. This is very far from what you expected him to tell you. A lot of the gossip you and Joel share is about people breaking up or sleeping together or moving out of Jackson. Sometimes it's petty theft or in-fighting at the council. But this? This is downright romantic.

"Married?" It's not uncommon these days but most people don't bother. But most importantly it means one thing -- there's going to be a party. "We haven't had a wedding in...forever," you say wistfully.

"Been a few years, yeah," Joel agrees. "Folks'll be excited."

"How did you find out?"

He shifts on the couch a little and you take control of your clasped hands, holding one of his in both of yours as you trace the lines on his palm, the veins that go up his arm while he talks.

"Heard from one of the guys at the festival that Fred was lookin' for a ring. Wanted to get the word out to some supply runs but without her knowin'. But I wasn't sure, since I hadn't seen him in a while. Then I saw Wendy at the pantry few days ago and she looked real happy. I didn't pry but asked her how things were and she was chipper as hell."

"And that wasn't enough to tell me?"

He squeezes your shoulder.

"Yesterday Fred cornered me when I was headin' home and told me flat out. Thanked me for some fuckin' reason and said Wendy agreed to marry him. Kid looked like he was gonna throw up, he was so excited."

Joel's voice is warm. "You are such a romantic when you want to be," you tell him.

He smirks. "Heard that before."

"It'll be nice to have a celebration. If we're invited, you're dancing with me again."

"We better fuckin' be invited," he grumbles. "I introduced them."

"So you admit to being a matchmaker?"

He huffs. "Nah," he says, a little softer. "Dumb luck. S'how you get good things these days."

You shift under his arm a little bit. "Maybe," you reply. "I think we've earned a few of those things."

Joel drags a hand down his face. It's a motion that usually means he's chewing on what to say next. You spare him.

"This --" you gesture between the two of you "--and all of this --" you wave your hand at the room, the house "-- is more than I knew I could want. You, this house, that feisty, wonderful girl out back. This whole town. Waking up every morning and not dreading another day on this hellish planet. I didn't know this existed anymore, Joel, let alone that it was possible for me. And I think we've earned it."

He's quiet for a few breaths. "C'mere," he says softly. You don't know exactly what he means but he pulls you into his lap so you're straddling him, his arm firm around your hips. It could be a heated position, often is, but here it's just to be close. You catch yourself on his shoulders and drag your hands up to his cheeks. You hold his face in your hands, thumbs stroking the soft, forever-bruised skin under his eyes.

"You sure got a way with words," he says thickly, gaze heavy. "Don't know what I did to deserve this but I ain't gonna question it."

You wrap your arms around him and properly embrace him. He presses his palms to your back and hooks his chin over your shoulder. Your breathing syncs up and you swear your heartbeats do, too. Your whole body, your whole being tuned itself to Joel a long time ago. You'd do everything you've done twice over to get here.

As if he hears the desperate devotion of your thoughts, Joel pulls back so he can lean up for a kiss. It's more intense than you expected it to be, like he's trying to tell you something with the press of his mouth. You know what he's trying to tell you -- you always do. Joel is better at showing you how he feels than telling you.

He suckles your lower lip and you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck. He makes a noise low in his throat and you swallow it. You could touch him forever and never get enough. The firm planes of his back, the knot of tension always present in his shoulders. The scratch of his beard, the press of his nose against yours. You want to stitch yourself to him so that you never have to let go.

"S'your turn," Joel grumbles against your lips, pulling back to catch his breath.

Your brain is a little fuzzy. "Hm?"

"For somethin' juicy."

It's a funny word coming from his mouth and it makes you laugh. His arms tighten around you and he drags his nose down your neck and breathes deep. You can get some gossip for him. You'd do much worse without being asked. Sometimes you think there are no limits to what you'd do for this man. It's a big thought, a dangerous thought, one that's suited to the world you live in now. You don't mind it.

"I'll get you something good, Joel Miller. I promise."

"I know you will," he says. "I trust you."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction

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leilani-lily · 3 months

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~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 2)

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Surprise! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ Another chapter already. I actually have three already written out, so I'll be posting the next one soon too. I hope you enjoy (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

SYNOPSIS: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. You come to find the kitchen is an absolute mess, and there's no help in sight. Alastor catches you working and discovers something about you that's quite captivating. Word Count: 2 k

Chapter under the cut!

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It didn’t take long before you were settled and secure at the hotel. Introductions were made, papers were signed and soon all your stuff was whisked into your new room at the hotel. It all seemed to happen in a blur, but you were happy for the fresh start.

When you first came across the kitchen it… well, it needed some much needed TLC. Dried blood staining the walls, rusty, chipped knives, an oven covered in grime and the door on its hinges. It was dark, dirty, and smelled like rotting food (and maybe even rotting bodies? You didn’t want to think about it too much). Needless to say, you had your work cut out for you. But you knew you couldn’t do this without a little motivation.

After finally finding an outlet that worked, you plug in your trusty CD player. It was fraying a bit, and wasn’t in the best of shape, but it was one of your prized possessions. One of the first things you had bought for yourself when arriving in Hell. It was one of those machines that had a built-in alarm clock, and although you didn’t actually have any CD’s to play off it, it did come with a radio function that you abused more than the next person. It had soothed you many a lonesome night, and also pumped you up when you had work to do. With a fond smile, you set up your radio and flick through the channels before stopping at what sounded like a jazz station. Satisfied with the upbeat melody, you roll your sleeves up and get started on the deep clean.

You didn’t know how long you had been working for, 30 minutes, maybe even an hour or two. But it didn’t take long before a slither of a shadow snaked up the doorframe of the kitchen for the Radio Demon himself to emerge from the shadows. He had just been passing by when he had heard the sounds of a jazzy tune, accompanied by the sounds of a sultry voice. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he found himself here, watching you scrub on hands and knees at the tile floors.

You were covered in dirt and dust, soapy water soaking the ends of your shirt and pants. You wiped a stray bead of sweat from your forehead as your cheeks shone a shade of red from all the hard work. In short summary, you were a mess. And yet somehow he didn’t seem all that put off by it, focusing on something far more interesting.

As the radio hummed out a static version of “What a Wonderful World”, your own voice harmonized with the deeper tone that was Louis Armstrong’s. You continued to toil away, not aware of the presence behind you and actually enjoying the work, but soon the music got the better of you, and you sat up to fully embrace it. Entranced by the song, you closed your eyes and crooned along to the lyrics, sometimes singing along with Louis, sometimes choosing to harmonize and add a personal spin to it. You couldn’t help but smile as the familiar chills ran up your spine when immersed in a good song and feeling one with the original performer. As the melody began to come to an end, you soften into almost a whisper and sit happily as the remaining instruments faded. The sound track of an applause and actual clapping burst from behind you.

“MARVELOUS! Bra-vo my darling!”

You jumped up so high and fast, it made you slip on the soapy floor beneath you. You fumbled and landed on your bum facing Alastor, pants now soaked and your heart racing a mile a minute. The red demon began to step towards you, still clapping and looking surprisingly impressed.

“What a performance, such talent! Who knew such a voice was locked away, just waiting to soar like a songbird!”

With a twirl of his cane, he extended the tip end to you with a smile. You looked at it for a moment before realizing and grabbing onto it. With a strength you didn't realize he had, he helped to hoist you up to your feet.

“H-honestly Alastor. You can’t keep sneaking up behind me without warning. You’ll have to find another chef to replace me after I die from a heart attack.”

Alastor chuckled at your remark, pulling a dark brown hankie from his inner jacket and giving his cane a quick wipe. “Now y/n, don’t be silly.” After cleaning his cane from the dirty soap water, he flicked the handkerchief into your direction, and gave you an amused smile “You’re already dead.”

You couldn’t argue with that. You huff out a laugh and graciously accept the cloth presented to you, using it to wipe your hands free of any dirty water.

“Besides,” Alastor continued, “Can you hardly blame me for tuning in? It’s not often I hear such a classic tune being accompanied by an enchanting voice~!” You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks flush. You tried your best not to sing in front of others, and living on your own, never really had the possibility of someone hearing you. Until now that is.

“I, well… Th-thank you” You smile, holding out the handkerchief to return. Alastor didn't move to take it. Looking down at the now soiled cloth, his lip twitched a moment before blinking, and the hankie burst into a puff of flame, tiny bits of soot and ash fluttering to the ground. Your head jolted back a moment as your now empty hand hung there awkwardly. Ohhkayyyy… You speak to fill the silence.

“I find I work better when I listen to music. Although, sometimes I find I get too wrapped up in the music… like you just witnessed.” You give a sheepish shrug, your attention going back towards the load of work you still had to do. Alastor followed your gaze and looked around the dingy kitchen.

“Hmmmm yes, quite the chore you have ahead of you,” he hummed, eye twitching at all the dirt and grime. “And where is Nifty in all of this? Surely you shouldn’t have to tackle such a big job all by yourself now, she IS the maid of this hotel now.” He placed his clawed hands on his hips, looking around as if she might be hiding in one of the pots or under the counter.

“Ah no, that’s alright,” You shake your head and smile at Alastor, making him turn his focus back to you, “I was going to ask her, but she seemed… preoccupied by a centipede, and I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“Besides,” You puff out your chest and survey the room, causing Alastor to cock an eyebrow in amusement. “I’m the one in charge of this kitchen, so it should be up to me to make sure it’s spick and span. You decided to hire me for some reason, so I want to prove I want this job. And a little elbow grease isn’t going to scare me off so quick.” You turn to the Radio Demon and catch a quick glimpse of what seems to be admiration before he straightened up.

“And I can tell you’re going to make a fine employee already,” Alastor agreed, making you feel a sense of pride. His gaze shifted back towards the mess before him. “Nevertheless, this is still too mighty of a task for just one demon.”

Faster than you could blink, Alastor flicked his hand up and gave a swift snap of his fingers. The shadows surrounding you began to shift and morph into what looked like long tendrils. You stared in awe as the shadows grew before your very eyes and began to morph into what looked like creatures. Before you knew it, 4 shadow-like goons were standing before you with stark white features.

“There we go~” Alastor chirped, taking in your look of shock before laughing out loud, “Oh come now my dear, no need to look so alarmed! My friends are simply here to help you~”

And help you indeed. While Alastor was talking, the creatures began to pick up the cleaning tools around the room, beginning to mop, sweep and wipe around the room at a speed you could never accomplish on your own. Your look of shock slowly transformed to one of awe.

