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hier--soir · 6 months

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a lover's pinch | six

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel and rachel have dinner. a confession is made. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, JOEL POV, sexting/nudes, joel has bad restaurant etiquette lmao, descriptions of arousal, references to past smut, the guilt and shame that sometimes go so neatly hand in hand with wanting, miller daughter cameo, mild angst, discussion of a car accident. word count: 4.8k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: just a reminder that this is set within ALP5, when joel goes to have dinner w rachel. just a short little peek into my beloved professor’s mind, and some context between j & r. hope you like it x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part six of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five.

Sunday.

“Nina thinks it’ll rain tomorrow. Overcast too, probably.”

There’s a faint hum through the phone as she speaks. A vague buzz that crackles and pops in almost every beat of silence. Not for the first time, Joel wishes she would let him buy her a new phone.

A gust of wind whips against his face and he cringes, turning his back against the draft.

“Okay,” he replies. “That’s okay, right?”

“It’s fine,” she grumbles. “Wanted to take you to this bar, though. They do these tacos we love. Nina says it’s the best Mexican place in New York.”

“Now how many times do I have to tell you there’s no good Mexican food in New York?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Joel can practically hear her rolling her eyes. He chuckles.

“What time are you coming ‘round?” Ellie asks. “I’ll be in the studio for most of the day, but we normally get home around five. Could do dinner around eight?”

Joel hesitates, and then raises his voice to be heard over the rushing wind. “I was actually thinkin’ I’d come see your studio.”

A moment of humming, crackling silence.

“I’d love to see some of your work,” he continues, peering in through the window of the restaurant. He thinks he can see Rachel through the frosted glass – her mess of dark curls vaguely visible, tucked away somewhere in the corner of the space. He hears Ellie breathing through the phone as he looks. “And s’been too long since you showed your old man any of your paintings.”

“Joel,” she huffs, and it’s that smartass, pained tone that has him grinning wider than anything she’s said up until this point.

It’s few and far between lately – hearing that name coming from her mouth. Joel. Something that’s been intermittent for almost a decade, and has been steadily decreasing since she moved to New York five years ago.

Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad.

Joel for years, and then one day—Dad.

It was Summer; Ellie was eighteen and he was thirty-nine, and this word that he’d grown so accustomed to hearing suddenly felt like a fist squeezing around his heart. It became something new, something different. Because Joel knew that, for her, family had always meant mistrust. Had always meant loneliness. Knew that sometimes her childhood felt like a knife stuck in her throat, and on those days, she had to decide whether to leave it in and stem the blood flow, or pluck out the blade and watch everything turn red.

And then one day, years on, it seemed that she’d drawn that dagger enough times. The blood stopped, the mistrust fell away, and—Dad.

Dad to Sarah and now, finally, Dad to Ellie.

“Ellie,” he imitates her tone, well-versed in mirroring her attitude after so many years of practice.

A voice rears up directly behind him and Joel stiffens, glancing over his shoulder to watch a couple exit the restaurant. Coat collars dragged up to protect their necks, arms linked as they smile and start down the street. He imagines Rachel sitting inside, alone, and his smile falters. He knows he should go back in soon, but can’t quite bring himself to cut this short.

“Yeah, okay,” Ellie answers finally, and he can feel the weight that rests in those words.

The admission, but also everything that goes unsaid alongside it. A silent acknowledgement of years spent reading between the lines, trying to know each other; years of her locking her bedroom door, hiding her journals, her artbooks, her pencils. Anything to keep someone else from seeing the way she expresses herself – from understanding that she feels anything. And this yeah, okay – well, it’s as close to I love you as the two of them ever get.

Joel says, “I’ve been missin’ you, kiddo.”

And she says, “I know.”

More silence. More contemplation of how to respond, how to keep emotions level when he is not Joel in this moment, but Dad.

Plucking out the blade.

“Ten tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the address,” Ellie says after a while. “Don’t be late or I’m not showing you shit, old man.”

Heat blasts his face when he steps back inside the restaurant. He tugs his jacket off as he wanders his way toward their little corner table inside San Vecchio—old saint. A small Italian place that Rachel likes to visit whenever she’s the city, and has slowly but surely grown on him.

When he gets close enough to see the table his stomach drops, face twisting into something apologetic as he lowers himself into his chair.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, staring at their food. Brought out while he was on the phone, sitting untouched; she didn’t even pick up her fork in his absence. A shameful heat rises in his face. “I’m sorry, Rach.”

“Hon,” she just laughs him off. “It’s okay, it only just came out.”

He nods, grateful, and lets her pour him a generous glass of wine. Red. A bottle of the Carignan, please, he remembers her telling the waiter. Although, when he takes a sip, he can’t tell the difference between this and the twenty-dollar cabernet he buys once a fortnight from the grocer.

They press the lips of their glasses together and murmur soft calls of cheers and another conference done, the words all but swallowed up by the raucous sounds around them.

“How is she then?” she prompts, never able to tame her curiosity.

“Ellie?” Joel’s eyebrows jut up, and he sets his wine glass down. “Good, yeah, good. It was nice to hear her voice, I, uh, I’ve missed too many of that kid’s calls over the past few months.”

Rachel nods, and when she smiles his chest feels a little lighter, because it’s the type of smile that says it’s okay, everything is okay, you’re a good dad, you took the call. And she has always had that kind of soothing effect on him, since the day he met her all those years ago. There’s this compassion to her character; a warmth akin to that of a sister. Smarter than hell and kinder than she’s ever been given credit for.

“Are you seeing her while you’re in town?”

“Mhm, tomorrow.”

“Well, that will be lovely,” she beams and takes a sip of her wine. Carignan stains her mouth. “Is she still with Nina?”

“She is.”

“God, that must be, what, four years they’ve been together now? That’s great, Joel.”

“I’m happy for her,” he smiles, gripping his fork. “They’re renting out this art studio together at the moment – Nina’s an artist too, did I—?”

“Yeah, you told me.”

“Yeah, they’ve been using the space to work on some new stuff. Ellie was tellin’ me ‘bout this gallery downtown, how they’ve offered her some exhibit space. Gonna have a show down there in March.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Rachel’s eyebrows raise, top lip quirking into a soft smirk as she twirls her fork through a mess of red pasta. “Do you think they’ll get married? Follow in Sarah and Tim’s footsteps?”

Joel can’t help but laugh at the idea. He tries to imagine Ellie and Nina in a chapel, or on a beach, or anywhere, professing their love for one another with friends and family watching on. Tries to imagine Ellie, all tattoos, messy hair, and gangly arms, tucked into a suit or a dress. The image doesn’t come easily.

“I don’t really think they’re the type,” he admits, and Rachel laughs too then.

“No,” she agrees. “I guess not.”

She asks more questions about the girls, the way she always does. Asks about Sarah’s job at the primary school, if teaching is all she thought it would be.

And something like halfway through their meal, around a mouthful of food, Rachel says, “You know I’m glad we’re here, because I need to ask you something.”

Joel’s hands still, face going slack as he meets her eye. There’s something conniving in them. Something sly in the way she smiles, baring her teeth at him. It makes his stomach twist into a tight, burning knot. What does she know?

“Okay,” he says slowly, lowering his knife.

“So,” she hums. “At the conference yesterday…”

“Yeah?” he rasps, blunt nails digging into his thigh beneath the table.

“I couldn’t ask you about it because I didn’t want anyone to overhear us, but… did you see what Professor Neilson was wearing? That blazer?”

“Jesus,” he deflates.

“Oh, come on,” she sputters, and there’s lipstick stained on her front teeth and he finds himself smiling too, relaxing.

“You’re a filthy gossip, you know that?” he raises an eyebrow.

She grins back at him. Winks and says, “Don’t act like you don’t love it, Miller.”

So, for an hour they eat, and talk, and drink. Don’t stop until their cheeks are sore from smiling and their ribs are tight and aching from laughter.

With full bellies and rosy cheeks, they scrape their plates clean. Lips purse and pucker around final sips of wine, and then… and then Rachel reaches across the table and places her hand atop his.

And Joel has never noticed that she has sunspots across her knuckles. Never noticed that she wears a ring on her pinkie finger, one with a dark emerald stone in the middle. Never noticed the thin white scar beside the nail on her index. She squeezes his hand, the pad of a finger skimming his wrist, and he remembers how he held someone else’s wrist only hours before this. Felt her skin beneath his fingers – the frailty of the tendons and veins beneath it, swimming with life as his thumb pressed down.

Joel feels his eye twitch. Works to keep his face relaxed, calm. And when she leaves her hand there, he laughs a little. A choked, wary sound. Turns his hand over so his knuckles are against the table and his palm is against her palm and squeezes once in return. Rachel isn’t smiling anymore.

“You okay, Rach?”

“Do you…” she pauses, mouth twisting into a shy smile as she clears her throat. Joel feels something heavy settle in his stomach. A type of dread that curdles and burns like red sky at morning. “Do you remember when Sarah was in that car accident a few years back?”

Joel swallows. Her hand feels too warm against his, her palm tacky with sweat.

“We were… we were at work, and… and Tim called you and told you she was in the hospital—”

He almost cringes at the memory. Her husband’s name flashing across his phone screen during a lecture. Stomach churning and why is Tim calling me, heart racingand Tim never calls. Remembers hearing those panicky breaths down the line and thinking Texas and Maine had never felt further apart than in that moment.

“You drove me to the airport,” he nods. His knuckles feel tight – he wants to pull his hand back and crack them. Wants to feel the joints pop beneath his skin, let the tension slip away like a sigh.

“You were so distraught,” Rachel sighs. “I’d never seen you like that. So uncomposed, so… chaotic.”

Joel huffs out an awkward laugh and tries to pull his hand back, but she squeezes harder. Keeps it in place beneath her own.

“What’s this all about?” his eyebrows furrow, face pinching into a sort of scowl. He can feel it, he can always feel it when his face does this. So unpleasant, so unwelcoming, and he knows it. Just never figured out how to stop it from happening.

“We were in the car,” she continues, and her eyes are so earnest now. So wide, the whites shining, her lashes darkened and fanned out around them in a way he’s never seen before. She’s wearing makeup. “And you didn’t even have a bag packed, you just wanted to get to your girl. Needed to see her with your own eyes, make sure she was okay.”

His jaw feels tight inside his head; teeth clenched painfully, digging into the gums around his molars as the memory plays in his mind.

Tim’s voice wavering, crying, she was unconscious when they pulled her out.

His hand is numb beneath Rachel’s. She’s fine, he reminds himself. Sarah’s fine, that was years ago.

“I think I knew then,” she says quietly.

“Knew what?” Joel tries to keep his voice level. Ignoring the odd feeling that twists in his chest and has his heart racing faster, so much faster than normal, faster than it has ever raced for Rachel.

“That I loved you.”

It’s almost dreamlike, the way everything seems to blur and fade around them after she says it. Or perhaps nightmarish is the right word. A sharp pain sparks between his ribs and he feels his body stiffen and then loosen all at once. Face, shoulders, hand beneath hers – everything softens. Fuck. His mouth tastes like sandpaper, tongue resting fat and gravelly against the roof of it as she stares at him.

When he doesn’t say a word, she says, “I’d always known you were so kind, so generous to the people around you. But to see the way you love? It’s… shit, Joel, I just knew.”

He’s convinced his throat is tightening.

“And I held it in all of these years, and I’m sorry for that. I was just never sure of how you felt, and you never tried anything with me, never hinted at any feelings. But after the conference yesterday...”

“The conference?” he whispers. He pictures that bench outside NYU. Remembers the nasty wind, an empty champagne flute on the ground, the side of his body going hot where it pressed against hers.

“Walking around that hall together,” Rachel smiles. “You kept holding your arm out for me to hold, and I thought, god, maybe this is it. Maybe you actually feel the same.”

Joel imagines that this must be what people describe as critical velocity. Everything that once was smooth turns turbulent. Every second, every minute, that he’s allowed himself to careen forward, wanton and reckless, on the deliciously destructive course he’s set for himself – all of it just for someone close to him to step directly into his line of fire.

And his silence is so painfully telling. He knows immediately when it’s been too long, too much quiet, too many seconds of nothing said, of no reassurances offered. The muscle in her jaw ticks, and a vertical line appears between pinched eyebrows. Confusion, surprise, hurt. Her hand pulls back, and he tucks his in his lap quickly.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, shit.”

Joel is suddenly certain that he’s going to be sick. His hands shake beneath the table, a violent tap tap tap where they’re clasped against the inside of his thigh.

“Rachel—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t apol—”

“I shouldn’t have said—”

“Rachel,” Joel’s voice raises, just a little, just enough to make her pause, enough for conversation at the table beside them to halt for a second. “If anythin’, I should be the one apologisin’.”

She laughs; a sad, quiet thing. Shakes her head at him.

“I guess I… somewhere in my head, I thought you knew,” Rachel says quietly. “Thought you….” The unspoken words hang in the air between them. Thought you felt the same.

And it hurts. His skin prickles at the sound of her voice; laced with pain, with rejection. Your fault, he thinks. That pain is your fault.

“Is there someone else?” she asks then, and her voice is so feeble. So small, so un-Rachel that it makes his chest feel tight. Your fault.

Joel sighs, cringes, fumbles for the right words. The words to explain something that he himself doesn’t even fully understand. Words that will make her feel better, that will put her at ease. Put him at ease.

“It’s not….” he trails off, half-prepared to lie. But then he meets her gaze. Sees the tears that have settled on her waterline and knows he can’t. Wants to hate her for asking, wants to beg her to take back the question. But in the end he just admits quietly, “I suppose there is.”

She sniffles, and when she speaks again, it almost sounds like a question.

“You never mentioned anyone.”

“I know,” Joel nods. “I’m sorry, I think I just… it’s complicated, and it… it’s new.”

“New,” she repeats softly. “And you never… you never thought of me that way.” This time it isn’t posed like a question. There is nothing open ended about it. Instead it’s resigned; final.

The corners of her mouth are downturned, and her lower lip wobbles, a movement so miniscule that he could have missed it if his eyes weren’t trained on her face. Trying painfully to understand this situation that feels as if it has crept up on him in his sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Joel finds himself saying again, and he thinks his eyes must be wide, unblinking, because they’re dry, and he feels panicked.

In his mind all he can think of is every cup of coffee in her office, every borrowed book, every sly joke in the corridor at work. Comforting smiles offered at conferences, snarky notes passed back and forth during faculty meetings. His friend. One of the truest, longest, most persevering ones in his life. One so dear to his heart. The idea of all of that being no more seems almost too painful to contemplate in the middle of a restaurant, with your fault thundering in his chest.

Rachel waves a hand. Feigns nonchalance and offers a watery smile.

“I’m happy for you, Joel,” she says. He doesn’t miss the waver in her voice, nor the harsh splash of crimson humiliation that stains the skin of her face. “I am. Really.”

Except he doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what there is to be happy for. Can only watch her face. Can only sit, and stare like a fool at the way the skin beneath her eyes tightens as she draws back tears.

“I’m—” Rachel swallows. Sucks in a huge breath and flattens her palms against the table. Her napkin, stained with soft blots of red and brown, is pressed beneath the fingers of her left hand. The one with the sunspots and the ring and the scar. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’m going to use the restroom—”

“Rach,” he tries, hand reaching across the table for—for what? Joel isn’t sure. What is there to do? To say? “What can I do?”

“It’s okay,” she stands, holds a hand out to silence him. Steps out from the behind table and squeezes past him. Her fingers brush against his arm as she goes. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I just need a second to freshen up.”

Joel watches her weave through the restaurant, shifting around tables, until her back disappears through a door at the far end of the room.

There’s a minute of painful quiet. A sort of buzzing in his ears that won’t go away. For a moment all he’s aware of is the look of disdain coming from the woman on the table to his left, and the sharp pain in his chest, and then the sounds of the restaurant come rushing back in. Cutlery scraping against plates, conversation, laughter, the sound of a bell ringing. And something buzzing, really truly buzzing this time. Something against his leg.

Joel pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries not to wince when he sees her name on the screen.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

The glance he spares over his shoulder is short, searching, looking to see if she’s coming back yet. Don’t make this worse than it already is.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

Something tightens in his stomach, and he knows what she’s doing, knows this game so well. The way she always manages to creep beneath his skin. Knows exactly what to say, to do, to have him hanging on her every word.

His fingers hover over the screen, contemplating a response.

Is that right? he types out, and then grimaces, backspacing quickly.

Want some company? he types next.

“Christ,” Joel mutters under his breath, erasing that too.

Embarrassment itches across his body. And then guilt, like a tidal wave chaser rushing to cool his inflamed skin, as he notices Rachel walking back toward him. You fucking asshole.

He straightens in his seat, tucking his phone out of sight as she hovers beside the table, eyes darting between him and her empty chair. She doesn’t sit down again.

“I think,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I should probably go. Early flight to catch, you know? I need to get some rest.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

He can feel his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded, ridiculous, as his brain scavenges for something to say. Never the right words, never when he needs them. Not for her, and not for Rachel.

Rachel reaches for her purse, and he holds out a hand. “Hey, let me… I’ll cover this.”

She pauses, nods. “Thanks.”

“Course,” he says gruffly. She pulls her coat from the back of her chair, wraps it around herself and does the buttons up slowly. Her mascara is smudged. “Hey, Rach, can we… should we talk about this some more? I don’t want to—”

“Not tonight,” she interrupts sharply. “Please, Joel, I’m sorry, just…. not tonight.”

—lose you.

“Sure, okay.” His throat is tight, your fault lodged heavy against his Adam’s apple. “You need help to get a taxi?”

“I’m fine,” she places a hand lightly on his shoulder, and presses her thumb against the skin beneath his collarbone. “Get home safe, okay? We can talk in Maine.”

“In Maine,” he repeats, and the words split and sour inside his mouth. “Okay.”

He doesn’t watch her leave. Doesn’t want to have to see her retreating from him. Doesn’t want to think about if this will be the last time they get to do this.

The waiter returns and he pays the bill, hastily jotting down a generous tip, and offers the women at the table on his left a tight-lipped smile before standing up.

When he finally makes his way outside, he finds a tax idling by the curb, lights on. The driver notices Joel staring; rolls down the window and raises his eyebrows. Where to?

Joel only shakes his head a little, leans his back against the dank, cold brick wall behind him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before opening his phone, and sends two words.

Show me.

And then, when she doesn’t respond for a moment, he sends another message. Insistent now. Desperate, and even more desperate not to let it show.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

And when she does show him, it takes all of his might not to let this guilt consume him. Takes everything not to ruminate on how quickly he can shift from I’m sorry to Show me.

Because her skin.

So much skin.

Soft, smooth; shrouded in a robe that covers more than he’d like, and he knows how it tastes. Knows how it feels. Could press his fingers, his lips, his nose, to every part of it that he’s touched, in the exact same places, from memory alone.

It’s cold outside – windy, the beginnings of tomorrow’s storm twisting through the air. He feels it snake across his neck, curl beneath the lip of his collar, as he takes in the curve of her breast, the stiff point of her nipple, peeking out from behind white fabric. His cock stiffens in his pants.

He gazes at the softest part of her stomach, the thatch of curls that cover her mound, and wants to press his palms against the plush of her thighs. Wants to lay himself atop her, feel that skin against his again, hear her whimper and moan beneath the broad weight of him as he slips inside her. Wants to snatch her finger from her mouth and glide it inside his own. With her slick and her skin against his tongue, he’d sink his teeth in and inhale that warmth, that beating, pulsating force that he’s found himself so intoxicated by.

And to think, only hours ago, he was doing just that. Lowering himself to the ground in a public bathroom and drinking her down. Feeling the muscles in her thighs pull tight and then loose against the sides of his head. Anything to satisfy the craving that only she seems to inspire in him.

Resolute, persistent – a probing, prodding thing that nips at his heels and thrusts him forward at a double time pace.

A hunger that follows him down the nights and down the days.

A hunger that can only ever be sated like the taking of a sacrament – on his knees, devotion in his eyes.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am.

Are you touching yourself?

Joel’s jaw tightens. He holds his breath and waits. Can’t quite tell what would be worse; knowing that she’s touching herself, alone, thinking about him, or that she isn’t, that she’s waiting for him. He can feel his cock leaking against his thigh.

No.

He exhales heavily, and the faintest hint of a groan slips out with it. Fuck, pull yourself together.

Joel’s fingers float over the keyboard, and for a moment he thinks of Rachel.

Thinks that if he could only bring himself to look up, to look away from her, he might be able to see Rachel still. The back of her coat, the dark scrawl of her hair, disappearing into the night. Joel thinks of the tears in her eyes, taunting him, threatening to spill spill spill, to streak down rosy cheeks and wet the hollow of her throat. Feels something throb and crack in his chest – a painful, resounding ache that hurts so much like fear, like loss.

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

And wouldn’t that be so much easier? If he were to look away, to chase his friend down the street and tell her that he was wrong, that he wants her, that it makes sense for them to be together. Wouldn’t it be easier if that were true?

But he doesn’t stop looking at her. He thinks of Pothos, of Himeros, and stares at the soft curve of her stomach, the indent of her belly button. Looks at the way her lower lip rests below her finger and pictures it swollen, slick with a medley of her spit and his. Even notices a small mark, nestled in the crevice between her hip and the top of her thigh. A fading remnant of where his teeth had once pinched – like a tangible little footprint, whispering that he was there.

Longing and desire flame between the cracks of his ribs; a bright white heat that curls itself around your fault until he manages to shake the thought.

What was it that Kaminsky said? There was no mythology: Odysseus hanged himself. Homer drank to death and stank of mud.

And perhaps he was right; for there is no witness to this. No being over his shoulder, God or mortal, to lay their eyes upon this moment and understand that all he has ever known of love is deprivation. That fondest, blindest, weakest part of his being that has always yearned for, or perhaps grieved over, this love that once seemed so intangible and now, at last, maybe he has been deemed worthy of.

Alone so long, living in a body grown accustomed to such quiet. Familiar with no touch other than that of his own rough palms. And now… the intensity of it shakes within him. The urge to sink his teeth in like a bad dog and hold, hold, hold, to consume and be consumed, and never yield to anyone who wants to take this away from him.

No, there is no looking away from that, from her. Joel feels the noose tighten around his neck the longer he stares – a dog on the leash of its own longing, that need only sharpening with every second that dares to pass.

And Joel knows that nothing has ever been easy. Considers the idea that maybe that’s how it was supposed to be for him. And perhaps he doesn’t want easy, doesn’t want simple. No – Joel was always drawn to the flame.

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

And that flame welcomes him now in kind. The arms of a lover spread open for embrace; the address of her hotel sent directly to his phone.

Joel looks up and makes eye contact with the taxi driver again. Light still on.

Where to?

**the Kaminsky mentioned in this is Ilya Kaminsky, and the quote is from Dancing in Odessa.

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. ii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter

chapter summary: Joel tries, and fails, to keep Sarah away from you, and you get to know the family across the street a little bit better. It’s a slow burn, so let the yearning begin, baby! pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 7.7k chapter warnings: some light angst, alcohol use, references to marijuana use, parental neglect. divorce mention, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues - shocker! a/n: Was absolutely floored by the love on part one. Seriously you all are the best. I hate doing chapter summaries because I don't like giving away too much info, so I'd suggest just reading this. This story might end up being a longer than six parts, because I don't want to rush anything and it's been really fun to write these relationships as they form! Let me know what you think :)

-March 25th, 2003-

Joel cannot keep Sarah away from you.

Unfortunately, he can’t blame her. Unlike him, she doesn’t need an excuse to show up on your doorstep after school and on the weekends to be in your company. Still, he doesn’t technically know you that well, and he imagines you didn’t intend to see her as often as you did after extending some kindness to his family for one night.

Despite the two of you having not spoken since you helped him with the Tommy situation, Joel feels like he knows you, or is getting to know you, just from the snippets of information Sarah drops to him, which is then followed by a barrage of questions.

“Do you know she grew up in New York City? Have you ever been there?”

“She gave me her old tennis racket. Do you think I could start taking lessons?”

“She says her brother got her front-row tickets to The Strokes last year. You like them, don’t you?”