“Yes, they’ll help to get the job done lickity split!” Alastor boasted, “And don’t worry, once the work is done they’ll simply disappear back into the shadows.”

You watched them work and couldn’t help but marvel at Alastor’s power. Not only was he able to conjure 4 living and working shadow creatures, but the fact that he did it so effortlessly. It just seemed to be a reflection of the amount of power he wielded, which was a terrifying thought all on it’s own. You couldn’t even imagine the extent of what his power could be; unbarred and at full capacity. It made you shiver a moment. Still, you couldn’t help but be grateful for the extra sets of hands.

“Thank you Alastor,” you smiled towards him, eyebrows tight with gratitude, “You really didn’t have to do this, I was fine to do the work on my own-!” The Radion Demon immediately shushed you, sticking one of his fingers close to your lips but not quite touching.

“Nonsenseee y/n. Think nothing of it! Let’s just say this is my way of thanking you for such a lovely performance earlier. I shall hope to hear more from you again.” He gave you a half-lidded smile, seeming actually genuine about his last remark. You couldn’t hide your embarrassment, but on the inside you were pleased.

“Now!” Alastor snapped to attention, jolting you out of your daze, “I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave, I was on my way to a meeting with Charlie before being entranced by your song.” You felt your smile falter at the thought of being the reason he was running late. Alastor quickly caught on and fanned his hand at you

“Oh think nothing of it my dear, I’d say it was well worth my time. But before I go, I would be delighted to talk Jazz with you at a later time; it’s not often I meet a fellow enthusiast.”

As much as you didn’t want to get your hopes up, you felt a pang of hope in your chest. You had always kept to yourself during your time in Hell, and never really had the opportunity to build any friendships. Everyone you had met as of recent always had ulterior motivations, or were so toxic that you had to end it before they could harm you even further. However, since coming to the hotel, everyone had been so surprisingly friendly; especially Alastor. He helped you feel less nervous when you had arrived, given you a job, and was now helping you clean the kitchen? He’s been such a gentleman, and you both seemed to have similar passions… Could this be the opportunity for a new friend?

“Yes, of course!” You smile, “I love music, I’m always happy to talk about it.”

“Splendid!” Alastor chimed, turning on his heel and walking back towards the kitchen doors, “We’ll have to arrange a time that works best for us both. But until then,” He turned back to you and gave you a slight bow.

“I shall bid you, adieu.”

His body sunk back into the shadows and he disappeared as quick as a flash. You yelped out a panicked final “thank you” into the darkness, assuming he didn’t hear it he was gone so quick. But that was ok, you’d just have to thank him again when you next bumped into each other. You turn back to the goons and see they’ve already made quite a dent in the cleaning. You felt yourself breathe a sigh of relief for the extra help. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you crank up the volume on the radio, and run up to help get your kitchen ready.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Boy oh boy here we go~ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

FIRST

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #oh deer #leilani-lily

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iraprince · 1 year

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TIME FOR A PROCESS POST let's talk abt getting from this (client sketch - which, btw, i know other artists have talked about this plenty, but i LOOOOOOVE a client sketch as early direction on a commission. LOVE it)

to this!

at first we didn't know if the title was going to go across the desk, or over the central figure (emara's) head against the back wall. so there was a 1st version where we were favoring a higher title, then we started favoring the desk so we scrapped the clutter + centered it more

i used clip studio's 3D models (particularly for the chair, guard, + weapon crates) and perspective rulers to help with laying everything out at this stage, tho i abandoned the 3D pretty early on bc it's a bit too clunky for me. maybe i'll find it quicker to use w more practice!

(the rest under the cut!)

once the basic layout was approved, i threw together a value study to explain how in the final image all the clutter of the bg detail would be unified and pushed back. lately i find myself thinking abt value earlier + earlier in the process; planning ahead saves me a lot of time!

i fiddled with starting to refine things digitally, but then i got A BRAND NEW LIGHTBOX delivered in the mail with perfect timing (lmao) so i just ended up printing off the digital sketch, finalizing in pencil, + scanning back in

then comes five billion different steps of locking in values, again. i did everything greyscale first, but i didn't worry abt getting things super polished at this stage bc i knew color would factor in a lot to later decisions

this is the point at which presenting these wips "step by step" is kind of misleading; i didn't do these stages one at a time, but rather had a BUNCH of different lighting/shading layers that i kept toggling on and off as i worked to make sure everything was coming along well.

(to get some of these caps i actually went into the main file again and turned a bunch of stuff on/off just for the sake of getting specific examples, because actually when i was actively working on it there was rarely a point where i was actually working on something with "all lighting turned off and just the shading on," or anything like that; but i AM interested in showing what effects different lighting/shading changes had on the base colors, even if i wasn't really making these changes in a rigid order.)

i.e., just for the sake of interest, here's how the flat colors look without those adjustments!! but i honestly never looked at it like this on its own for long...i had all the shading/lighting turned off so i could see what i was doing while flatting, but i was constantly checking back and forth.

then tones added on top (which were actually just two copies of the tone folders in the above posts, set to linear burn and overlay) -

which makes it get HORRIFYINGLY dark, but that's when we go in and add a bunch of lighting adjustments.

the most obvious lighting change above is the big burst of hot pink light from the corner, but there was also some masked overlay + burn layers to pop out the guard + emara and make sure they were pulled out from the bg. if this were a standalone illustration, i maybe would have let the bg (and all that painstakingly drawn detail..........) stand out a little more, but a cover functions differently, and i wanted to make sure the eye goes to the title first. that means sacrificing bg detail even if it looks sick lol

then final touches! a lot of my very last touches are things that are close to invisible; gradient maps on very low opacity, noise, a little bit of scribbling on upper layers. the typesetting was all by the client, except for the lettering for "emara king's," which i did myself!

finally, here's a comparison of ⬅where i left off one night close to the deadline thinking "it's probably done, but i'll sleep on it just in case," then all the adjustments i made the next day with fresh eyes.➡ and that's it!!! phew!!! that's how i make a cover!

#my art #process #wip #tutorials #<- not really but. i just figure someone browsing my tutorials tag might be into this #i am so so so so so fucking mad that i didnt think to turn timelapse recording on for this #bc a timelapse wouldve been so fucking sick. but i can at least share this

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future-boi · 7 months

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Doctober 2023 prompt #29: 2023

Warning: Long post

I dragged my bestie to go see the Broadway musical version of bttf earlier this year. IT WAS WONDERFUL. 💝💝💝

We watched it back in August, so my memory isn't the clearest and I'll probably forget something, but this is a long enough post as is.

SPOILERS FOR THE MUSICAL BELOW

I mean, its just the movie but in musical format, but they add things here and there that surprised me, so if u like to be surprised... there's your warning

My friend and I sat in the middle of Row F (highlighted in green above). We wanted to be close, but not super close to have to look up at a weird angle. It was crazy to be so close AND SUPER WORTH IT. When the actors look out into the audience you can really feel like they're looking at you (from their POV they prolly dont see anything because the lights) its a really cool experience! 🤩🤩

OK SO MY FAVORITE LINE FROM THE MUSICAL THAT HAD ME ROLLING BECAUSE IT WAS SO UNEXPECTED WAS: "Is this what they call 'white trash'???" I won't spoil the full context bUT HE WAS REFERRING TO MARTY AT THAT MOMENT.

The Earth Angel scene made me love and appreciate the scene in the movie, and the song EVEN MORE THAN I ALREADY DID. THEY EVEN BROUGHT OUT THE BUBBLES AND IT WAS A WHOLE VIBE (yet another reason why I was grateful we sat in the front). They nailed the execution of the scene, people were cheering and everything during the kiss. Even I got hyped, whereas before, when I was just watching the movie, I was like 'aight.'

The atmosphere in the theater hit different frfr. When Marty and Doc reunited at the end and hugged, I let out a little, "Yay!!" They had such good chemistry on stage, my favorite moments of them were when one of them would say something crazy and then the other would go, "What?" And then the other would go, "What??" And confusion ensues.

AND THEN, AS IF UNEXPECTED STUFF DIDN'T ALREADY HAPPEN, THE MOST UNEXPECTED THING HAPPENED AT THE END. THE DELOREAN FLEW.

IT FLEW.

INTO THE CROWD.

RIGHT ABOVE US.

AND THAT MADE IT SUPER WORTH IT TO SIT CLOSE TO THE FRONT. I wonder what it looked like from the balcony though...

Can we just take a moment to appreciate Hugh Coles??? He single-handedly made me appreciate the character of George after seeing his performance.

Look at this mad lad, he got all the photos of Crispin Glover on his mirror 😱😱😱 manifested this man frfr

He's one yarn ball away from an 'I'm crazy' wall

The SASS

Man said 🚶‍♂️💅 AND IM HERE FOR IT

Ok, last pic, the matching pose 🤩💘

FR HE NAILED THE CHARACTER PERFORMANCE, IT WAS INSANE. You really gotta see it to believe it. mf from west end too so imagine my surprise when I heard him in an interview with an accent ☠️☠️☠️

Literally me throughout the whole musical:

I knew I was going to like the musical, but what I listed out here is basically the reason why I LOVED the musical. I love surprises so that's a big part of it as well.