Joel decides to give Sarah a talking to about her tendency to wander over to your house whenever she sees your car in the driveway. Perhaps you are just being friendly, and feel bad saying no each time she’s asked to come in. He tries to broach the subject with her one morning in the kitchen while she’s eating breakfast. They’re already running behind, her for school, himself for work, but neither of them are in a rush. If you’re already late, what’s an extra ten minutes?

“Take it easy, alright? She might not want company after a long day at work,” Joel leans over the countertop, hand wrapped around a mug of hot coffee, watching her shovel cereal in her mouth.

“Dad, she said I could come over whenever,” It’s accompanied by an eye roll, which is a new thing that had started about six months back. Teenagers. Well, almost teenagers. She’s still the sweet kid he’s always known, he’s just playing with fire trying to talk to her at seven in the morning, an indent on the side of her face still fading from where she slept on a crumpled pillow.

Joel was at least grateful that she did have occasional company on nights when he was working late. It made him feel better to know Sarah wasn’t alone.

“What do you even do over there?”

“Homework, reading….watching TV.”

“So the same thing you do here?”

Sarah thinks about it. “Well, no, because she’s teaching me to knit.”

“And what does she do while you do your homework?”

“She works too. Or makes calls.” Sarah smiles a little. “It sounds like people ask her for advice a lot. She does give good advice.”

“Better than mine?” Joel holds his hand over his heart with mock offense.

Sarah groans. “Relax, don’t get jealous…there’s just stuff I can talk to her about and not you. Girl stuff.”

“Girl stuff? What like, boys?”

“No, you wouldn’t get it.”

“I was a boy once.”

“Ew, dad, gross.”

“How is that gross?”

“Just- not everything is about boys, okay?”

Joel isn’t going to argue with that, and Sarah eventually goes back to finishing her cereal.

“Alright babygirl,” he raps his knuckles on the counter after he’s finished his coffee. “I’ve gotta load up the truck, and you better get going, or I’m gonna get an earful from Miss Davis.” He grabs his keys and his wallet, then yanks a baseball cap over his mess of hair that’s long overdue for a haircut.

“Oh, I bet she would love an excuse to talk to you,” Sarah slides out of her seat with her empty bowl and marches towards the sink to rinse it out, grabbing his empty mug on the way.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember how giggly she was at parent-teacher conferences?” Sarah says. “I’ve never seen her so happy before.”

It’s Joel’s turn to roll his eyes. He’d pegged it as unusual, but never considered it was because Miss Davis was into him. He wishes Sarah isn’t so….observant.

Over the years, Joel has basically kept his head down, doing his best to keep things together. Because of that, he feels like he’s sort of lost his ability to pick up on when women are interested in him. And it’s safe to say, in general, he’s had a pretty uneventful love life since Sarah’s mom left.

For the most part, he got by on flings — one night stands, casual no-strings-attached arrangements that always fizzled out. Joel had never been a man who liked that sort of thing, and ultimately craved a deeper level of intimacy, companionship, but he had trouble sustaining anything more. And even when he thinks of the more serious relationships he’d had over the years, those were also never completely satisfying.

The fact of the matter was that when you had a kid, you weren’t just looking for someone for yourself anymore. For most people, introducing their partner to their parents is always a big deal. But for Joel, it was always introducing girlfriends to Sarah. Over the last decade he’d only ever introduced her to three different women, and at that point he had usually been dating them secretly for several months before deciding that it was serious enough. It always felt like he was trying so desperately to ensure they liked each other. But he could tell that Sarah was never quite comfortable with any of them. And when they’d start asking about moving in, marriage, and babies — he’d always panic. It was reasonable for them to want those things, hell, he wanted those things. But it had to be the right person. He knew he couldn’t bring someone into his life, forever, that didn’t love Sarah like a parent should. Like he did. No one ever would, and because of that, he knows there’s a good chance it’ll just be the two of them forever.

So, even if Sarah’s teacher, as cute as she was, were to ask him out, he would never be able to go. But less for the latter reasons, and more because he knows he’d never hear the end of it from her.

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m leaving in five minutes…with or without you.”

“Nooo!” Sarah screams in mock panic, scrambling upstairs to brush her teeth.

Joel exits through the garage, grabbing a few extra tools from his workbench that he needs for the job today and a saw.

When he opens the garage door, the harsh sunlight is the first thing to greet him, and then he sees you.

You’re in your driveway across the street, barefoot and in a short, black silk robe that’s cinched at the smallest part of your waist. Next to you is a man in a suit, holding a briefcase and trying to straighten his tie. He can’t do both at the same time, though, so he pauses and turns to you, murmurs something, and you slow to help him, your fingers wrapping around the tie, tightening where it’s looped around his neck and tucking it into place, straightening his lapel before stepping away. The type of domesticity that doesn’t happen with a one-night-stand.

It makes sense, he thinks. That you’re with someone like that. It’s the world you’re in all day. And even though he’s standing in his own fucking driveway, Joel feels like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to. Or maybe, he just doesn’t want to be seeing it.

Joel tears his eyes away, putting his stuff in the back of the truck – the toolkit, the saw, glancing over to see the man kiss you on the lips and mutter something unintelligible before getting in a shiny, blue sports car. You nod, offer an easy smile, and stoop to pick up the newspaper. The car's engine roars to life, and you cross your arms, looking after it until it peels out of the cul-de-sac.

The bashful smile you’re wearing drops instantly once it’s out of sight, and he watches you pinch the bridge of your nose, and tilt your head back to the sky.

He turns before he gets caught, and slams the back of the truck shut, which is a little ignorant in hindsight. Joel looks over his shoulder to see your attention has shifted, and you’re shielding your eyes and squinting at him.

Great.

“Hey Joel,” you wave, your opposite hand pulling at the bottom of your robe, in a futile attempt to cover yourself. You look good, obviously, but it makes Joel feel a little guilty to make the observation because it’s clear you didn’t actually intend to be seen like this.

“Morning,” he answers.

“Where’ve you been?” you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Busy. Work.”

“That’s no fun but…same here, I guess,” You shuffle forward hesitantly.

Joel takes a beat to think about what he’s supposed to say in response, but doesn’t get the chance, because you speak up again.

“Hey uh, not to put you on the spot, but were you actually serious about fixing my step the other night?” you ask.

Before he can answer, you continue.

“It’s okay if you weren’t, but I twisted my ankle on it the other day, so I need to get it fixed before that happens to someone else. I was thinking maybe I’d just call-”

“No-”

“It’s no big deal if you can’t-”

“No,” Joel cuts you off. He had been biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity to bring it up to you, not realizing that taking said time probably made him look like an asshole. “Don’t call anyone else, I can do it. How about Friday night? Will you be around?”

“Friday?” you answer, pondering. “Yeah, that works. I have a friend from out of town coming to visit, so I’ll be home early because I’ve gotta pick her up from the airport.”

“Alright, I’ll try to cut out early, too.”

“And also I can pay-”

“Stop it, I”ve got you, don’t worry,” he waves his hand.

You smile at Joel. He’s sure it means nothing, but he gets some satisfaction from how sincere it is compared to the one you’d given the guy you had been escorting out of your home.

He feels himself grinning back, and you open your mouth to speak, but are cut off by the sound of his screen door slamming. Sarah stumbles down the steps, backpack hanging off one shoulder, headphones to her walkman around her ears, holding her bright pink windbreaker in one hand and a book in the other. She looks at Joel, then you, standing in your driveway, and her face lights up as she calls your name.

“Hey, Sarah,” you wave.

Sarah opens her mouth to speak, and Joel knows whatever she’s going to say will start a much longer conversation that unfortunately they just don’t have the time for.

“She’s gotta get to school,” Joel tilts his head in the direction of his daughter before she can say anything. “But I’ll get that done Friday.”

“See you then!” You turn on your heel, and he looks away for a second to Sarah before glancing back in your direction, and you’re already gone, the only evidence you were there being your front door slamming shut.

Joel waits until he and Sarah are in the car on their way to school before he speaks again.

“She’s never mentioned a boyfriend or anything, has she?”

Sarah doesn’t even look up from her book. “No.”

Joel nods, and it’s quiet for a moment.

He hears Sarah’s book shut. “Why?” she turns to him, and she’s got her eyes narrowed, like she’s trying to figure out what the question really meant. He’s never seen her make that face before, and it’s a little terrifying, because it looks like she could see right through him.

Joel wracks his brain for a good enough excuse. “If she has people over, I don’t want you hangin’ around adults I don’t know.”

That seems to satisfy Sarah, and the skeptical look on her face disappears. If anything, she seems slightly annoyed by the comment, which is definitely preferable. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that because it’s never happened.” Sarah plays with the dials on the radio, changing the station until it lands on one playing The Chicks, her favorite group. She hums along to the song, filling in the gaps whenever the radio cuts out, and looks out the window.

“Alright.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-March 28th, 2003-

“Oh, I wanna come!” Sarah jumps up from the couch and joins Joel in the entryway. It’s Friday evening, and he’s about to head out the door to your place.

“You’re stayin’ in tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Well first of all, you’re grounded, in case you don’t remember.”

“You don’t even know what that means, though.”

Joel shakes his head, because she’s right. He’s never had to ground Sarah before, but when he’d gotten a call from her teacher that she had failed her last math quiz, and was close to not passing the class, he figured it was an appropriate punishment. “I’m pretty sure it means you can’t leave the house.”

“But this is barely leaving the h-”

“Second of all,” he cuts her off. “She told me earlier this week she’s got a friend visiting, so it’d be rude to intrude if that’s the case.”

Sarah groans, throws her head back, and falls onto the couch dramatically. “But I’m so bored.”

“You could study. Practice dribbling, clean your room, clean your bathroom-”

“Dad, it’s literally Friday night.”

“And?”

“All that stuff is so boring.”

Joel can’t help but chuckle. “Look, when I get back we can watch a movie. This won’t take long.”

She sits up a little, placated. “Okay, but it’s my turn to pick.”

“Deal. I’ll be home in an hour or so,” he steps out onto the porch.

There’s a special kind of glow in Texas about an hour before the sun sets. Warm light filters behind the trees, casting the leaves and anything else it catches in a golden halo. Joel takes in the view for a moment as he walks across the street, skipping the rotten step and knocking on your front door.

You answer it quickly. “Hey, you wanna come in?”

Joel supposes he doesn’t have to, and could just let you know he’s here, stay out on the front porch and just get the job done, but he accepts your invitation anyway.

There’s another woman sitting cross-legged on the couch, two half-full glasses of wine on your coffee table, music playing low on some speakers in the corner. The front windows are open, despite the chill of the evening, and your sheer curtains billow in the breeze.

“Claire, this is my neighbor, Joel,” you say. “He’s helping me out with the steps. His daughter’s Sarah, the one I was telling you about. ”

“Oh, yeah.” Claire’s face lights up in recognition. “Joel. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods.

“Claire’s visiting from New York. We grew up together,” you explain.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Her and I were roommates at boarding school,” Claire explains, finishing off a glass of wine. “We got into a lot of trouble together.”

“Hmmm, if I recall, it was more like you got me into trouble, but sure,” you say.

“You were bad, if not worse, than I was.”

Joel smirks, and you turn to him, changing the subject. “She’s jetlagged, so we’re just staying in for the night.”

“But…we’re still getting drunk, obviously.”

“Oh yeah, that too,” you say flatly, although to Joel, you don’t seem drunk at all. Luckily, your friend answers his question with her next sentence.

“This one isn’t very good at keeping up, though,” Claire tilts her head in your direction, then finishes off the glass of wine in her hand.

“You sound like Vincent,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh, how is Vincent?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you cross your arms and look at Joel. “She always had the biggest crush on my brother, and it was dis-gus-ting.”

“To be fair,” Claire clears her throat. “At the time, he was pretty dreamy. And if we’re being honest….he still is…too bad he’s married.”

“Divorced, actually. But still…” You wrinkle your nose. “Gross.”

“Divorced?” Claire sits up, jaw dropping. “When? Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”

You raise your hands and shake your head, like it’s too much to get into. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later. Sorry, we’re being rude,” you turn back to Joel. “Can I get you anything? Want some wine?”

“I would, but it doesn’t usually mix well with power tools,” Joel answers. “I should be good, though, I brought everything I need.”

“Great well… I’ll let you get to it, then.” you pad across the floor to return to your friend on the couch. “We’ll be in here if you need anything.”

“Sounds good,” Joel nods at you and your friend before stepping back out onto the porch.

The screen door shuts behind him, and the birds are quieting down for the night. He only has a little bit of sunlight left, but this shouldn’t take him long. Just as he is about to get started, he hears your friend’s voice, muffled, from inside the house.

“Okay, I thought you were lying because your taste in men is usually questionable, but you’re right, he is really cute.”

“Dude,” you interject, and Joel hears a sound of impact, like a smack on the arm. “Lower your voice the fucking windows are open.” Claire starts giggling, and you continue. “You know you don’t have to say, like, every thought that comes into your head.”

He hears your friend laugh even harder, and eventually you join her. Joel shakes his head, but even after he starts working, can’t keep the grin off his face.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 5th, 2003-

It has been the longest week of your life. Work had been hectic – you’d spent the last five days going to so many meetings and dinners with potential clients that you had almost no time to do your actual job. Plus, your visit from Claire had already wiped out nearly all your energy, since you had spent the whole last weekend showing her around Austin, entertaining.

Normally, on a Saturday like today, you’d do a number of things – the first of which would be to sleep the fuck in. The ideal schedule would go something like this: You’d get out of bed in the early afternoon and immediately order some kind of takeout – most likely pho, or ramen, or some other type of soup. You’d get high, eat the takeout, and then watch TV until you’re tired enough to go back to bed in the early evening. If you’re feeling motivated at all, you might change into a fresh pair of pajamas before you crash again. It would be the ultimate lazy day, and you had desperately wanted it.

However, the past version of yourself had made plans to play tennis in the morning with some friends, and then check out a new breakfast place in the city. Sometimes you hated how optimistic she was about your ability to wake up before 10 a.m. While you weren’t excited to play tennis, you were excited that there was, at some point, going to be food involved.

So you dragged your ass out of bed, rifled through a box of clothing in your garage (one that you still had yet to unpack) to find a tennis skirt and visor, and then got in your car to go play all before 8 a.m. Then, you’d had your ass handed to you by your friends on the court. It was a little humbling to realize that you weren’t very good at tennis anymore. The last time you’d seriously played was when you were still in school, and you’d originally started because your father had wanted you to be involved in an extracurricular activity. According to him at the time, anything involving the arts – music, dance, drama – didn’t count. You had challenged this idea, and it had escalated to become one of the top ten worst fights you’d ever had with him. After that, you had learned that it was better to just do as you were told.

You’d joined the tennis team, and started to pick up on how intrigued your father was by the trophies and ribbons you’d bring home when you did well. He started to ask you questions when he saw them, pat you on the head and say things like ‘that’s my girl’. Regardless of whether or not you liked playing, you had finally found a way to earn his attention. So, you got better. One time, he even came to your school to watch one of your matches. Of course, when you lost that one, it all kind of crumbled. But you still stuck to the sport since that’s what all your friends were doing, even if it didn't get you what you wanted.

On the drive home from your morning out, belly full of breakfast and ready for a nap, thinking of your family brings about a terrifying realization.

You look at your phone. Shit.

April 5th.

Immediately, you dial a number on your cell. You’re aware of the dangers of talking while driving but you know if you don’t make this call, you’ll never hear the end of it. The line only rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Hello?”

“Vincenzo!” you say with your best – but probably horrible – attempt at an Italian accent.

“Well, well, well….if it isn’t the estranged daughter…” the familiar timbre of your brother's voice answers. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You roll your eyes. “Well first of all, fuck off…” We're off to a great start. “...and second of all…Happy Birthday.”

You hear your brother’s chuckle on the other end of the line, a noise that you’d been on the wrong side of – laughing at you, not with you – more than once, but your heart aches a little at the sound of it now. I miss you, you wish you could say, but you keep it to yourself.

“Thanks, I’m surprised you remembered,” he says, lightly.

“I’ve never forgotten.”

“There was that one year-”

“Oh my god, I was like twelve.”

“You were fourteen.”

“Okay, well, sorry…It’s been over ten years and it hasn’t happened since.”

“It feels like you’ve forgotten more than once, but that might just be because it’s pretty much the only time you ever call me these days,” Vincent says, and if you were with him, in person, you’d be able to tell by the look in his eyes whether or not he was joking. But over a cell, you’re not sure at all.

“That’s not true,” you say, turning your car into your neighborhood. “But I mean, the phone does work both ways.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you catch something flippant in his tone.

“Do you want this to be a nice conversation or are you gonna be an asshole?” you ask, maybe a little too matter-of-factly, but at least you can determine whether or not it’ll be a waste of your time to try and be cordial. If he’s in a bad mood, you know it’s pointless.

“Relax,” he says, and you hear a hint of the teenage boy you once knew. “You’re always so ready to argue with me, I’m joking.”

“Very funny,” you say, and try to be nice about it, because deep down, you know Vincent is right. You don’t talk to your brother enough to argue with him when you do speak. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “So what are you doing on your big day? Anything special?”

“Nothing really special, I worked out, had lunch with a friend, and I think I’m having dinner with Elizabeth tonight.”

“Oh…really? Elizabeth?” At the mention of his soon-to-be ex-wife – or maybe current ex-wife? You’re not sure – you’re surprised.

“Yeah she and I are uh….talking still, I guess. For Ethan, mostly, but…I don’t know…the divorce isn’t finalized, and I think now that I’m seeing a therapist and shit, maybe we can work something out. We’ll see.”

“And do you want to work something out?”

“I mean, she’s only the love of my life so yeah, it’d be great.”

“I think so, too. How is Ethan, by the way?”

“Oh he’s great,” you hear your brother’s smile over the phone. “Just a big ball of energy, and so fucking smart. He told me he misses you the other day.”

Your heart lurches at the mention of your sweet, five-year-old nephew. “You’ll have to tell him I said hi, and that I love him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” he answers. “You know, next weekend I’m having a proper birthday party. We’re all going to the Hamptons. I could fly you out here, you could tell him in person.”

“I can’t, I got shit to do,” you answer a little too quickly, turning the car into your cul-de-sac.

“What uh, your little corporate gig keeping you busy?”

There’s a subtle dig in there, little.

“Maybe.”

“I’m telling you, all I have to do is phone a friend, and we’ll find you something here that’ll pay a thousand times better and won’t have you working weekends.”

“I don’t work weekends,” you say, pulling into your driveway. “And I’m not interested.”

“You like making yourself miserable, don’t you?”

“Vinny,” you say, exasperated, putting your car in park. “I’m happy here.”

“In Texas? I don’t believe it,” he says. “And you know, at this point, you’ve proven whatever you wanted to dad. After everything you’ve done, he probably respects you. Like, you did it. You cut yourself off, you made a name for yourself, you don’t need us anymore. Congratulations, amazing. I get it. But you should come home now.”

“Vincent,” you repeat yourself. “I’m not going back. You know what it was like for me. For you.”

“You’re my fucking family too, you know? You can’t just let him control every decision you make,” he says, and he’s not quite yelling at you, but he is sounding a lot more stern than he was before. “And by the way, it wasn’t so bad. You and I always got along.”

“Even if I move back, things will never be like they were.”

“You don’t know that.” he says it with such a deep sadness in his voice that you want to take back every cruel thing you’d ever said to him – not just from today, from forever. And then he speaks again. “You know, you used to be so sweet when we were kids….I don’t know what happened.”

I do, you think. “I had to look out for myself.”

Before he can respond, you change the subject. “Anyways, you should move out here instead,” it’s only halfway a joke.

“I’m not leaving New York.”

“Well, I’m not leaving Austin.”

“Well…” he says, clicks his tongue. “Then I guess things’ll just stay this way.”

“I guess so.”

You wish you could offer more. But he has never understood. The silence on the other line is so loud, your ears are ringing.

“Look, I just pulled in my driveway, I gotta get going.”

“Yeah.”

“But have a nice day, okay?” you’ve gotta turn this conversation around because it went so far off the rails. “Tell Elizabeth I say hi, and I hope you do work things out with her because you know I think she’s great. And give Ethan a kiss for me.”

“I know, and I will,” you can see him closing his eyes, fingers pinching between his eyebrows.

“I love you.”

“Yeah…okay,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you, and it’s a punch to the gut. As usual, you weren’t able to say the right thing. Tears start pricking the back of your eyes, guilt twisting deep in the pit of your stomach.

“Goodbye,” in one swift movement, you end the call and get out of the car, slamming the door shut. You’re sad now, but it’s only a matter of time before you become angry, which is always easier to deal with, so you just gotta suck it up until it passes.

Trying not to be upset is such a high priority that you don’t hear your name being called right away, and when you turn around, it’s too late.

“Hey!” Sarah Miller is skidding to a stop in front of you, wearing boots that look a size too small for her feet, dressed in athletic clothes with her hair pulled back. “My dad says I’m not grounded anymore so I can-” she falters when she sees your face. “Are you okay?” she asks.

Clearing your throat, you fix your expression and try to shake away the lingering disappointment like dirt off a kitchen rug. “Yeah I’m fine,” you lie. “So does that mean you passed math?”

Since that night you let her stay when she was locked out, you’d seen quite a bit of Sarah. It was a little unconventional, and you probably needed to find friends in the community that were more age appropriate, but you enjoyed her company. She would hang out and do homework at your house while she waited for her dad to get home from work. You had always valued your independence, and told yourself you preferred to be on your own, but whenever she left, your house always felt a little emptier than you remembered. Maybe you needed to get a fish or something, since Martini’s appearances were few and far between.

“Not yet, but I did get an A on my last test. I hate to say it but my dad was right…studying actually helps.”

“Yeah, that tends to be true,” you say, relieved at how easy the smile comes, and you glance over your shoulder to see Joel standing at the edge of his driveway with his hands on his hips. He looks fucking good, and you’re almost sort of mad about it, or it’s hopefully just the irritation kicking in after the conversation with your brother.

Does Joel know? He has to. It’s like having whatever the male version of a siren is living across the street from you – working with his hands, being a doting father, and mowing the lawn shirtless when it’s hot out. And apparently this was a record-breakingly hot spring, because you’d seen that more than once. Not that you minded, though it only made you want a closer look. Years ago, you probably would’ve scoffed at what sounded like a suburban mom’s wet dream, but actually experiencing it, you felt differently. There was just something about him.

You give Joel a wave, and he waves back, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s trying to decide if he wants to come over and talk. As usual, he seems like he’s got somewhere to be, but he’s too polite to tell you to fuck off.

“How have you been? I’ve hardly seen you,” Sarah says. “Did you play tennis today?” she pokes at the racket that’s hung over your shoulder. “Were you serious about teachin’ me to play this summer?”

It’s hard not to be amused at the barrage of requests. You admire her ability to be so enthusiastic, so open, something that most people are unable to do, but for her, is effortless. She’s older than your nephew, but you get the same kind of relief from interacting with both of them. The kids are alright. At least, some of them are.

“Of course,” you answer, and notice that Joel is slowly and hesitantly making his way up your driveway. It’s upsetting that everytime you run into him, you conveniently look like shit – like last Tuesday when you’d just rolled out of bed and were still in your robe. Or right now, after spending the whole morning chasing after balls on a clay court, scuffed knees and hair slick with sweat. But you suppose that’s sort of what neighbors are for.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask Joel.

“It’s goin’,” you take him in as he gets closer, notice the way the arms of his t-shirt are just a little too tight because of his biceps, and feel like you need to take a cold shower to wash yourself of this morning. “Babygirl, we should probably get going.”

He calls his daughter babygirl? There’s no way he was being serious, that it isn’t some ironic joke, or part of an act. You always assumed that was just something you saw in movies.

“Because I did so well on my test my dad is takin’ me on a hike,” Sarah says, and then her face lights up. “Wait….you should come with us! Dad, can she come?” Sarah whirls around to face her father.

Joel looks down at Sarah, and then up at you, and then at Sarah again. “I mean, that’s fine, but…she might have other things going on.”

It’s hard to tell if he’s trying to give you an out, or if he’s hinting that you shouldn’t come. And you probably normally wouldn’t want to go, but the alternative is moping around your house and thinking of all the things you could’ve said differently to your brother to ensure the conversation would have gone better than it did. You’re always desperate for a second chance to do things over, and do them right.