Fave song: Used to be 'Put Your Mind To It' then it was 'It Works' but I think I settled on 'Something About That Boy' I just love duets and overlapping lines in songs. [But we all know the best song is Cake 💅]

TL,DR: The bestie and I went to see bttf the musical. i am a changed man... and now im here 🙃

#doctober 2023 #back to the future #bttf #bttf the musical #back to the future the musical #casey likes #hugh coles

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thegeminisage · 7 months

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for posterity (and so i can close the tab), i'm posting screenshots of the private skip/watch list i made for friends only - since i was too big of a dummy and didn't liveblog my initial tos watchthrough, to my ETERNAL FUCKING WOE, this is as close as i'm ever getting. sad! DISCLAIMER that i disagree with my past self on some of the skip/watch verdicts so please use the official spreadsheet (still a wip) as a guide if you're looking for that kind of thing.

of note from this first screencap: dagger of the mind, which i continue to feel normal about for no particular reason and definitely not relating to a movie with a brainwashing chair that came out in 2014. the corbomite manuever, which i dismissed at first and then came around to liking better later because of the little character moments. conscience of the king, which was actually the first trek episode i ever watched before i went back and did them all in official order (mistake, production order is better) and which of course got me into this mess. squire of gothos, which has this scene that inspired this fanfic. don't text.

it's also worth mentioning that i had to watch not one not two but THREE bad to mid episodes before i hit naked time and enemy within and then they put me right back in it with mudd's women. if i hadn't already seen conscience of the king and knew what was up i would have fucking quit. and that's why production order is superior

of note for this batch: the city on the edge of forever, in which a lot of important stuff happened, but also spock wore a little hat. catspaw, which is the first time i had an inkling of the idea that would later spawn this powerpoint (this is what "giving john crichton" means ifykyk). mirror mirror, which i didn't get until like a week later and then went insane over. metamorphosis, which made me so frothing mad it's unreal.

of note here: the immunity syndrome, which i have rewatched 60000 times for the spones. return to tomorrow, during which my eyes were dinnerplates start to finish. by any other name, which truly had so much going on including what i know in my heart was a tarsus iv reference. bread and circuses, which did indeed make me blush when bones pushed spock against the wall and spock went "really doctor?" i still can't think about it.

of note: the enterprise incident, which again caused mental illness related to the previously linked powerpoint. the paradise syndrome, which was the only amnesia episode, the first time kirk and spock mindmelded on screen, and so utterly fucking racist that all of that stuff was absolutely ruined beyond belief; i instantly moved to a google doc and to write down my mind palace version that doesn't involve All Of That. the one-two punch of the world is hollow + the empath, which made me a bones understander. the tholian web, which made me bonkers because i love a good fake death. plato's stepchildren, sections of which i had to watch through my fingers.

finally, of note for this batch: whom gods destroy, which unexpectedly brought back the brainwashing chair and excited me so much i had to pause the episode to collect myself. that which survives, bc the looney toons sfx made me scream laugh. requiem for methuselah, which genuinely induced a november 5th-like mania i didn't think i'd ever feel again. all our yesterdays, which was the worst i'd EVER felt for a space babe. and finally, turnabout intruder, which introduced "it's better to be DEAD than to be in the body of [x]" into my own personal lexicon.

ok that's everything! we have nine episodes left of tos to go back and watch before we move onto tng, but i know in my heart that tos will always be my favorite. i'll miss you tos :(

#personal #star trek blogging #tos lb

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mostlymaudlin · 1 year

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i remember you saying you were working on a neil slut au, is that still a wip? sorry if im remembering incorrectly and this is the most random ask in the world lol

AHHHH YES! on the list, that's Trigger! it has a real title now :D and i am indeed actively working on it -- there is currently over 25k written.

im so excited to start sharing this one. im hesitant to start posting because it means im Locked In to the version that exists rn. but i also love attention, and i think this could be the kind of fic that is really fun to read as chapters come out (if ur a wip kind of person) -- so one day soon ill probably drop ch 1 out of nowhere lol.

anyway, the fic itself is, yes, neil's slut era <3 he's "trying sex" because he's never done it before and he's kind of on this quest to just try everything he couldn't do during his life on the run. (his backstory is similar-ish to canon). luckily for him, the first person he hooks up with is andrew, and andrew has all these rules and is also incredibly patient (even tho hes also an asshole) and like obviously their chemistry and they way they respect each other makes it really good. so they end up in kind of a fwb situation. and there's a little bit of other stuff going on but its mostly just a lot of smut and a lot of aftercare snuggling that they are both maybe more into than the sex itself.

as you can imagine... the longer this goes on, the more room there is for Emotional Conflict. but that's all i'll say for now.

i think this AU is so fun!! and it's also kind of my take as an aspec person on, like, being aspec and still liking sex. because even in his Slut Era, neil's horniness is not rly motivated by an actual sex drive, but rather the enjoyment and comfort he gets from allowing himself to be close to andrew/being allowed behind some of andrew's walls. and i think this is some of the best smut ive ever written hehe. (@starwarned can confirm or deny...)

#my writing

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rav3nston3 · 5 months

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hi i'm gonna try keep this part brief

i have a (latest version, currently 1.20.4) minecraft server:

✨ rav3nston3.apexmc.co ✨

it's just a silly little map made to be a big playground since i can't really hang out with anyone irl (i tend to call it my "tag map" because there's a datapack that lets you play tag! but there's lots of other stuff too) and i wanted to finally kinda release this! i'll be streaming on my twitch from it (mostly building but i could do some tagging/showing folks around if anyone shows up) around when this post goes up so come check it out maybe! (also there's some, Things on it- everyone makes dicks in minecraft don't judge me- so if that would make you uncomfortable then sorry! i guess!)

i'll try to update this post with some information regarding the map under the read more in the future, leaving it pretty short at first so i can post it Now, if you're seeing a reblog it might not be up to date and you should click through to this original post!!!

down here is where the information Will go, for now i’ll just say that it’s not particularly beginner friendly? the spawn area has quite a bit of reading and it’s easy to accidentally breeze through it and not actually see any of the important stuff… also some Very important things are left out like talking about the Random Events or how most of the animals have fun and funky behavior… i’ll try address this soon!

edited March 8th, sorry for the wall of text

the base mechanics of the map include, tag, radars, random events, a "sprint meter", randomly spawning item boxes/animals, custom advancements, shops, and more i'm probably forgetting at the moment!

Tag: there's 1 "It" player and everyone else is "not it", y'know like tag, when not it players are tagged their spawnpoint is set to that location, there's also a slight grace period where tagging someone back is less beneficial, and some events are effected by being it or not, as well as a few "doors" being open depending on your it status

Radars: all players get a "radar" of some type that points to the nearest/all/??? not it players (depending on the radar type, this is explained more on the actual map), when you've recently tagged someone the grace period stops you from being tracked by the new it player for a bit

Random Events: currently there are 12 randomly occurring events, they can happen every 90 seconds, they range from a "group hug" event that teleports every not it player to one not it player at random, to everyone getting levitated into the sky, to a server wide game of rock paper scissors, and more!

Sprint Meter: when sprinting there will be a meter that fills up above your hotbar, your speed will gradually increase (in steps) until the bar fills, the bar will go back down twice as fast as long as you're not sprinting (or sneaking), and sneaking at the highest few levels of the meter will grant you jump boost!

Random Spawns: item boxes and animals (chickens and sheep) will randomly spawn around the map. the item boxes can be "opened" (they're shulkers, so you kill them) for various drops, they come in various types that are area dependent each with different loot tables! the animals have unique effects (with some very minor exceptions), all chickens will instantly die upon getting close to them (unless they're babies, or "The Chucken"), and all sheep spawn with a land mine on their backs (unless it exploded and they somehow survive, steer clear of sheep or try to activate them from a safe distance)

Custom Advancements: there's advancements for dying to various sources, looking at various things through a spyglass, and other (hopefully) fun activities, you can even reset your advancement progress at a special location for some extra loot

Shops: there's currently 5 shops on the map, one that sells chicken, one that sells explosives, one that trades eggs and chicken for gold, a secret weather charm shop, and a prize counter at the carnival. 4 of the 5 work by putting your currency on the counter (each shop might take different currency depending on what they sell/trade) and clicking the items you want to buy, the 5th works like a villager (shhhhhhh)

Some other things to note: there's a custom resource pack on the server, it's mostly there for custom hats but there's some other stuff too! if you're interested in playing, feel free to send me an ask! i'd be happy to show anyone around :3

#ston3s #rav3n's #minecraft

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zarvasace · 1 year

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Here's a question about the disability au: You mentioned that when Four splits it messes with the injury? I'm mostly wondering the how of it

I think I've talked about this more in a few other places, but I don't remember where, and I don't think I'll ever get tired of talking about Four or this AU soooo here's a wall of text :) And a mini fic at the end because apparently I can't not write every day!!

CWs about life-altering injury and mobility issues. And disclaimer, I've had a mobility disability myself but not this specifically, and though I've done research, I might still get facts wrong.

In the disability AU, Four has paraparesis as a result of a spinal cord injury. My most recent drawing of him in his fancy wheelchair has been going around recently, if you've seen that.

Injury and Condition

After his first adventure with the Minish but before anything with the colors (there are two Four Swords games, but for simplicity and continuity I just squish em and say the manga happened), and while Minish-sized, Four got into an altercation with a rather mean stray cat. He was able to get help pretty quickly, but the initial injury and later jostling damaged some nerves beyond repair.

Though his world doesn't necessarily have the word for it, he has paraparesis, which is partial paralysis of everything waist down (paraplegia is total paralysis waist down, a more severe condition.) What this means for Four is that he can move his legs, sort of, and feeling in them is partially there. He can stand for short periods, especially with a way to help him balance. Paresis's main symptom is muscle weakness, with loss of sensation and control close contenders.

I think I've mentioned before that he doesn't experience much pain, but after a bit more research, I'm amending that to be yes, there is pain, which flares mostly when he exerts himself too far. Also after further research, I've decided that his right leg is the better one. It's a bit stronger.

Mobility Aids

After the injury and subsequent recovery time, Four researched and got to work. He was able to work with a few other craftspeople in his kingdom to design and make his own mobility aids. In this AU, his weaponcraft is not necessarily as masterful as other versions of him, but he's more experienced with a wider variety of trades, materials, and techniques—e.g. woodworking, sewing, weaving.

Of course his aids have gone through a variety of versions and changes. He tried a lot of options, and prefers to use a wheelchair most of the time. His is, of course, custom-built. I have a post about it and some illustrations. :) His wheelchair at the time of LU stuff is a rigid metal frame with wooden pieces, rattan panels, and removable cushions. It has springy spokes and adequate shock absorption. There's also some Minish magic involved, of course, to make the chair more comfortable to use and more stable in difficult terrain. Four is an adventurer, after all, he has to handle a lot of situations.

(regarding wheelchair combat: I realize it might be a little bit impractical, but (1) actual everyday wheelchairs are more maneuverable than the average unfamiliar person thinks, please go look up some YouTube videos, and (2) this is still fantasy. In the same way that we handwave potty breaks, we're handwaving the finer points of swordsmanship while in a wheelchair.)

When a chair isn't practical (e.g. in small buildings or cave systems or even the forge sometimes), Four uses one or two forearm crutches at a time. It gives him a bit more maneuverability, but he's slower with them. Using them for too long means he gets a lot of pain as the day goes on, and into the next day. He regularly carries around four of these crutches, sized to himself, in his magic bag.

Colors!