You look between the two of them, back and forth. “I mean I would totally, I just…don’t want to interrupt a father-daughter activity-”

“You aren’t,” Sarah says so quickly that Joel looks offended. “I couldn’t leave the house this week so we’ve been spending too much time together.”

Joel frowns. “That’s rude.”

“What?” she says. “It’s true.”

Joel sighs. “She’s right, though. You wouldn’t be interruptin’.”

“Please?” Sarah begs, and you realize you can’t say no even if you want to. You wonder how Joel was even able to ground her for a week, looking in those big, innocent eyes.

“Yeah, just…uh, could I put my stuff inside and maybe change?” you ask, gesturing towards the house.

Joel nods, and Sarah rocks back and forth on her heels. “Yes, yes! Take as long as you need.”

“I’ll be fast,” you assure her, and duck inside.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halfway into the hike with Sarah and Joel, and you’ve decided you’re out of shape. You try to tell yourself there could be another reason you are so out of breath – you already worked out once today while playing tennis. But that doesn’t seem like a good enough excuse. Of course, you’re trying to play it cool, because you’re not about to embarrass yourself. Sarah is entertaining you with all kinds of talk about school, and soccer, and sleepaway camp she gets to go to for two weeks once school's out. And you suppose the pain you’re in right now is also welcome distraction from thinking about Vincent.

However, you can’t dip away from the group to rest for a second, because Joel is already trailing behind, and he’d catch on. However, his distance – several paces back from where you and Sarah walk – is not because he’s out of shape. On the contrary, he seems to be putting almost no effort into the steep climb. He’s on his own, head on a swivel, kind of like a brooding security guard, and you wonder if he feels left out.

You steal a glance over your shoulder to take him in, shrouded by the verdant foliage. He looks at home in this environment, sun-kissed and rugged, a finger hooked behind the strap of a leather bag he carries over one shoulder, his gait measured. Aloof, but there’s a quiet confidence to him that draws you in, causes your stare to linger just a touch too long, so when he turns his head straight, his eyes catch yours. You focus back on the trail ahead.

He hasn’t said much since you’ve started hiking, or in the car, even. Most men are easy to read, but so far, Joel has kind of stumped you. There were times, during the night that you’d helped him bail his brother Tommy out of jail, that you had thought maybe he was- no. He’d been pretty tense in every other interaction you had, so you still couldn’t decide if he had been flirting with you.

And he was older than you, you were pretty sure. Not so old that it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to be interested, but enough that, depending on the type of person he was, might see you as a little too young for him. And he had a kid, responsibilities.

You were a-single woman with a high-powered career, one cat and a fish on the way. You slept in on the weekends, refused to learn to cook for one, and got violently stoned on your back porch a minimum of three times a week. In suburban Texas, most of the women your age were long since settled, and you were an outlier. It was fair to imagine that Joel probably didn’t see any real promising future when he looked your way…. or maybe he was more of a one-night stand kind of guy, and didn’t care about that at all. This was not necessarily information you needed – but you wanted it anyway.

Not feeling like an outsider would be one upside of moving back to New York – you could be exactly yourself, and still blend right in. It was one of the parts you missed most, besides Vincent. Your heart sinks, and you realize that the hill you’ve been climbing has flattened out, and so you’re able to think clearly again, which is why you’re thinking of your brother.

Sarah has pulled away, and is wandering towards a clearing. Your eyes are on her form, bounding up ahead on the pathway, the sunlight peeking through the leaves dancing on her skin, when your foot lands on a loose rock, and slips out from beneath you.

Please, God, n- You don’t even get the chance to plead yourself out of humiliation, because there’s a steady hand on your hip and your back collides with a broad chest.

“Gotcha,” Joel’s voice is right in your ear — when did he get that close?

He’s solid, strong, and for the shortest, sweetest moment, you’re overwhelmed by him – get notes of his bar soap (pine, cedar, mint) mixed with whatever laundry detergent he used, and just the faintest bit of - Fuck. In one swift movement, he brings you upright like you’d never slipped at all, then pulls back. The skin on your hip smarts even after his hand drops away.

“You alright?” Joel steps beside you, watching Sarah, who stands with her hands on her hips, her back turned to you both.

“Yeah,” you nod. He looks back over at you. “Come on,’ he tilts his head towards his daughter, and you walk beside him to where she’s standing.

The whole hike you’d been so occupied with bullshit. Trying not to think about your brother. Trying not to act too out of breath. Trying to not let Joel catch you staring, although you’d already failed at that. But now, you wish you wouldn’t have been in your head, because what you’d come to see made worrying about all that seem stupid.

Stretched out in front of you was a wide creek with moss-colored water that flowed down over layered slabs of rock, and crashed into the waterfall’s churning basin. The sun hits the mist in just the right light, and casts a series of rainbows midair, which move and shift as you turn your head to study the lush, tree-lined shore across the river.

You’re standing with one hand on your hip, and out of the corner of your eye Sarah shuffles back a few steps to stand beside you, looping her arm through yours, her cheek on your shoulder while you both enjoy the view.

“I’m glad you got to see this,” she says, and you can just make it out over the sound of the falls. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s beautiful.”

Joel’s hands land on Sarah’s shoulders as he steps close behind you both. She straightens, leans back against him until he wraps his forearm across the front of her in an easy embrace, and she grabs for his wrist with both of her hands, tucking them beneath her chin. A pang of familiar grief stirs inside you at the sight, and you turn away, back towards the view.

“This is the only time of year it’s worth seeing,'' Joel says to you. “It dries up in the summer.”

“It’s still pretty in the summer,” Sarah pipes up.

“Not as pretty.”

“Can you get me the water?” she asks. Joel grunts an affirmation and a moment later you hear the sound of a zipper.

When you’ve had a considerable amount of time to contemplate life while looking at the water swirling across the granite, you turn to find Sarah sitting on a rock, struggling to peel an orange, and dropping each tiny piece of skin she can get off into Joel’s begrudgingly outstretched hand.

You use the opportunity to stretch your calves against a nearby tree.

“Have you hiked before?” Sarah asks.

“Here and there,” you say. “But not often.”

“Why not?”

“Well this is basically a workout. I don’t like working out, I’m pretty unathletic.”

You’re surprised when that draws a smile from Joel.

“But you play tennis.”

You shrug. “Eh, kinda.”

“Me and my dad go hiking a lot.”

“That’s sweet,” your eyes flicker from hers to Joel’s, because they are both staring at you, and you’re pretty sure, though it’s hard to tell from this distance, that their eyes are the identical shade of caramel. Sarah finishes peeling her orange and Joel pockets the scraps of skin. She eats a slice before offering you both your own, and you step closer to accept it.

Sarah’s taking her last bite of orange when Joel speaks up.

“Should we head back?”

Sarah turns to take one last look. It’s mid afternoon, the slant of light from the sun as intense as it can be, and you squint when it reflects back off the water and into your eyes.

“Yeah, we can,” Sarah decides, and it’s clear that Joel would have stayed there for as long as she wanted. It wasn’t up to him.

The hike back isn’t nearly as difficult. It’s all downhill, and Joel leads. Sarah stays behind with you, and clings to your arm while she teaches you how to navigate the trail without slipping. Back at the trailhead is one steep step that drops off into a puddle of stagnant water.

Joel jumps down first, and turns to offer his hand to Sarah, who takes it and leaps lightly, landing on two feet on the other side. You aren’t sure what you’re expecting, but it’s not for Joel to offer you his hand to you as well. But he does.

“Careful,” he murmurs. And of course, you could’ve easily done this yourself, with no help. It’s a two foot drop and an inch of water. But you accept it anyways, putting some of your weight against his hand as you hop down, noticing how he doesn’t waver.

By the time you’re long since settled in the car, pulling into Joel’s driveway, you can feel sleep tugging down your eyelids. A steaming shower and a pair of pajama pants is imminent, and it’s like your body knows. Surely, you will still probably feel guilty about your brother, but you’re convinced that you won’t lose sleep over it, which you consider a win.

Sarah, who insisted that you both sit in the back together on the way home – leaving Joel in the front alone – gives you a quick hug after you’ve gotten out of the car, and then plucks the car keys from her father.

“Sorry, I drank a lot of water and I have to pee!” she says, before jogging up the walkway and unlocking her front door.

Joel lets out an exasperated sigh, but turns back look at you with startling warmth.

“Thanks for having me, I really needed that,” you tell him, and you’re not sure why you feel compelled to be honest with him, but continue on. “My brother and I got into it on the phone this morning, so if I didn’t go I probably would’ve spent all afternoon moping in bed.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice soft. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” you say, quickly, brushing it off. “Siblings, you know?”

“Yeah,” he nods, but you can tell he isn’t convinced. “I know.”

“How’s Tommy, by the way?” you ask. “Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“He is,” Joel answers. “We actually have a big project we might be about to book. Pays well, and will keep us employed for the next year.”

“Oh that’s exciting,” you nod. “So what I’m hearing is…if my step rots again, you wouldn’t have time to come fix it?”

“No,” Joel chuckles again, and you’re dizzy after hearing it. “I’d make time.”

You take a deep breath. “Good to know,” you shuffle a few steps backwards. “I better get going, though.” He doesn’t answer right away, and just as you’re turning to walk across the street, Joel calls out to you again.

“Hey,” and you pause, facing him again. “I wanted to ask you if…” he hesitates, blinks and shakes his head once before continuing. “If Sarah is coming over too much. If you want, I can tell her to cool it.”

“Are you kidding?” you ask. “I don’t mind at all. She’s great company, really.”

“You sure you’re not just sayin’ that to be nice?”

You sniff, look at the ground, then back up to him. “I’m not actually very nice.”

He studies you. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“You hardly know me,” you shrug, and his eyebrows pinch together very briefly before his expression neutralizes. “I’m just saying….if I didn’t like having her around, you would know.”

He bobs his head slowly, and you turn back around to walk to your house, glancing at him from over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you around.”

- - - - - - - - - -

taglist: @yaskna @venomous-ko @lomljigg @yeehawbitchs @ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done @melancholicmelanin @reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer @superflymaterial @mikkorantanev @zbeez-outlet (i'm sorry if i missed anyone, i didn't tag anyone that didn't explicitly ask!).

part iii

#are we surprised that reader has daddy issues? odds are if you are reading this fic about the video game/TV DILF of the century you do too #i mean i certainly do #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x f!reader #joel Miller imagine #Joel Miller series #joel miller the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #Pedro pascal #TLOU HBO #TLOU fanfic #TLOU series #texas sun

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zmediaoutlet · 1 month

Text

"So how was it?" Dean says.

Sam squints at him. Crazy-bright day, light reflecting off every car, bouncing back from the license plate frame on the Buick in front of them. "How was what?"

He gets a significant look but then there's a honk and Dean waves irritably at the guy behind them, moves forward a half car-length like that means something. Sam said they should've just taken 87 instead of the state highway, but apparently that wouldn't have been as good a drive, so here they are, bumper to bumper. Some accident they can't see up ahead.

"Dean," Sam says, when they're essentially parked again. "How was what?"

Dean stretches back, knees spread wide around the steering wheel. "Uh, let's see," he says, and sucks his lower lip like he's really thinking. "The tonsil hockey? The tongue tango? The vertical v-grab—"

"You're the worst," Sam says, loudly, and Dean grins whitely out at the traffic. Relaxed. Probably more relaxed now that Sam feels blood rising in his cheeks, like he really did something. The dick. They roll forward another few feet and Sam braces his elbow on the open window, looking out at the growing green, the budding trees. Springtime in upstate New York, not the worst it could be.

"Sarah seemed like she'd be good at it," Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes, smacks vaguely to his left, catches leather jacket. Dean swats his hand away. "Hey, that ain't a dig. I admire a chick who'll really go for it. And, buddy, the way she was looking at you."

Sometimes it's like he thinks Sam's blind. Like, the only reason is that he doesn't notice. He sucks the inside of his cheek, squints out at the random field out past the highway. Cows, in the distance. "She was good at it," he says, finally. Soft where it counted, confident in the way that a lot of gorgeous girls are. Curving into his body but not limp or just opening her mouth for it and waiting for him to be done. Her tongue tasted like earl grey tea. He can taste it now, and rubs his fingers over his mouth.