And now for the actual point of this essay! Everyone has their own interpretations of how Four works, with the whole splitting thing. With the way I prefer to write it, the divisions between the colors are both mental and physiological. By physiological, I mean that his body sort of splits physical traits between the four of him as well as mental. For example, if Four gets a burn scar on his elbow, it'll only appear on Red, not any of the others. There are probably complex psychological reasons for which trait gets assigned where. By making the split work this way, I can write physical differences between the colors, from appearance to disability.

As far as I've been able to research, paresis means that the spinal cord nerves are partially damaged. Four's split handles the injury by spreading it out, though unevenly.

Vio gets most of the disability, and the severity of their condition increases in him almost to the point of full paraplegia. He cannot stand or use crutches, and gets chair priority. The chair has a belt for him, because he can't shift and balance the way Four can. He's still the group's archer, though he has an altered shooting style and is practiced in crossbows due to his position.

Red gets it about as badly as Four has it. He has his own chair at home, but out and about, he's all right using crutches. He generally uses two, moving both forward at the same time and swinging through. In a fight, he might ditch one to use a sword or the fire rod. If Four splits with pain from walking too much, Red's the most likely to bear the brunt of it.

Green has less-severe paresis, and mostly uses one crutch on his right, which frees up his left hand to use a weapon, mostly his sword. He can stand without anything to help balance him for a while, and can sometimes take a few steps over even ground without support. He actually gets most of the scars that Four receives while combined.

Blue's paresis is very mild. He's ambulatory, and rarely uses crutches. If he needs to, he'll snag Green's spare. He experiences occasional muscle weakness, though more to the point of a knee giving out for a moment rather than not being able to put weight on the leg. He has both hands free in a fight to swing his hammer, and feels, if possible, even more protective of the others in this AU.

When they first split, they had to get back home (hooray for horses) and find their older variations of mobility aids. Nothing about the second adventure/manga really change, plot-wise. Due to being a reflection of Four, Shadow does have a bit of paresis as well, around Green's level. But, well... he can fly. He just does that, no harm done.

Conclusion

In the LU group, Four is, at first, one of the least forthcoming about his disability. Wind's missing a leg and makes lots of jokes, which catch on with Twilight and Time pretty quickly. Hyrule always had corny jokes in his arsenal. Their attitudes help Four to relax a bit and treat his own disability with a bit more acceptance.

---

"I'll get it," Four volunteered, pushing over to one of the shelves of the small store. He scanned the labeled bottles for the one Warriors had mentioned, finding it on one of the upper shelves.

"Oh, young man, it's up pretty far—" The shopkeeper cut off when he saw Four brace himself and stand up to grab the bottle.

Four glanced over. His first instinct was to flush red and pretend that nothing had happened, since people often assumed that he used a wheelchair because he was lazy or wanted attention. But then again... Wind had been coming up with some good jokes lately.

Looking down at his legs, Four gasped as if surprised. "It's a miracle!"

The shopkeeper's eyes were huge.

Four dropped back down into his chair and blinked, then slumped. "Aw, another false alarm."

#my writing #linked universe #disability au #lu four #bad jokes #sorry

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riality-check · 2 years

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for the mini fic prompts x3 lol: steddie + 27

So for this one, I had two different ideas. It's a shame you can't answer the same ask twice, so if this post is a bit longer to read, that's why. I like them both enough to write! Anyway, here's:

27. things you said through a closed door (version 1)

"Eddie, I know you're home," Steve calls.

There's no response, but from the porch, Steve can hear the music blasting from Eddie's room at the back of the trailer. He doesn't know the song or the band, but it sounds a lot angrier and sadder than the stuff Eddie usually listens to, which worries him.

"I can hear the music!" he shouts. He doesn't want to be so impatient, but it's October and while the roof of the porch shields him from the rain, the wind is bitingly cold. He should've worn his old varsity jacket, he used to wear it when it was snowing and still stayed warm.

The music turns itself down enough so it stops shaking the trailer, and Steve swears he can hear footsteps come toward the front door. But the lock doesn't click open.

Fine. Whatever.

"Eddie, listen, I don't know what I did, but whatever it was, I'm sorry. It's been a week without talking to you and it feels like a fucking year. Please just tell me what I did, and we'll figure it out, okay?"

"You didn't do anything." Eddie's voice is muffled through the door, but Steve thinks he's whispering anyway.

"What do you mean I didn't do anything? Eddie, you haven't even looked my way in a week. Obviously, I did something, and I want to make it right."

"I got scared."

Steve lets his head thud against the door. "Okay. What did I do to scare you?"

The door jerks open a few inches, held closed by the bolt, but Steve stumbles anyway.

"You. Didn't. Do. Anything," Eddie says slowly and deadly calm.

Once he corrects himself, he can see a sliver of Eddie's face: one of his eyes and half his mouth. From just that, Steve can see that Eddie is an utter wreck.

"You wanna know what happened, Stevie? I got scared. I got scared for no fucking reason because all you've been is perfect, so I don't know why I ran. I just did. Because that's what I do at the first sign of danger - I cut and fucking run. So I ran, and I got to thinking, gee, Steve deserves better than someone who bolts at the first sign of trouble, and I decided to stay gone. I think you should let me."

Eddie whispers that last sentence, and his voice cracks a little, and Steve is inches away from breaking the damn bolt.

Instead, he says, "Good thing I'm faster than you."

"What?" Eddie croaks.

"I'm faster than you," Steve says, and it's a fact. "So when you run, I'll always catch up. You're not getting away from me that easily, Munson."

Steve watches Eddie close his eye like he's trying not to cry.

"Can you open the door, babe?"

The bolt slides open.

AND, if you're still here, things you said through a closed door (version 2)

"Steve?" Eddie calls, trying not to stumble on what he thinks is Robin's shirt and Nancy's pants thrown in the middle of the hallway. He braces himself on the wall and tries tip-toeing around them because his shoes are gross and he's tipsy enough to have even worse balance than usual.

"Steve?" he calls again. "You disappeared on us, and I wanted to make sure you're okay."

There's a retch behind the door closest to Eddie. Well, at least he's found him.

"Hey," he shouts - he's gotta shout, Jonathan brough his loud stereo system - and knocks. "I'm coming in."

"No," Steve groans. "'M fine."

"If you call puking your guts out 'fine,' you need help." Eddie grabs the knob and starts twisting. "I'm coming in, sweetheart."

"No," Steve says, and he's coherent enough that Eddie still takes him seriously and stops. "Handled it before, can do it again."

"That doesn't mean you have to," Eddie reminds him. "Can I at least hold your hair back?"

Another retch, and Eddie has heard enough people throw up to know that Steve is just dry heaving now. He grimaces in sympathy because that shit hurts.

Steve doesn't respond for a while, and Eddie wants to check and see if he fell asleep on the toilet - been there, done that - when Steve mumbles something:

"You're gonna leave me."

"What?" Eddie says, hand frozen on the knob.

"You're gonna leave me," Steve says, louder and clearer and oh, that's definitely meant for Eddie.

"Because you're puking your guts out? I've seen worse." Which is true. Eddie's taken people to the hospital and seen them get their stomachs pumped. That shit is bad.

"No. Because I'm a lot. I'm too much work and I'm clingy and I love too much and I'm no fun to be around sometimes and I'm not smart and -"

Eddie opens the door, crosses the room, and holds Steve's gross, sweaty face in his hands.

"Bullshit," he says. "You're stuck with me, Harrington, like a bad tattoo or superglue that won't come off your hands. You're adorable and protective and lovely and brilliant, and now you're gonna let me take care of you. Me leaving you is bullshit. Okay?"

Steve nods, and then he's dry heaving again, and Eddie holds his hair back and rubs his shoulder.

And he stays, the entire time.

(y'all this was the last ask i got, so please) send me more prompts!!

#asked and answered #stevethehairington #thank you!!

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vampiresdontbelonginfairytales · 10 months

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Original posting date March 31st, 2013.

Takin' a fairy home to meet your parents who specifically told you not to go Fairyland. As you do.

This is now actually overwritten by book canon because Will wouldn't do this. (comic canon is always secondary to book canon) so I'll write the book version here:

Tyrian waited nervously on the platform, wincing and grasping Will's arm as a train sped past, having second thoughts. He'd read about trains in books but nothing had prepared him for the metal monsters zooming by, and so close, too! He shuddered as he felt the wind rush caused by the thing and inched closer to Will. It had all sounded very romantic in the Earth books, lovers running alongside the carriages as they pulled away, kissing on the platform beforehand . . . how they could stand to run alongside these awful iron cages he didn't know. Several humans waited by some benches along a wall, unconcerned. They were looking at little metal boxes of some sort. They kept tapping them and poking them. The things humans did with iron! Even the benches seemed to be made of it, though they had been painted pink.

“You okay?” Will asked him.

“Do we really have to get on a train?” Tyrian asked. Lowering his voice he added, “Isn't there a door we could take to your parents’? Or a carriage?”

“There aren't any doors near my house,” Will explained quietly, pulling him along the platform. He pressed a button and some glass doors in the wall opened. He allowed Will to lead him through them into a small waiting room, with thankfully fabric chairs. “We'd be hard pressed to find a carriage in this day and age too. Sorry.”

“Is this . . . is this what it was like for you in Fairyland?” Tyrian said, plopping himself down in a chair and rubbing an arm. “I've read so many Earth books but being here among humans, it's, well, it's terrifying.”

“You don't have anything to fear from humans, Master Tyrian,” Will assured him. “We really will not eat you.”

“It's not that, it's all this iron you've surrounded yourselves with . . . I suppose it was to protect you from us?”

“Not really, it's just very useful,” Will replied. “I mean, in the old days yeah, but people wouldn't go much further than a poker in the cot or a horseshoe over the door.”

“I suppose so,” Tyrian replied.

“Besides, a lot of it probably isn't even iron,” Will said. “There's lots of metals besides iron, you know. And we make a bunch of stuff out of plastic. That's like a chemically made material.”

“I don't like the sound of that either,” Tyrian replied, pursing his lips.

“I don't want to go myself, but it's time I 'fessed up,” Will said. “I have to tell them where I've really been and that I'm okay. It's been a couple of months and I haven't phoned them or anything. I would have sent them some letters but inter-world mail isn't a good idea. It might get me in trouble.”

“True . . .” Tyrian acquiesced. “They must be very worried.”

“I don't know about that,” Will said. “But I have to get this over with some time. Besides, it'll be fun showing you around. I've made a list of cool places we could see.” He looked out of the door. “Here's our train.” Tyrian followed Will out of the room and back onto the platform. He swallowed as it drew level and Will reached out to press a button, opening the doors. They swung out and back in a fashion he'd never seen before and he jumped.