Dean's been quiet, letting off the brake and rolling forward a carlength at a time. "You want to…" he starts, but what goes there? They weren't going to stay. They never were. Even an extra day didn't make sense, because what was going to happen—Sam taking the open invite, letting himself try, knowing that in the motel across town Dean was cooling his heels with motel porn and a takeout pizza, waiting for Sam to shoot his load so they'd be ready to pack up and leave the state? No, that wasn't going to happen. Not fair to Sarah, no matter if Sam explained the score, and it wasn't fair to Sam, and it wasn't fair, either, to…

More honking, somewhere behind them. They check the rearview at the same time, annoyed, and Dean mutters, "Like that helps?"

Sam turns on his side of the bench, putting his back to the window. Dean glances at him and then looks back out at the cars, frowning. "What do you think I'm missing?" Sam says. "With this stuff. Perfume? Long hair?"

"Perfume I can do, but I draw the line at wearing a wig for you," Dean says. Sam huffs and Dean glances over at him again, smiling. Kind of smiling anyway. "Not trying to—to be weird about it, or pick a fight or anything, Sammy. I just know you wanted…" He shakes his head, slouches back on the bench with two fingers hooked low on the steering wheel. "I don't want you to be—missing anything. I know, we got a job, and it's important. I'm not, like, trying to get you to move into a two-bedroom in New Paltz. I just don't want you to hate this any more than you do already."

Traffic judders to a halt again. Sam nods, looks out at the blinding chrome. His eyes smart. He sniffs, and drags his hand over his face, and then leans over the bench seat and gets his hand on Dean's jaw and turns his face and kisses him. Dean's lips startle open and Sam closes his eyes and licks in, pressing deep, Dean's hand gripping his jacket and Dean's breath filling his mouth. Coffee, salt. Sam tips so his forehead's against Dean's, their noses brushing. "Don't worry about what I'm missing," Sam says.

Dean's knuckles against his chest. He breathes in, shaky.

Honking. Dean takes a quick deep breath and pulls back, doesn't look at Sam. Traffic opening maybe, a little, ahead. They slide forward a car-length and then another. "Might make it to Allentown before dark after all," he says. His ear's pink. Sam sits back into the corner of the bench and smiles at the side of his head. "Shut up," Dean says, and Sam smiles out the window instead, the grown-grass verge starting to blur as they pick up speed. He wasn't going to say a thing.

#happy wincest wednesday #my writing #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 19 #fun fact: I Hate Sarah So Much #but in an established wincest context she's at least interesting

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privateanxieties · 9 months

Text

for all you give (give it back to you)

Summary: The story of how you worm your way into Frank's heart and mind, making him believe he might be worth a second chance.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader (she/her, no y/n)

Words: 3,300 (hurt/comfort, fluff, some canon-typical descriptions of violence, allusions to sexual intimacy, romance, trauma healing)

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It starts slowly, which Frank can attest is uncharacteristic of all events unfolding in his life. Even more puzzling, there's no grand design — it's soft and simple, the way she carves out a spot inside his heart. He runs into her every day on his evening run, and every day he gets more unsettled by the thought of danger lurking in the shadows of alleys and bridges, just waiting to swallow her up. It's not because of any budding affection that he feels, at least not at this point. He doesn't even know her name. What he knows is how he was raised, and if anyone condemns him for being old-fashioned in his views, then so be it. He can't bear knowing she's out there past ten at night, wandering the streets of a shitty New York neighborhood in the name of cardio.

It's a progression of these thoughts that leads him to do the unthinkable and introduce himself one day, and the way he goes about it would make for good nightmare fuel, were he not already stocked up on that.

He pretends to trip and falls on his face. He's tried a version of this before with Sarah Lieberman, and back then just as well as now, he knew there was no other way. You don't just approach a woman who's outside at this time of night, especially if she wants to triple the danger for herself and wear those stupid noise-cancelling headphones. He'd expect someone his own age to have more sense than that, and sometimes he wonders if she's not just looking for trouble on purpose.

His assumption is rather quickly disproven, because nobody who speaks in the manner she does could ever be brazen enough to start a fight. No — she's all softness and kind eyes, and the gravel in his palms stops stinging the moment she pins him down with a concerned look and a soft hand around his wrist. It's a minute or two before she's got him following her to her private practice just a block away, because apparently he's a little too good at faking accidents. The nasty cut she stitches up for him with quiet precision and a rambling mouth doesn't even hurt, not when he's so focused on whatever's in her voice that he finds so familiar. She speaks in a way he can't seem to shake, like there's something there that his own mind knows intimately yet remains secretive about.

He should've said no to grabbing coffee the next day. He really should've refused, because now that he knows what her laugh sounds like, he's in real trouble. And he fights it, at first. He gives it his goddamn best. But a man like him knows when he's done for, despite all the bravado and all the willpower. He knew it the moment she looked away from him and stared into her black coffee, quietly telling him she was glad he let her help him, that he was going to say yes to the next coffee they'd grab together. And the next. And the next.

And eventually, his own rambling mouth — a novelty exclusive to her presence — reveals things it really shouldn't, like a first and last name he's supposed to have buried and forgotten, along with an identity he's sure will ruin dinner. The information falls on deaf ears. Not because she isn't paying attention; she seems to look at and see only him as he moves between the stove and the counter inside her kitchen, prepping his mother's old pasta recipe. No, Frank has a feeling she isn't just listening. Her gaze is as soft as always, yet this time there's a spark that finds him trapped, frozen in place in the middle of the kitchen while she raises one delicate eyebrow and says two baffling words: I know. Then, even more perplexing: I was waiting for you to be comfortable.

Comfortable. What does it mean for him to be comfortable? Is that what he was when he opened his mouth and revealed the truth? Or was he just compelled by attentive eyes and an openness that hurt to be in the presence of while he was still hiding his true self? He doesn't deserve her acceptance. He's not even sure he wants it. He's been past wanting things for years, just waiting for life to happen as he crawls along, fragments of what could've been fighting to quell his breath on each new day bestowed upon him. He's got nothing to want. Nothing to hope for.

So why doesn't he move when she approaches him, slowly, fearlessly, in the way one might a startled creature? Why does his chest tighten and expand all at once when she greets him tenderly, a whisper of his real name falling from her lips? Most importantly of all, why does she keep worming her way further inside his gut, and why doesn't it burn like he knows it should?

Maybe it's because she does it at a glacial pace, which a famously impatient man can't help but respect her for, at the same time that he fears the place from which that tenacity springs forth. A restoration project of his magnitude isn't just daunting — it's straight up dreadful, rotten floorboards and black mold eating away at every inch of a once proudly robust construction. It's not smooth sailing as the months dissolve away, but she perseveres. He has bad days and worse nights, and every time they bid each other farewell once the clock strikes eleven and their run ends, Frank's mind is left to stew in words and gestures that make no goddamn sense — his and hers both.

For one, he's smiling what feels like all the fucking time. What he's so happy about when his life is what it is, only God may know. What he knows is that there's no possible way to keep his lips flat and his chest empty when she tells him stories of long nights in the emergency room spent removing dubious objects from places they really shouldn't be. One too many phallic contraptions was what it took for her to finally quit hospital work and open a private practice. Frank tries and fails to keep a straight face while asking her to describe the experience. She, on the other hand, meets his challenge head-on, attempting to draw a diagram of the witty invention on the napkin resting by her coffee — thus, a weird game of pictionary unfolds between them, and they have to stuff their pockets with no less than eight scandalous napkins each before leaving a generous tip for giggling like lunatics the entire time.

Next, and maybe this one's all in his head, but she's on a frequency his stubbornness can't find fault with. She gives him space when he needs it. Sometimes they don't see each other for days, despite living less than five blocks apart, and never does she push for contact. She doesn't ask him what he does during that time away, maybe because she knows or maybe for the same reason she didn't tell him she knew who he was. Maybe she's waiting for him to confess how he still spends a good deal of his nights, despite not needing the confirmation. She lets him come to her and he does it without fail each time, though his little I'm sorry for my radio silence apology tokens don't hold a lot of variety. She likes flowers, coffee and whatever baked goods he can get his hands on, so now Frank is a regular at the neighborhood florist and a fancy bakery on 51st knows his order.

Most of all, he's baffled by how little needs to be said between them for a world of knowledge to be exchanged. She gently coaxes one or two sentences from him that leave a lot to be desired in the way of details, but then she meets his eyes as they sit next to each other on her couch. And finally, he tells her — not with words, but with his own eyes, blinking rapidly or not at all, dry as the desert one moment and the next suddenly flooding. He tells her about a little girl he had, one whose body would have only been identified by prints or dentals. He weeps over his baby boy without so much as a cry, because he too left the world a worse place for his departure. And where he used to mutter it to himself repeatedly, Frank says his wife's name only once— he says it with the same reverence as always, and he hopes she won't begrudge him the comfort he receives from another woman.

He knows Maria wouldn't blame him, but he's not so sure he isn't blaming himself. Whatever he's doing here, it needs to stop. Whatever he tells himself her soft touches mean, or those looks, or that smile — he can't be right. This isn't meant for him. He shouldn't have this. There should be no one he looks forward to seeing, no one he thinks about before the thundering fall of hammer on concrete and after the laying of his body down to rest. There shouldn't be anyone to stay his hand and extinguish his anger. Only rage should exist, because rage is the only thing he really has. He doesn't know what he is if not this, and he makes the mistake of telling her as much while she stitches up the first real wound he's gotten in a long time. Neither of them pretends not to know what the result of a knife fight looks like, and he doesn't tell her how it went down because she doesn't ask. It's a good thing, because every time he closes his eyes and sees that woman's face as she was held at knifepoint, his mind superimposes different features onto it and his blood boils over. All he saw in that moment was her. All the cops are going to see at the scene will be scattered fingers and a leaking skull.

Frank himself doesn't feel very put together as he fights sleep under her caress, a hug he didn't ask for suddenly enveloping him whole and quieting the one-track mind winding him up repeatedly. He was late for their run tonight. That could've been her. His fault, his fault, his fault. The words disappear when she finds the nape of his neck with a gentle touch, drawing him into her chest and resting her cheek atop his head when he finally relaxes. His own hands grasp at the plush edges of her exam table, mimicking her gestures almost subconsciously but not daring to reciprocate on actual flesh. Seconds pass, and then minutes.

My sister died because of me.

The words startle him like a shot went off right by his ear, when in fact they were barely whispered. Frank, however, doesn't move when frightened. He's learned this about himself: he can never twitch a muscle in any of his nightmares, can never stop what he knows is coming. He can't stall the tragedy any more than he can avoid feeling its effects.

I used to run with her. That was our thing. I got mad about something… something petty, I'm sure. And I didn't go one night. Just one time. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was dangerous. Should've told her not to go, but I didn't. Cops were at my door the next morning. She was stabbed four times. The thing is, she would've survived, if she'd had someone to help her. Someone who knows their way around first aid.

He can feel her shaking from their closeness, can infer what she's thinking by the slight change in her voice. She's all blame, that's what it is. That's what it was when she first spoke to him all those months ago, and he latched onto it without even knowing, pulled in by soft eyes that glimmered in understanding. He thought it was unending kindness that he glimpsed in there, and in part, that was still true. But there was something else that lingered, something that seemed to inform her approach with him over the better part of a year. That frequency he stupidly thought she was on didn't happen by magic, or by fate. They didn't click because of some grand plan. It was simply life in all of its unfairness, dealing out blows to whoever it found with their guard down, deserving or not.

She doesn't deserve this. Frank knows it, and his chest puffs up in defiance of the pain in her voice as she tells him about the night they met from her perspective. It was a few short weeks after her sister's death. That evening run had become a ritual of a different nature, and he realizes with some horror what it was she'd been trying to do. The headphones made sense now, not as a tool of the careless, but of a person who cared too much. Cared enough to try to invite danger inside, scope it out and lure it back from the shadows in the hopes that she might look upon it herself. Confront it herself.

She confirms as much when she tells him they still haven't found the killer.