“Will . . .” he muttered as his fool put one foot on the step.

Will looked around. “We're blocking the doors,” he said, casting a meaningful glance over Tyrian's shoulder. Tyrian looked around to see an annoyed man not-so-patiently waiting for them to move. Will stepped down and Tyrian moved aside so he could get on. The other passengers had already climbed aboard and there was a man in a bright orange jacket watching them warily from a few carriages down. “We're drawing attention,” Will whispered. “Come on, it's safe, I promise.”

“But I don't trust it . . .” Tyrian whined, casting a glance at the orange-wearing man. Will had stepped on to the train and he turned, reaching out his hand. Tyrian took it and Will grasped his arm with his other hand, pulling him onto the train. There was a weird noise and the doors closed behind him. Then there was a whistle and the floor lurched as the thing began to move. Tyrian fell forward and clutched onto Will.

“Careful,” Will warned. “I don't know about the iron, but you definitely don't wanna bang your head on the wall. I did that once.” Tyrian held onto Will's arms as the train sped up and Will merely leaned back against the side. He looked around and then flipped down something on the wall. “You can sit here,” he said, manoeuvring Tyrian onto what he realised was a seat. “Just sit tight okay? We're only on here for about twenty minutes.” Twenty minutes felt like twenty hours. He spent the time clinging to the fabric of the wall chair with one hand and clutching Will's sleeve with the other, at least until Will gently disengaged him, sat on the floor next to him and took his hand instead.

First

#my ocs #vampires don't belong in fairytales #vdbif #vampire #fairy #stollenheim #will winters

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nokingsonlyfooles · 1 year

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Art Week Hangover! Here's Maggie!

Finishing my art week a little late, 'cos I ran into a brick wall emotionally LAST week. These are illustrations for my longrunning story, if anyone cares - it's free, and everything's Creative Commons BY-NC-SA - and I'll give you some more art and description under the cut.

It's only a 7 pointed star because I needed something glowy-shaped I could fit a soda bottle inside. Maggie has drawn a lion because that's in the Rider-Waite version of Strength. And all the chalk art is on the ground now because it read better that way in this style.

Here's the old version with the shading:

Sometimes I regret not just cutting her title down to "The Apprentice" but that's a shitty reality series I don't care to be associated with, even accidentally. It's a lot of letters to fit into an image, though.

This are liable to get out of hand with Maggie along, just like that mouse with the brooms, but not because she doesn't know what she's doing. She knows exactly what she's doing, she just doesn't know when to STOP.

The fleur de lis is in all of Maggie's family's cards, signifying loyalty. They are definitely loyal to each other, and more-or-less to their homeland - albeit in different ways. Maggie's mom has a crown appearing near her head, while Maggie has drawn one at her feet, and she could easily scuff it out if she wants. She and her mom both know how to turn into birds - not necessarily like the city birds in the air behind her, but Maggie is definitely an urban phenomenon. Changing your whole body like that eats up pieces of it, so, at her age, Maggie can only store enough body mass to do maybe one or two changes a week. If she's going to cause mischief, there are less expensive ways.

It's way harder to get a smug smile across in only two contrasting colours! I think I managed, but, again, this might change before I put it up on my site. I've almost got Milo's card finished too, so I'll either be back with that later tonight or tomorrow. Once I have the first few illustrations front-loaded, I'll check out Tapas as a host for Tin Soldier. If I can reformat it well enough there, I'll post the whole thing in order... Possibly with the swearing bowdlerized, we'll see how that works.

My next eye doctor followup is on June 17th. I'm not doing badly with most of the exercises, but my eyes are still messing with me at the moment. Maybe I pushed too hard last week, but I think middle age is making close work harder with no correction. (I fear how bad my most recent art will look once I get some!) I'm going to have to see what's the best option to treat presbyopia which a binocular vision dysfunction. I got more dumb doctor stuff this week too, but not until Wednesday - so I'm still gonna be all distracted.

I have almost got my Canadian finances straightened out! I have access to money, now I just need access to credit. Hopefully, they'll approve me for a card of some kind next week, then I can get into debt and prove I can pay it off.

Okay, thanks for your patience with the combination art/update thing, and here's Maggie's original crappy artwork.

(I kinda like that one.)

#illustrations #original character #art update #tin soldier and soldier on

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life-in-winter · 4 months

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Writing Update 1

I want to write updates as I go so by the end of this I can look back at at what I've learned along the way!

My progress so far:

I developed the characters; I made a plot; I started writing chapter 1; I developed the characters some more; I threw out the plot and sticky noted a new plot across my wall; I started writing the prologue in an epistolary style; I took the sticky notes off the wall, threw out half of them, and cooked up a plot with some of the old elements and some of the new elements changing which members of the cast were focused on; I realized that the gimmick I was using to write the prologue was making the action in it inherently less interesting, and I threw out the prologue; I started rewriting the prologue more successfully but... I decided to rework the characters again.

What I've learned so far:

I've realized I have to change how I write when I write fiction. I do a lot of technical writing at work. I'm great at understanding very complicated things, picking out the relevant information, and communicating the information in a clear and concise way. With an emphasis on concise. I also have to be extremely careful that the sentences I write cannot be interpreted any way other than the way I intend. How I go about doing this is I when I write something, if the first way I wrote it is too vague or not conveying the correct information I'll immediately write 3-5 versions of it. I very quickly realized that this methodology does not help me at all when writing stories. So I've learned to write stuff and leave it even if I want to reword it immediately. I haven't gotten to editing yet but at least for a while my editing will probably involved throwing everything out and rewriting everything from scratch.

I've also learned that my prose needs work especially my dialogue. When I go back through my google drive and read the old short stuff I've written, the writing that was heavily action based and descriptive wasn't half bad. Anything with dialogue was cringe inducing. So I've been doing some research on how to improve. I'm watching lectures, I'm re-reading sections of books or fics or posts that have good dialogue. But I think part of my problem is that I need to better define my characters still. Which will probably lead to further plot changes.

To sum up:

Right now, I'm definitely in the process of trying things, seeing what's not working, and throwing new spaghetti against the wall. But I think I'm learning a lot so far. There is something to be said about perfect being the enemy of good. But I'm not close to good yet. I think everything I've changed so far has made what I'm doing significantly better and while I just want to be at the point where I can just post something! I'm not there yet. But I'm getting closer. I'm mostly happy with the plot, there's one little element that just feels a little forced, a little off, but I actually think the rest of it is pretty decent and I'm hopeful that what ever character development I'm currently jumping into will smooth out that pothole.

If any of my like 5 active followers have advice or can point me to resources (especially on dialogue and in particular, dialogue tags) I'd appreciate it!

#Thea's WIP #writing updates #Fun fact: I just learned the difference between dialog and dialogue #throwing spaghetti against the wall

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noxsoulmate · 2 years

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👀👀👀 okay, but like you know which one I want to ask about! Even though it’s mine. Mwahahahhaa!

Okay- but if you consider that cheating, I’ll ask about… cut scenes and persuasion au

Pretty pretty please?

Lol, you dork 😂 you know everything about the neighbor AU. But okay:

It's based on prompt #24 from @actuallysara's list of Tarlos AU's. I don't have much yet but here's a little snippet:

“Hey, so please don’t freak out–”

In the next moment, he could hear a thud, followed by a curse, and he was pretty sure the guy had just hit his head somehow. Carlos winced in sympathy.

“Sorry! Sorry, it’s just your neighbor here…”

“Dude,” came the reply, the voice sounding rough, probably from all the crying. “Way to give a person a heart attack. Also… creepy much?”

“My apologies. The walls here are basically paper with some paint on them.”

There was a long moment of silence and Carlos thought about just going ahead and asking if he was okay, but the guy beat him to it.

“So you’re saying… you’ve basically been listening to me crying myself to sleep two nights in a row but decided a third night would be too much?”

There was a little sniffle and a hiccup and Carlos’ heart went out for his neighbor before he realized that he’d been asked a question. Shaking his head, he quickly clarified.

“No, sorry, of course not. It’s the first night in a week that I’m home.” He thought for a moment about adding that he worked night shifts and that he was a cop but all that seemed a bit too much information for a conversation like this. Instead, he said, “I just heard you cry and… I kinda just wanna ask if you’re okay. I mean, clearly, you’re not okay okay but… yeah. Just making sure you’re physically okay, I guess.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the wall. God, that had sounded more terrible than he’d thought it would. Like a creepy stalker. The guy would probably file a complaint against him or just move out again. To his surprise, he got a reply instead.

“No, to be honest… I guess I’m not okay.”

“Wanna… wanna talk about it?”

So, the cut scenes... I honestly had to open the doc to see what they even were 😅 it's scenes I took out of my fic Goodnight My Love. That fic was originally supposed to be an entry to the 911 Begins week but that never happened. So to be part of that week, it originally had some flashbacks to TK's life in NY - stuff that didn't even really fit the fic. Once it was no longer an entry to that week, I cut out those flashbacks and posted the version it was actually supposed to be. Thing is, I also liked the flashbacks in their own right, just not for that fic... so I didn't just delete them 🤷‍♀️ who knows, maybe I'll use them someday for a TK begins story or something like that.

As for the Persuasion AU... I was trying to come up with an idea for Day 4 of the AU Weekend (free choice), so I was talking to @tailoredshirt and somehow we ended up raving about Jane Austen and how amazing a Persuasion AU with Tarlos would be. Naturally, me being me, it didn't happen for that day 😅 but I'm still determined to write that one day...

Come and play the WIP game with me, ask me about any WIP that catches your interest 😊

#wip game #tarlos wip #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #noxy writes

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the-overthinking-chair · 2 years

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Love in the time of the Joe era.

(Remind me to make time to read the actual Gabriel García Márquez novel, please.)

It was uncannily appropriate that I decided to watch „Love Day“ uploaded unto the Internet Archive while I was eating a boiled sweet potato after two consecutive days of feasting on pizza.

And considering this was the first time I got around to watching it in full, here are my thoughts (sorted per topic). Spoilers everywhere.

IMAGE: Joe, in green, sits on the thinking chair and looks to you as he holds a card of growing and alternating pink, peach, and glittering red hearts in his hand, while his friend the animated dog Blue props herself up on the backrest of the thinking chair and looks at him.

Little things

A drawing of the brothers' grandma on the wall. Is it the only time I get to see her referenced in the little brother's seasons?

The grandfather clock watch. Why.

The heart notebook cover looks pillowy. I want to enlarge it and just rest my head on it. Maybe it's because I got used to the comfort of the red thinking chair.

The story about the prince who got turned into a heart is hilarious to me because I could come up with a gory version of this involving transplants.

Harps? Harps. I like harps. The glissandi are overrated but they work.

Shortening the clues

Everything is shorter from this point. The clue song, the drawing, the thinking time where it's just Joe. The shortened clue song could have been okay if it were like that from the start of the series entirely.

But what saddened me was that they really lost their focus on the art of drawing those clues starting midway through season 5. Was it the airtime constraint, because they wanted to wedge Blue's Room into the show? Was it a labor issue because left-handed white people with big hands who could draw well are not easy to find? I can never tell.

On the bright side, the clues becoming sentient singing figures lifting off the page were cute. I would keep them. Draw clues then watch them come to life and sing. A notebook's worth of them would entail a children's choir.

Cinderella in Blue's room

I have watched „Legend of the Blue Puppy“ before this but I'll revisit and review it some other time. That one made a good enough intro to Blue's Room and all her new friends inside.

In „Love Day“ all the friends are absent and it's just puppet Blue who gets to ask Cinderella a few intimate questions, questions that children really would like to ask the princess long after the storybook had come to a close. I think it was fun that the hints point to her story written as an autobiography, at least in this universe.

So what I got to see here is that now that Blue got the lexicon to speak English she made use of it as an audience surrogate for the little kids who probably had that craving to ask about the stuff post-happily ever after. Cindy discovering shoe straps and taking up work as a shoemaker for kicks. Charming being a dad and spending time with their daughter while the mom goes to work and makes time to patch things up with both stepsisters. Disney only managed to have a redemption arc for one, by comparison.

What could have happened if Cinderella was already a live character in both the main show and the Room segment? Moona's magic would still have its use, right?

Love as a concept

This is a children's show. So thankfully I don't have to suffer viewing love only as a heterosexual idealization of eros. Love is a looming abstract concept written all over the show, with no limit as to whom and not much asking as to how. Bonds break and mend throughout the episode, particularly between:

Salt and Paprika. Favoritism is a huge problem in collectives and especially families as having been raised with this idea that you're only going to be able to love one person, you end up wasting your life making other people's favorite be only you. You can focus on only one person or thing at a time, but just because you're out of focus at the moment doesn't automatically mean that you're unloved.

Shovel and Pail. We get upset over little things; this has been explored multiple times over with the Felt Friends, Green Puppy, and even Magenta in the reboot. But sand castles are meant to fall, whether they're built in a box or close to the sea, and there's always a chance to rebuild after falling apart.

The love story between the prince and princess in the heart-shaped book was not only cute but it's just . . . cozier. I want spell-breaking hugs like that. There are lots of them that might be at the back of my mind right now. Hugs do better than kisses.

Joe's love day cards

Joe has had a few episodes celebrating him and letting him show his affections but given that this is „Love Day“, the writing really made sure to take the cake.

The mystery card reminded me so much of The Powerpuff Girls, which was nice, but Joe merely discovering a card addressed to him and then blurting out “Somebody loves me!” left me devastated. I outgrew Blue's Clues before I got to like this guy and only in 2021 did I see how divided this fandom is after Steve left. Steve loves Joe and has always loved him like a brother; the fans bitterly resented Joe for merely stepping up to the plate.

Much more, Joe makes the time to create his own love day card to give to the viewer. To you, who stayed through the episode if not through his era, no matter how awkward you thought this change was, no matter how much you disliked that the creators had shed details that you thought were the most important, no matter if you preferred a bald Steve over him.

And finally let's not forget this line 15 minutes in:

“You helped me find the clue. You love me. You really love me.”

Donovan absolutely slew with his delivery of that line, even as I rewound the video back to that point several times over. If I heard it from him in real life I would cry so hard that I would go blind.

Cinderella and Joe

Donovan Patton was struggling in his early 20s when he auditioned for Blue's Clues. Struggling as in working as a waiter and surviving on popcorn and his housemates' extra food, among other things. It just seemed apt that his character would be a fan of a fairytale that was like his own real-life shift from relatively unknown to reaching out to the kids of this new millennium.

Cinderella sent Joe a card not because she's cheating on Charming but because she calls Joe her favorite reader. She has multitudes of readers because her story has incarnations everywhere in the world. In this universe she might have written her story as a memoir, and who knows if she gets fan mail? But she made time to actually write to one of her own audience, which brings us to:

Creator-to-audience love

Blue's Clues is known for being one of those shows that want to talk to the audience, giving them seconds of silence to think before responding. Contrast this with the outright speed of the Internet these days, from e-mails to social media.

Cinderella meeting Joe is such a dream. Not only does your favorite creative suddenly pick you out of all their fans to contact and show appreciation in the most blatant way possible, but they make the time to come knocking at your door to meet you in the flesh. And probably in their favorite outfit.

And if a dream is a wish your heart makes . . .

#blue's clues #love day #blue's clues joe #donovan patton #blue's room #episode thoughts

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geniusgub · 3 years

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north//chapter nineteen

genre: fluff!! some angst

warnings: mentions of prison, ptsd and its symptoms (flashbacks, kinda)

word count: 6.1k

summary: spencer gets home and amelia helps him keep his head on straight.

pairing: season twelve/thirteen spencer reid x oc

AMELIA

Stepping back into my apartment after being away for over twenty-four hours is such a relief. Spencer, for some reason, didn't want to go back to his own apartment, so I happily bring him right to mine.

He's half asleep in my passenger seat, his head resting against the window and his hand smushed against his cheek. Despite the challenging circumstances, at every red light, I gaze over to admire how adorable he looks with puffy cheeks and flushed skin. He's fighting sleep as we journey to my apartment, and even though I've told him that he doesn't have to, I still see him forcing his eyes open every few seconds.

When we're just a few minutes from my apartment, I finally speak up. "So," I murmur, and he lifts his head slightly, "do you wanna do anything when we get home, or do you wanna go right to sleep?"

Spencer shakes his head and adjusts his position so he's leaning more towards me, his head almost resting on my shoulder. "I'm really tired but I'm hungry. And I wanna shower too. Do you have my stuff at your apartment still?"

"Of course I do, doll," I smile, reaching my hand over to rest on his cheek, keeping my eyes on the road. "I have your go-bag too. So a shower, some food, and then sleep. We can do that," Spencer turns his head and kisses my palm, capturing my hand in his and bring them into his lap. I pull up in front of my apartment and park my car, smiling over at my hazy and sleepy boyfriend. "Here, Spence."

We climb out of my car and go trudging up to my apartment, and I push my keys into the lock. I twist it but it doesn't make the clicking sound to tell me it's unlocked, so I pull out the keys. I put them in again and twist one more time, and when the lock doesn't click, I pull the keys out for the second time. I figure that my friends might just be major idiots and have forgotten to lock the door after they left yesterday, so I tuck the keys in my pocket and twist the knob. It pops right open. Great. My door has been unlocked for over twenty-four hours.

Spencer isn't paying much mind to this though as we trudge in, kicking off our shoes. I hang up my jacket and turn to Spencer to ask for his jacket so I can put it in the washer, but his gaze is somewhere else. I follow where he's looking and find that the balcony doors are slightly open, and I roll my eyes. This keeps happening to me. These damn balcony doors. Between the balcony and front doors being open, I'm surprised that all of my belongings aren't completely gone.

"Don't worry about it, Spence," I tell him, dramatically flipping the lock on my front door so we can both hear the clicking noise and then padding across my apartment to flip the lock on the balcony door. Honestly though, my hands are trembling as I touch the knobs. Why are my door continuously unlocked? I try to brush it off for Spencer's sake. "My friends were here when I left to pick you up and I'm sure they forgot to close and lock everything. It's fine. It's not a big deal. Don't worry about it."

Spencer nods and rubs his eyes, then begins to speak through a loud yawn. "You should yell at your friends."

It's just another moment of the old Spencer shining through the armor that the new Spencer is wearing. This exhausted and bleary and witty version of my boyfriend is who I have embedded in my brain, not the version who yells at me and throws books at walls and jumps away from my touch. I wish I could frame this moment and hang it on the wall.

"Come on," I wave him towards the kitchen and he follows me blindly, falling into a barstool at the island, leaning his elbows against the granite. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up and his forearms are far too distracting for anyone's good, and I have to tear my eyes away from him before I get carried away. I'm just too deprived of sex and satisfaction that maybe any intimate sight of Spencer will get me going. Even if it's his hands, or his forearms, or his fingers-- oh god, look away.

"Is there anything specific you want?" I take a glance through my fridge at the ingredients I have before turning back to him. His hands are on his cheeks now, distorting his face in that same adorable way it was in the car. "I'll make you whatever you're feeling."

"Just something, um," he speaks quietly, "easy. Pancakes, or something."

"Sure, I can do that," I reach into the cupboard and pull out the pancake mix, retrieving a bowl and a skillet.

"I'm gonna go put a record on," Spencer drags himself out of his chair and into the living room and I can hear him rummaging through the mess in there.

He's utterly exhausted. I've seen him tired after cases, but never liked this. He can barely even speak a full sentence or walk in a straight line. So I combine ingredients quickly, hoping that the stove warms up at lightning speed so I can cook these pancakes as fast as possible. I want to get Spencer food, and then into a shower, and then into bed. I couldn't care less about my needs. I just can't bear seeing him dragging himself around like this anymore.

My ears perk up when the record scratches and then the music starts, and State of Grace by Taylor Swift starts playing. I watch Spencer come back in and sit down again, his eyes closed as he absorbs the music. I expected him to put on one of the many classical records I have, like Mozart or Beethoven or Brahms. But no, he put on Taylor Swift. I choose not to comment on the music choice and instead, I pour the batter on the hot skillet.

It's only five minutes before I have a stack of pancakes and I've run out of batter. I turn off the burner and divide up the pancakes onto two plates, grabbing two forks and the maple syrup from the fridge. Spencer gives me a tiny smile as he reaches for his plate, digging in without even waiting for the syrup.

I drizzle a fair amount of syrup on my own pancakes and then pick up my fork, about to eat my first meal in twenty-four hours, but then I look at Spencer. He's scarfing down his food like his life depends on it, and I wonder if he's even chewing it at all. His head is bowed all the way down, nose almost touching the pancake stack as he snakes his fork under his chin, and his free hand is on the table with his fingers spread, and before I can blink again, he's halfway through his plate.