She made herself an easy target so she could look a murderer in the eye, and with that thought, he does finally recoil. He wants to argue. Wants to refute the notion. He can't. He can't, because to take that truth away from her would be to take it away from himself. She did what she thought she had to do. The difference is, she still has all her humanity left, yet the blame can't seem to leave. It eats away at the light inside her eyes, and despite that she's not bitter. She doesn't recoil from company or people in general, and she doesn't abandon everything she knows in favor of oblivion and a corner to waste away in. It's unfair. It's not right to live with it and still have to function. It's not right to have to get up and be a good person in a world of shit. It's not right… and she does it anyway. For a man who sees only one kind of injustice, the realization is almost enough to demolish him. That's life — you can be riddled with guilt and still unflinchingly gracious.

It's just never that simple, Frank muses quietly, until it is. It's never this quiet in his mind, unless she's somewhere near.

For the first time ever, he wishes she wouldn't wait for him to move or speak. He can see it in her face, what she needs, but much like him, she won't ask for it. He wishes she knew that there's nothing she can't ask of him, but since she doesn't, he's gonna have to make that clear. And if he has to move at a glacial pace too, then so be it. He'll worm his way in just like she did, and he hopes she won't begrudge him the same tenacity she showed. By the way she leans her cheek into his palm, he doesn't think she will.

It's a little easier after that, as more months melt away, to stop questioning everything they do together and its meaning. When they laugh together, it doesn't feel foreign or undeserved. When he has bad days, he doesn't hide any place beyond her apartment, doesn't stray much farther than her sheets and doesn't utter many words besides praise for how she moves and feels around him. When she has bad days, which he's come to learn the look of, he unearths the meaning of devotion to something other than rage. He's not known desperation like this for longer than he can remember, because it takes a while to figure out what she needs and how to help. He thought he could see it clearly, but all he'd really been looking at was another one of those injustices. Frank turned his grief into anger. She's unfairly burying hers inside and watching it lay waste with a careful eye, never cowardly enough to admit to what she really wants. She's so brave, this woman. His.

He almost can't believe he's thinking it. Frank's role as protector ended with the last breath his family took. He didn't think it could ever be born again, but with the first tears to fall from her eyes, a brief moment sees him meeting a different type of rage. It scalds, but doesn't leave him empty. That's how it used to feel when he was all consumed with it just a few years ago. Instead, it's just a means to an end now. So he starts going out again, looking for the shadows that haunt her, because the only thing that will help her is the thing only he can provide. Kisses help. Hushed promises soothe. True healing, and he knows this in his bones, can only come after an end, and that's what she never got. She graciously gifted him a fledgling second life, but he won't start living it until she meets him halfway.

You did it for me. Let me do it for you.

He doesn't try to lie to her — it doesn't even occur to him. He tells her the truth and his plan in full as she sits on the couch and he paces her living room restlessly, now and then chancing a look at her. At first, there's silence. It stretches unbearably, and when she speaks, the tide breaks.

I don't know what hurts more. The fact that she's gone, or that it's my fault.

Hey—

No matter what, that won't change. I've thought about it. Killing the man who did it won't make it any less my fault or her any less dead. Frank, I—

Sweetheart—

It's you. You're… the only part of this equation I didn't see coming. You're the only thing that makes a difference. When I have bad days, I don't think about the man I want to see dead. I think about the one that makes me feel alive.

She says things like this sometimes — things that yank his heart straight from his chest and stomp on it until it comes apart at the seams. He's practically vibrating with it, this need to say something in return, but nothing rises to the magnitude of her confession. At least, nothing that he thinks he's earned the right to say to another person again. But his girl… She knows. He can see it in her eyes that she knows, because he's on her knees in front of her, holding her face in both his hands. Frank has done so much with them throughout his life. He's taken more than he's given. He's hurt more than he's comforted, ripped apart more than he's put together. What he now uses them for is as sacred as a thing can be, because if he won't speak it with his lips, he'll press it into her skin with his fingers. If the words won't form in his mouth, he'll use it to adorn her body with the reverence of a man who has found and lost and found again.

In the end, as his hands rewire themselves for holding and forget all else, he stops questioning it entirely. Whether by accident or by design, what's been given to them both is not something to make sense of. It's something to cherish, a devotion to each other that consumes not, but instead nurtures. He knows now the answer to that most important question: if she wormed his way inside his heart and the path she trailed doesn't burn, it's because she belonged there all along.

-fin-

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this piece as much as I fell in love with it in just one afternoon. Please let me know what you thought of it, and if you liked it, kindly allow others to reach it through a reblog or comment. Thank you for reading.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle imagine #frank castle #the punisher x reader #frank castle smut #frank castle fanfic

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mostly-marvel-musings · 7 months

Text

Not your average summer romance

Chapter One - Here goes nothing

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word count: 2k ish

Warnings: 18+ themes, fluff, kissing.

Monday

It was the mother of Mondays as you hurried out of your apartment, your pot of coffee left forgotten on the kitchen counter simply because you were running super late. You were heading to a coffee shop for your meeting with the publisher anyway.

Your last meeting had been promising, so you had your hopes up about this one. The problem was, you were late. And your publisher, Sarah, was particular about time. Praying and hoping she would forgive you just this once, you dodged foot traffic that was perpetual on the streets of New York and stumbled into the equally busy cafe.

No sign of her.

Damn it.

Did she leave?

A part of you was hopeful that she was late too. That thought was shut up rather quickly when your phone buzzed with an email from Sarah.

Hi Y/N,

I hope you’re well. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet today, you know how I am with time.

I should have done this face to face but, unfortunately the team has decided against continuing the contract. I really did try my best but you know the decision isn’t all up to me. You can call me if you want to discuss anything.

I’m really very sorry. Stay in touch and keep writing.

Regards,

Sarah Waddington

A bunch of emotions went through you as you read and re-read the email. There had been rejections in your life in the past, but none of them stung or made you mad as this.

Who does this over an email?

You shoved your phone inside your purse angrily and looked around. You were in severe need of coffee, the only pick-me-up that could work.

Making a beeline for the counter, you pushed past people and stood behind a man wearing a black suit who was furiously whispering over his comms to someone.

Your phone buzzed again. This time it was your best friend calling you, the line was moving rather slow and you needed to vent.

The man in front must have changed his order at least three times adding to your frustration which you didn’t hide. You wondered who the person on the other line was who was unable to decide on a simple coffee order.

As your friend went on about her weekend, you moved ahead to order yourself a large Americano, this day called for nothing else but a strong cup of joe; the man in the suit grabbed his coffees and a bag of muffin and turned the opposite way, straight into you.

Iced coffee spilled down your blouse and some of it on his crisp white shirt, the paper bag turning soggy wet as both of you cursed out loud. Some of your piping hot americano managed to spill down your hand in the process too.

“Are you fucking kidding me??” You yelled, part in fury, part in pain as your hand stung.

Happy Hogan profusely apologized as he tried to grab as many tissues he could to help you. The commotion had gathered enough attention in the cafe already to add to your embarrassment.

“I am really sorry, I have a spare shirt in my car if you’d like. Please ma’am.”

He kept insisting, both of you staring at your blouse that was stained beyond saving point. Uttering a small ‘fine’ you followed him out to a rather sleek Tesla Roadster.

A man sitting at the back rolled the windows down as you two approached, a pair of brown eyes peeking through expensive looking sunglasses taking in your appearance with an amused smirk.

“Boss, would you mind passing me that shirt at the back please?”

The man continued to gaze at you for a few more seconds before paying heed to his, you assumed drivers’ request. You stared back, taking in the man’s sharp suit, a rather well maintained anchor beard and eyes that checked you out shamelessly.

“Tony?”

The other guy said more forcefully this time, breaking up your little staring match. ‘Tony’ fumbled around a bit before throwing a large white t-shirt that said ‘I survived my trip to NYC’ towards the guy you found who was named Happy Hogan as they exchanged a conversation.

“Honestly Happy, I don’t feel so secure around you and by the looks of it, neither does this lady or coffee for that matter. Why did I promote you to head of security again?”

“Because I’m the only one you trust and the only one who unfortunately can put up with your tantrums.”

“What tantrums? And will I get my coffee today?”

Tony huffed, making you hide your grin behind your hand as you accepted the t-shirt from Happy.

“Here. I’ve got all the caffeine I need for the day. Stains and burns included.” You held out your cup for him, frowning when he looked at Happy instead.

“Yeah, I’ll take that. Boss doesn’t like being handed things.” Happy gratefully took the coffee you offered and gave it to Tony.

What an entitled prick! You thought.

“What address should I send this back to?” You held the t-shirt up, Tony waving his hand in dismissal.

“Oh keep it. Mr. Hogan has a closet full of cheesy, oversized graphic tees. You can send the dry cleaning bill over to Stark Industries.”

He added with a small smirk, giving your blouse one more thorough glance.

“Oh no. I have plenty of pristine white blouses that haven’t had coffee spilled over. But thank you for your generosity, Mr. Stark I presume?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“The one and only.”

Happy watched the two of you interact like a tennis match, clearing his throat audibly to break off your staring contest yet again.

“See you around, Miss..?”

“Y/N.” I really hope not, you thought to yourself, giving them a polite smile.

Taking your leave, the two men sped off, leaving you with an amused grin and Tony Stark’s unforgettable gaze that seemed to still linger.

…

That evening the doorbell rang, it was nobody but a large package with a little note.

Another pristine white blouse to add to your collection. Though this is more dinner worthy, I feel. What do you say, Ms. Wordsmith?

Tony Stark

Inside the box sat a satin white top, your size, surprisingly, and a lovely bouquet of beautiful white hydrangeas.

It was an awfully bold yet sweet gesture from someone you encountered for less than ten minutes. By the handwritten note, Tony had researched you in advance, now, it was your turn.

…

Tony’s POV

“I’ll be honest with you Ms. Wordsmith, the thing is, ever since I saw you at the coffee shop, drenched in coffee, I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

Okay, what? Did those words actually leave my mouth? That wasn’t supposed to be uttered in front of her. Sure, the statements were true, but, whatever happened to the smooth-talker, unapologetic womanizer Tony! He was back at the lab probably judging the shit outta this guy.

The air conditioning was faulty in this place, I think, feeling sweat beads trickle down my back. The fanciest restaurants in New York with the most beguiling lady sitting across and all my mind focuses on is the goddamn AC?

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about you too, Mr. Stark. I think you’re possibly the most spoiled bratty billionaire I’ve met.”

Her words stirred something in me, my cock twitched curiously at them as I smirked, cleverly hiding my shock at the honesty. No woman was ever this frank before, this was new, intriguing.

I could tell she was interested, just by the way all of her focus was on me, her body angled towards mine, her gorgeous eyes taking in every movement, as if memorizing it.

I hadn’t been subtle either, her personality, her curves, her aura were all too inviting for me to back down. Ever since I laid eyes on her, I knew I had to meet her again, keep meeting her for reasons unknown.

Other girls I’d met were pretty much cut from the same cloth, pretty things wearing tight dresses that accentuated their boobs enough to skip dessert and take them home. That usually ended in Pepper kicking them out in the morning before any of them had a chance to say ‘we should do this again sometime’.

Not Y/N though.

I wanted to listen to her, speak to about absolutely nothing, bring her home, explore every bit of that smart mouth, run my hands all over her soft skin, and claim her as mine…

Whoa there! Some boundaries, Stark. It’s only the first date.

“Earth to Tony?”

I snapped back to reality with her hand waving in front of my face, dear God, I wasn’t on my best game tonight.

“Did you say something I missed?”

Damn it. Obviously she had. What a question even?!

“I just wanted to know if you’d like to split a chocolate cake with me?” Her eyebrows raised in wonder as the waitress patiently stood next to the table, waiting for me to give some sort of reply.

Geez. Was this woman for real? I could’ve kissed her senseless right there. I don’t think any of my previous dates had even uttered the word cake before, let alone chocolate.

“Right uh, sure. Yes.” I cleared my throat and croaked, downing the rest of my drink, giving myself a mental shake.

“Are you alright?” She asked, leaning forward, concern filled in her eyes.

“Perfect. I was just preoccupied with something, I’m sorry. Tell me about where you grew up.”

The whiskey provided some liquid courage for me to get up from my seat and join her on her side of the booth. There was plenty of space but I had to make sure our knees touched, I couldn’t sit too far away, not now.