"Hey, hey, Spence," I reach my hand out for him, but he doesn't react. This is what happened when he threw the book. He got in his head, then I touched him, and he freaked out. I can't let that happen again. So I sit up on my knees and lean toward him, placing my hands flat against the table so, again, he can see that I don't plan on touching him or using them against him. "Spencer, look at me," he digs his fork into the pancake but his hand falters, slowing down. "Eyes up here, dove."

Spencer's eyes slowly travel up until they lock with mine, and they hold the same panicked qualities that they did post-book-throwing. I offer him a smile, but he doesn't give one back, not that I expected him to.

"Spencer," I speak slowly and calmly, "nobody's here. It's just you and me. You can slow down. You have all the time in the world to eat," Spencer takes a labored breath through his nose and shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I promise, dove, and you know I don't break my promises. You can slow down, you can just be with me. You're with me, and that's it."

"It's just--" he hangs his head and then opens his eyes, staring at his half-empty plate, "sitting like this. It feels-- it feels like-- it just-- it's--"

For some reason, I understand what he can't say. From how he's sitting in such a defensive and protected position and now he's saying that there's a problem with how he's sitting, it makes sense to me. Somehow, sitting like his makes him think of sitting and eating in prison and having to, I don't know, protect his food, maybe. I don't know much of anything about prison but I didn't think that it would change the way he eats meals.

"Okay, okay," I cut off his stuttering, nodding softly so I can seem as understanding as possible. "Come on then," I pull back my hands and grab my plate, sliding off the barstool and pressing my back against the kitchen cabinets, slowly sliding down. "How about we sit on the floor? Would that be okay?"

Spencer stares at me sliding onto the floor and it takes him quite a while to grab onto his plate and join me. He slides down beside me and extends his legs in front of him, setting his plate on his lap. He takes a long, deep breath and starts slicing into his pancakes again, much slower this time.

"Is this better?" I ask softly. "You can tell me if it's not because we could move somewhere else," I start to cut into my own food again, keeping my eyes on him.

"Yeah," he murmurs, and then he slumps down a little bit more so he can rest his head on my shoulder. Spencer is eating like a snail now, moving his hand so slowly that I have to keep looking down to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep on my shoulder. We just eat in tense silence, and as badly as I want to touch him and comfort him and smother him in love like I imagined I would be by now, I get the feeling that he would hate that and it would overwhelm him.

Not surprisingly, Spencer finishes his pancakes before me and gently places his fork down on his plate, setting his trembling hands flat on his lap. I expect Spencer to get up and discard his plate in the sink or the dishwasher and then head upstairs and jump in a shower, but he doesn't move. He stays right beside me with his head on my shoulder so I start to pick up my eating pace so we can get going. If he's not going to move without me then I don't want to make him sit here forever.

"Can I take your plate for you?" I whisper once I've finally finished my pancakes. The sun has fully risen and is blaring through the windows, and it feels so twisted to be so exhausted, so early in the morning.

Spencer nods, but he doesn't offer the plate up to me. I pick it up off his lap gingerly and wait for Spencer to lift his head before standing, putting them in the sink to deal with later. I turn back to Spencer, who's still on the floor, and hold my hands out to him to help him up. He looks at my feet first, and then incredibly slowly drags his eyes up my body until his eyes lock with mine. He seems so distant. He seems so far away and so far gone. His eyes are glossed over and his movements are like that of a sloth, starkly contrasting his quick actions just a few minutes before.

I very gently thrust my hands forward again, wiggling my fingers in his direction to get his attention. "Let's go get you in a shower, okay? I bet it'll make you feel a lot better."

Spencer looks up at me with a heartbreaking gaze, as if he can't even see me. As if he's staring right through me. As if he can't even see me at all. But then he pushes himself up by his lonesome and runs his hands down his face.

"Um," he breathes, his voice so low that I barely hear it, "thank you for-- you know, for the food," He keeps his eyes down on the floor, his body turned slightly away from me as if he's cowering from my touch again.

"No need to thank me, love. But let's just head upstairs and get you into a shower, okay?" I wave him out of the kitchen and he slumps off towards the stairs.

I watch him go, and once he gets on the first step, I go into the living room to shut off the record that Spencer has put on. Taylor Swift, huh? I have to make a mental note to ask Spencer about that when we're better rested.

Once I've put the record away, I follow Spencer up the stairs and I find him rummaging through my closet, already having dumped out all the items from his go-bag on the bed. His back is turned to me, too focused on finding clothes in my closet. I go to the pile of clothes and separate the work clothes from his pajamas, making two separate sections for him and trying to smooth out wrinkles from the fabrics.

"Sweets," even when I speak, he doesn't acknowledge my presence, "what are you looking for in there? I know you've got some clothes in there but you've got two whole sets of pajamas right here. They're clean, I've cleaned these clothes."

"I need a white tee-shirt," Spencer tells me and his voice is sharper now. It's not quiet and timid like in the kitchen. It's the exact opposite of the man that was just in my apartment a moment ago.

"Why?" I look down at the pair of pajama pants and the crew neck on the bed in front of me, right next to a different pair of pajamas, a matching silk set that Spencer commonly wears to sleep. Why isn't this good enough for him? If anything, this will keep him more comfortable during bed than just a tee-shirt. "There's two pajama sets right here for you that--"

"I need a white tee shirt, okay?!" Spencer snaps, turning his head to me, but still never looking me in the eye. "I need to wear a white tee-shirt to bed!"

I let out a shaky breath at the venom dripping from his mouth, reaching for the clothes in front of me and just grasping them in my hand, grasping for something to ground me. Although, maybe I'm not the one who needs the grounding right now.

I hear Spencer sigh behind me as he finds a white tee-shirt, and when he comes to the bed beside me, he takes a pair of pajama pants and boxers out of my hands. I move around him to put the other clothes back into his go bag, setting it in the corner of the room and then sifting through my closet for a crew neck and a pair of shorts. I do everything in my power to forgive and forget the moment that is making my hands tremble and my head dizzy. Spencer never yells. And he definitely never yells at me.

I hear the bathroom door open as I put my clothes onto the bed and pull off my tank top, but when I don't hear the water turn on, I turn to check on Spencer. He's still standing in the doorway, clutching his clothes in his hands and staring at the shower door.

"Spence?" He jumps when I speak his name as if he momentarily forgot that I was in the same room as him. And when he turns to me, he's back to the man he was in the kitchen. Quiet, timid, desperate. His eyes are pleading for me, and I feel helpless knowing I don't know exactly how to help him. I disregard my clothes and walk toward him, but don't make an effort to touch him. "Love, you can shower, it's okay. You'll feel much better when you wash off all the sweat and grossness of the--" I pause, wanting to say one certain word but knowing I shouldn't. I settle with a safer word, "day."

Spencer pouts his pretty lips and his hands tighten around the pile of clothes in his hands. "Could you-- um-- could you come with me? I don't wanna be alone right now," and perhaps it seems like a rude comparison, but he looks like a small child. He looks like a child who's woken up from a nightmare, clutching his pillow to his chest, asking his mom to come to his room to scare away the monster under his bed. But I'll never be able to scare away the monster under Spencer's bed. We both know that and we both seem to be ignoring it. For now, we'll pretend that I can remedy every issue in the world and continue on with our day.

I toss my tank top into the hamper across the room and then walk over to Spencer, leaning against the doorframe across from him. "Are you gonna be comfortable with that, dove?"

Spencer nods quickly, his hair falling in front of his eyes. "I'll be okay. I really don't wanna be alone. I want you."

I glance at the shower and then back at Spencer with his greasy hair and his half-lidded eyes and his hunched shoulders, and I nod. If he gets uncomfortable again, I'll just get out. He needs a shower more than me anyway, and if I need to get out of the shower because he doesn't want me touching him, then it's not the end of the world. Spencer breathes a sigh of relief and steps fully into the bathroom, setting his clothes on the sink counter. I grab two towels from the closet and start the shower, leaving the door open a crack so the steam can escape.

Spencer strips off his clothes before I do and, holy shit, I almost gasp. Now, for the millionth time, I have no idea what prison is like. I only know tiny bits of what Spencer went through, like getting beat up and eventually stabbing himself and getting thrown into solitary confinement. I don't know what he did during the time that he was stuck in his cell by himself, or what he did to pass the time when he wasn't in his cell. Honestly, I don't really know what he did at all in prison.

But holy shit. Spencer's arms are far more toned than I remember them to be and his stomach is too, and if Derek Morgan were here, I'd bet good money that he would be impressed. Even Spencer's calves and quads look more toned than before, and every time he moves, every one of his muscles flexes in the most delicious and sexy way. How much did he work out in prison? Did he work out every second of every day? I wasn't expecting this type of transformation from him, but he's been full of surprises. And after a moment of staring, I wonder if this is a good change or not.

"Why are you staring?" Spencer has just reached for the waistband of his boxers but paused when he saw me standing still and staring, then his hands stilled.

"Um," I have to physically jerk my head to the side to break my gaze and force my eye line up to his pupils, "sorry, I was just-- you--"

"I what?" Spencer retorts, and thankfully, he doesn't sound angry. He sounds genuinely curious.

"You just look different. More, you know, muscular," I try to choose my words carefully because I don't want to offend him. I don't want to make it seem like I hate his body now, or that I hated his body before prison because neither is the case. I could never hate his body. I'm not with him for his body. His body is beautiful regardless. This is just such a difference from what I'm used to seeing from my boyfriend. This is just another part of him that has been taken away from him. His soft body is gone as if he has morphed himself into an intimidating alpha male. I never wanted an alpha male. I've only ever wanted my Spencer.

"I worked out a lot," Spencer mumbles vaguely. He barely tells me any details about prison. The most he told me was while we were eating. And even still, he didn't give me specifics during dinner. He left me to guess exactly what was wrong. It's all been vague so far. I'm not sure if that's because he's protecting me or because he just can't bring himself to talk about it yet.

"Let's get in the shower so we can get some sleep," I want to nudge him towards the open shower curtain and the warm, streaming water. But Spencer moves on his own, shuffling towards the shower and quickly discarding his boxers.

He seems hesitant to get into the water at first, just standing at the edge of the tub and letting the water hit his toes first. Spencer stares at the stream of water, reaching his foot out a bit more to get his ankle and shin wet. I watch him carefully for a moment, just to make sure he doesn't freak out like he has a few times already today.

Spencer's head turns to me and he gives me a pleading look, his eyebrows scrunched up and his bottom lip between his teeth. He's clearly keeping tears at bay, trying to prevent his chin from quivering. "Lia," he stammers, but doesn't say anything else. A single tear falls down his cheek.

I quickly pull off my undergarments and move the shower door back a little bit more, stepping into the tub so I'm in the stream of water. I hold my hands out for him, and this time, he actually grabs onto them. I draw him closer to me. Not closer to the stream of water, but just closer to my body.

"It's just water, Spence," I tip my head back and wet my mane of curls, matting them down to my head. "It actually feels really good."

"It's just," Spencer shuffles just a little bit closer to me. The tips of his toes touch mine, his whole body flinching when a droplet of water ricochets off of me and hits his chest, "the showers were always cold."

"Oh," I turn and look at the knobs behind me that control the water temperature, "I can make it cold if you want. It's not a big deal if--"

"No, no, I don't want that," he shakes his head, clutching my hands tightly in his. "I don't wanna take another cold shower. It just feels weird. I'm not used to it."

I scrunch up my nose, unlacing our hands and tracing my fingertips up his forearms. I wonder if I should even let myself touch his biceps because if I do, I might completely lose my cool and want to jump his bones. Clearly, he's not ready for sex or any kind of physical intimacy. I didn't even expect us to be showering together any time soon. "I don't like cold showers, either. You know that. Do you wanna get under the water?"

Spencer nods and grabs my hands again, switching our spots so he's directly under the stream. I don't let go of him as he sighs of relief, the water falling over his face and making his hair stick to his forehead. He closes his eyes, dropping his shoulders down. This is, by far, the most relaxed I've seen him all day. He seemed to be relaxed in the car, but now, he has completely let his guard down for the first time. It's a beautiful sight, truly. It's beautiful to see him running his hands through his hair and reaching for his shampoo and fluttering his eyelids. He's always been so beautiful.

I shave my legs while Spencer washes his body, and he spends quite a lot of time doing so. I'm not surprised that he wants to wash every germ off his body, I'd expected that much. And we keep in silence, just washing away the stress and drama and hardships of the last few months. I wish that a simple shower could wash away all the pain that we've been cursed with, but I know that this pain may never go away. The pain of this time will always linger, no matter how hard we try to eradicate it.

"Are you gonna shave?" I ask, switching places one more time with Spencer so I could wash my face.

"You said you liked it so--"

"Yeah, but it's your face. If you wanna shave, then shave. Don't let me stop you," I wipe away the soap from my eyes and smile at Spencer, gesturing to where his razor still sits along the wall.

Spencer runs his hands over his face, feeling his mustache and beard on his fingertips. "I'll keep it for now. Maybe tomorrow I'll clean it up a little but I don't wanna deal with it today."

"Well let's go get some sleep, okay?" I turn around and shut off the water, wringing out my hair so it doesn't drip onto the floor. Spencer gets out and quickly wraps himself in a towel, and when I step out a moment after him, he hands my towel to me. "Thanks."

I head out of the bathroom and reach for my clothes, pulling on a pair of underwear and one of Spencer's old tee-shirts. I dry off my hair a little bit and sit on the edge of the bed, putting lotion on my legs and keeping my eyes on the bathroom door for when Spencer eventually comes out.

He takes forever to get dressed, but when he does, he's wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white tee-shirt, his hair soaked and hanging over his forehead. He drops his towel in the hamper and then he turns on his heel to join me in bed, but freezes in his spot when he sees my towel on the floor. He quickly picks it up off the floor and puts it into the hamper, then he scans the floor of the room for anything else that could be out of place.

"Babe?" I close off the lid on my bottle of lotion and put it away, watching him put a pair of my shoes into the closet and then jam the door closed. "Spencer, if you really wanna clean, do it when you can actually keep your eyes open. Come get some sleep, please."

Spencer lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands drop from the closet handle, and then they smooth through his hair. He nods silently, and his toes drag against the carpet as he brings himself towards the bed.

He falls onto his side, pulling back the duvet and slipping under, letting out a sound close to a moan as his body sinks into the bed. His head falls onto the pillow and he moans louder, his body wiggling under the covers. I smile at his pure and unfiltered ecstasy and pleasure, doing the same and slipping under the duvet with him.

I keep a bit of distance between us though. Usually, I'd slide my leg through his and wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest and get as close to him as I possibly can. But he's so caught up in the familiarity and comfortability of my bed that I don't want to overwhelm him by touching him. I want him to enjoy his first time in a proper bed in months and not worry about my hands on his skin.

I let out a roaring yawn, rolling onto my side to face Spencer. Now that I'm laying in bed, my exhaustion is setting in yet again. I pull the duvet up to my chin and close my eyes, trying to let myself drift off to sleep.

I'm just about to dip into dreamland when I feel Spencer shift beside me, facing me. I try to ignore it, try to bring myself closer to sleep, try to let us both get the rest that we so desperately need. But I can sense Spencer's gaze on me, and as hard as I try to, I can't ignore it. I just want him to go to sleep. I want him to sleep so he can regenerate and hopefully feel better whenever it is that we wake up. But my forehead is burning with his stare and I can't stop feeling it. Clearly, something is affecting him and that's why he hasn't tried to sleep yet.

To my surprise, Spencer's voice is the one to break through the silence. "Baby?" He's shaky. He's trembling. He's unsure.

I open my eyes, seeing tears pouring down his cheeks and his hand in midair, just a few inches in front of my face. "Spencer," I breathe, watching his hand drops onto the bed between us. "What's wrong?" Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, and his hand clutches the bed sheet until his knuckles turn white. He breathes in harshly through his nose and he draws his knees up to his chest, curling into a tiny ball. "Dove, talk to me."

Spencer's other hand comes down to the bed to join his other, squeezing so tightly that I fear he might rip a hole in the fabric. I see his arms start to shake with the force he's using to hold the bedsheet, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and staining the pillow. He hiccups, but not too loud. Barely loud enough for me to hear. "Lia," he sobs, completely breaking down right before my eyes, "please hold me."

I want to jump his bones. I want to get on top of him and smother him in love and affection and kisses. I want to give him everything I know we've both been craving for months. I want to give him exactly what he's asking for. But I've spent most of my day doing what I can to not overwhelm him and that's not going to change now.

I debate for a moment on how I should touch him first. Should I wipe his tears? Should I hold his hand? Should I wrap my arm around his waist? Should I drag my fingers along his arm? What could I do that won't freak him out?

But then I notice, again, that his eyes are closed. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's not looking at me. I remember how he reacted in the round table room when I touched him when he couldn't see it coming. He jumped and cowered away from me. He didn't take well to getting touched without seeing it.

"Spencer," I whisper, "open your eyes." His eyebrows scrunch up at my request but he doesn't follow it. "Come on, baby, I wanna see your pretty eyes. I haven't been able to see them in so long. Open your eyes for me," I watch Spencer carefully as he holds his breath, forcing his eyelids open, releasing more tears. "There you go, Spence. Thank you, lovey. So pretty. Your eyes are so pretty."

I raise my hand and let it linger in the air for a moment before reaching towards Spencer's face. I drag my fingers along his jawline then lay my hand flat against his cheek. Spencer's lips part when he lets out a shaky sigh, nuzzling his cheek against the palm of my hand. I give him a moment to revel in this type of contact, just staring into his eyes and gauging his reaction. He isn't cowering away and he hasn't screamed at me yet, so I take that as a good sign.

I bring my other hand forward and press my fingers against the back of his hand, feeling him already start to ease his grip. I can't attest for his other hand, but he flattens his hand against the bed, allowing me to lock our fingers together in an awkward, backwards handhold.

"I've got you," I whisper, swiping my thumb across his cheeks to rid his skin of stinging tears. His eyes are locked on mine and he doesn't dare to avert his gaze from my blue eyes that I know he loves so much.

Spencer sucks in a breath and tugs on my hand, wanting me even closer. So I wiggle my hips to diminish the gap between us, leaving some space still. I move my head so we're sharing a pillow, the same pillow that I used to clutch when I was missing Spencer so intensely that I needed to smell his cologne and remember that he would come home to me soon.

"It hurts," he slurs, and his eyelids are so heavy that he can barely keep them open. But he fights with all his strength against the sleep that wants to suck him in, sticking his eyes to me. His eyes plead for help, a type of help that I don't know if I can provide.

"Oh, my baby," I coo, bringing my face right in front of him, "you're safe. You're home. You don't have to go back to that horrible place again. You're right here and you can rest, okay? It's okay to rest now."

I feel him moving under the sheets and it takes everything in me to not look at what he's doing. But I feel his legs touching mine, and then one of his slips between mine a moment later. Even though he initiated this contact, I wait, yet again, for his reaction. His face doesn't change.

"Can I touch you some more?" Spencer nods quickly, his facial hair scratching my palm. "Can I hug you?" He nods again, and with this obvious consent, I almost sigh of relief.

I slide my hand down Spencer's neck, then down his arm, and to his stomach. I wrap my arm around his waist, pulling my body forward so I'm flush against him. With this, he finally lets his eyelids flutter closed, lips parted as he breathes heavily. His skin feels so warm against mine and I can already feel beads of sweat collecting at my hairline, but I ignore their presence.

"Go to sleep," I murmur, bringing our entwined hands up to the pillow between our faces. "I'm here right now, I'm gonna be here when you wake up, I'm gonna be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the next day, and every day after that. I'm not going anywhere. And if you need me then don't hesitate to wake me up. But I need you to get some sleep, okay? Can you do that for me?" Spencer nods yet again, and he flips his hand around so we can properly hold hands. I smile at his responsiveness. "Let me hear you say it, doll."

Spencer nuzzles his cheek against the pillow, scooting a bit closer to me. "I'm gonna try to get some sleep."

"Good," I slip my hand under his tee shirt and rest it flat against his hot skin, earning a small gasp from him, but I don't do any more than that. "I'm right here, baby boy. I'm not gonna let go of your hand and I'm not gonna get out of bed before you. I'll be right here the whole time. I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"I love you," Spencer whispers but his words are barely coherent as his exhaustion becomes too much to handle. His lips are barely moving and his grip on my hand, and on the sheets, are loosening.

"I love you too, dove."

I watch him closely until I know, for sure, that he's fallen asleep. I wouldn't want his eyes to pop open again and for him to panic. But I keep my promise and I don't let go of his hand, or move my hand from in his shirt, or get out of bed. I just close my eyes and drift off into the most restless sleep I've had yet.

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