Angling my body toward her, I laid my arm against the backrest as she spoke, willing my eyes not to slip down to her tempting lips or the way her gesturing moved her blouse slightly to reveal her cleavage.

As her lips moved, a part of my brain registered the words while the other hornier part focused on the way her lips formed the perfect O, the way her tongue danced along making me wonder how it would feel wrapped around my length. The sounds that would leave her as I fucked that pretty little mouth, then her, and make her mine.

“Honestly, the whole thing was such a shitshow, I would not mind a sugar daddy at this point!” She laughed, making something flutter inside my chest cavity.

“A sugar daddy huh? How about an eccentric, genius billionaire?”

I smirked, letting my fingers skim the soft skin of her shoulders, pleased at the effect I had on her as she blushed.

Something changed in her eyes as she shifted closer to me, curiosity replaced by something darker, more carnal.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I murmured, looking down at her lips that screamed to be kissed.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re begging me to devour you until you scream my name.”

That very moment, both of us shifted closer until our lips finally met. That very moment, I knew I was in trouble.

The kiss was everything I had imagined and everything I hadn’t. She tasted like a dream, a mix of chocolate and berries mixed with a bit of wine she’d been drinking. I couldn’t get enough.

My lips glided over hers smoothly, tongue peeking out testing the waters at first but as her hands found their way up my chest, I knew she wanted more.

I could’ve been more drunk on her than the whiskey as we kissed, the restaurant had faded away into oblivion long ago.

Her tongue skimmed along my lower lip shyly, making me smirk against her mouth and card my fingers through her hair, pulling her closer.

“Mind if we get out of here?” I breathed, momentarily halting the kissing to look into her eyes.

She nodded, unable to form words as she bit her bottom lip to stifle a grin, her eyes swimming with the same want and desire that was probably reflecting in mine.

“Do your worst, Stark.”

A/N: Here we go! Chapter 1. Feedback is love, as always.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark series #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fluff #tony stark oneshot #marvel fanfiction #tony stark x you #tony stark imagine #tony stark #tony stark fic #iron man series #iron man x reader #iron man fanfiction #the stark squad #mostly marvel musings

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mariatesstruther · 4 months

Note

okay just hear me out modern au where tommy ends up picking up ellie from pre school almost everyday since joel is busy but he keeps meeting teacher maria

okay bestie as a preschool teacher you GOT me with this one. like you got me SO GOOD. this might actually get published to ao3, you got me soooo fuckin’ good right now. i have so many unnecessary details for such a simple plot so here’s a cut

tbh i feel like even as busy as joel is, he’d prioritize picking up and dropping of sarah as much as he can, so maybe he and tommy would alternate???? so on days when tommy drops off, joel picks up and when joel drops off, tommy picks up. sarah goes to a public preschool with a lot of kids, so she gets easily overwhelmed and sometimes needs extra cuddles or kind words in the mornings to make it out of the car.

one monday, a couple months into school, sarah is particularly VERY anxious because there’s a new teacher to replace ms. doherty, who quit unexpectedly on friday “because she said we gave her alooooottt of headaches, daddy.” now, sarah knows nothing about the new teacher except that shes a girl from a place called new york—and sarah doesn’t even know what new yawk IS like, thats So Far Away??? (“it’s not really that far, baby,” joel says to her. “and it’s new york. with an o sound.”) still, sarah is VERY concerned:

is new yawk like another planet???? (no, babygirl.) but what if she’s an alien???? (the school only hires human teachers, baby. they promised.) but what if she’s a SECRET alien??? (she won’t be, i promise.) okay but what if she’s mean???? (if she is, you tell me or tommy and we’ll talk to her about it, okay? she shouldn’t be mean to you.) what if she doesn’t play good music at quiet time???? (you can ask her nicely and i bet she will, baby. just say please and thank you, okay?)

still, even with her questions answered, sarah is very nervous on monday. both joel and tommy go with her in an effort to start her day off extra good, especially because joel can’t pick her up. they reassure her that new york has plenty of nice people and her new teacher will probably be one of them. she also gets TWO WHOLE extra minutes of cuddle time with BOTH of them before she and daddy have to leave the car—it’s half for her and half for them, because they’re honestly pretty anxious for her to like her new teacher too

joel is the one to hold sarah’s hand and walk her inside, because the school prefers only one guardian to drop off at a time. tommy’s nervous, but joel actually seems pretty pleased when he gets back to the car with no sarah in tow. surprisingly, he’s back faster than any time they’ve ever dropped sarah off before. with a proud smile, he tells tommy is that miss maria seems really nice. more importantly, she’s Black, which joel says Sarah got really excited about. tommy pries for more details, and he’s glad he does: apparently miss maria has locs, a few even blue and purple, and the first thing sarah’d said to her was an emphatic “😲😍🤩 i like your hair!!!!!!!!,” to which she had responded “thank you! i like your hair! what’s your name, sweets?” and that’d been that

later, when tommy does pickup that day, he doesn’t know what to expect. most times at the end of the day, sarah is super reserved and a bit cranky, eager to get home to finally have time to herself. tommy’s goal is usually to try and get her to at least wave goodbye to her teachers like joel asks—but, more often than not, she opts for reaching for uppies and hiding her face in his chest until they leave.

today??? no. it takes sarah a full two minutes to even notice tommy’s there because her and this drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous woman in a soft-looking lavender pants and blouse set are finishing up a painting at the easel wall. they’re working on what looks like a brown and purple butterfly, probably the most carefully shaped sarah’s ever made.

tommy’s heart stops when this goddess miss maria finally looks over at him and smiles with perfect pearly-whites, waving him over behind sarah’s back. when she says “sarah honey, i think someone’s here for you!” in her sing-songy toddler-tone, tommy swears an angel gets his wings. sarah turns around, shrieks with joy upon seeing him, and runs down to him with her arms out, yelling all the while: “THOMMYYYYYYY!!!!!”—because sarah’s still working on her hard ts—“thommy!!!! thommy thommy thommy come look!!! i made a butterfly for u!!!!! look!!!!! it matches ms. maria!!!!!! it’s gorgeous!!!!” (she’s been obsessed with calling things gorgeous ever since she heard tommy say it about a harley motorbike last week. joel especially thinks it’s cute, especially because of how she over-emphasizes the j-sound: gor-Jus.)

tommy’s never seen her so excited to show her art off at pickup-time before; usually, she waits until they’re home and she’s feeling less shy to start showing off, but she’s babbling and pointing to it as he picks her up and sets her on his hip: “it’s brown and purple like miss maria!!! isnt it so gorgeous, unca thommy??? do you like it???? aren’t they SO gorgeous????”

and now miss maria is looking at him. and he’s looking at her. tommy knows he’s blushing, and he hesitates—which sarah does NOT appreciate, so she says: “unca tommy!!!!!!! don’t be WUDE! thell miss maria she’s gorgeous!!! she is!!!”

luckily, miss maria saves him by explaining, in a slightly firmer teaching voice: “sarah sweets, that’s okay! we’re only just meeting, and that’s not really something you say to a stranger, okay?”

“but why noooooooot?? you are gorgeous! like my butterfly! isn’t she so gorgeous, thommy?”

“well, yeah, of course,” tommy agrees easily, because she obviously is—and shit. now miss maria is looking at him like he’s a fucking bonehead, because he obviously fucking is. “but—uh, i mean—she’s right, hon’. you gotta listen to your teacher, and that’s not somethin’ you say to a stranger, okay?”

but then, after thinking to her tiny self for a few seconds: “well if she stays my teacher then she’s not a stranger, is she???” sarah asks tommy, then turns her conniving little head towards maria, too. “and you said you’d stay! so can he say you’re gorgeous tomorrow?” then, without waiting for an answer, she’s back towards tommy to finish: “i think you should call her gorgeous tomorrow.”

“i think we should go home, s’what i think,” tommy says, finally deciding to save himself from four-year-old torment. he sets sarah down and pats her on the end with a gentle but firm request to go get her stuff from her cubby, which she goes to do without her complaints of being too tired to walk. maria watches them closely with a close-lipped but relaxed grin. when sarah’s out of earshot, he apologizes. “sorry ‘bout that, ma’am.”

“don’t be,” miss maria teases, crossing her arms. “you did call me gorgeous, after all. i’ve had worse introductions.”

“tommy miller,” he offers, moving to shake her hand. he notices her nails are done-up, a sparkly blend of pretty shades of purple that look tie-dyed on somehow. her hands aren’t soft, not really, but they’re smooth enough to make him shiver as he pulls away. “sarah’s uncle.”

“oh, i know,” she reassures, then nods her head pointedly towards sarah. the little one is coming back towards them with her lunchbox in one hand and her water bottle in the other, walking extra careful so she doesn’t trip over herself like she did last week, tommy guesses. clearly fond, maria continues. “she spent all day telling me about you and her daddy. you’re doing great with her.”

“unca thommy! i’m ready to go!” sarah sing-songs, interrupting whatever miss maria might’ve said next. internally, tommy thanks his niece—the you’re doing great was already enough to make him cry, and he’d rather not do so in front of either her or her amazing new teacher. plopping her lunch and bottle at tommy’s feet, sarah gives not one, but two eager waves to miss maria, hands flapping madly up towards the woman’s face. “bye miss mariaaaaa!!!! i’ll see you tomorrow!!!!”

“bye sarah sweets!” maria says back, waving just as enthusiastically. to tommy, she raises an amused, teasing eyebrow. just loud enough for him to hear as he turns away, he hears her say “bye, gorgeous,” and laugh, giving yet another angel a pair of wings.

it takes everything in him to not fall straight to the floor, toppling his own precious niece, right then. he doesn’t think he even breathes until both he and Sarah are secured in the car, him in the front and her in her carseat. she’s already babble singing mary j. blige’s “just fine,” which they usually play and sing on their way home from school to help her regulate. when he plays the song this time, sarah smiles bright at him through the rearview and says “i already feel just fine, unca tommy!!! but can we still play it, just for fun?”

“of course, baby,” he says, and start singing along with her. he’s feeling just fine, too.

🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

tagging some homies (btw just let me know if u wanna be tagged in this kinda stuff or not guys! im never sure lol): @becomethesun @clickergossip @boilingcowboy @bumblepony

#tbh i might edit this and put it on ao3 #im so sorry i didnt get ti the falling in love part at all but i LOVE a good meet-cute #*to #and this is i think my favorite one i’ve put on this blog???????#anon. bestie. you did so well i love u thank u #if yall didnt know already im a preschool teacher so #and have i dreamed abt a rich hot younger single parent/gaurdian falling in love with me???? you fuckin betcha #preschool au #im 100% gonna try to connect this with the one rose and i already made #idk where ellie is in here but she’s here!!!! she loves miss maria too!#miss maria loves kids and especially loves embracing neurodiversity and all the different ways kids brains works #miss maria provides brain breaks and shows you how to do body checks to check in with your body #miss maria understands the importance of diversity in her book and media selection #miss maria recommends tab time and bluey #tommy x maria #tlou au #the tipsy bison #ugh I LOVE THISSSSSS BROOOO IM PROUD OF THIS 🫶🏾#yeas i have plans for tess and joel YOU BET I DO #when ur kids having play dates turns into u dating their mom #tess and joel: who am i gonna date??? i have no time. im a parent #ellie and sarah: hold my juicebox #like theyre fully setting them up with no clue that they’re doing it I LOVE MY LITTLE GIRLS #she calls them sarah sweets and ellie enchanted #she’s referencing ella enchanted but elie doesnt care about that so she explains it means ellie is magic #and ellie is down for that because in her brain magic equal dragon. ellie LOVES dragons #sarah miller #toddler sarah #baby sarah #neurodivergent miller tag

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thatoneandlonelyemo2005 · 1 year

Text

So I rewatched 92sies and GOD, why was that so amazing, I think the more I watch the more I fall in love with it, and here's why or at least a few thoughts

-it's definitely the background information, like seeing the Lodge House inside and how everyone wakes up and KOLPPMAN (sorry if spelled wrong), witch we get a little of this in the Broadway but still more lore in a way

-THE NUNS, AH PERFECT

-Specs what a man, along with Race like do you how dapper he is???!!!! AND MUSH AND KID BLINK, now I get you have to change a few things for a Broadway musical BUT IT'S JUST SO GOOD, LIKE THERE GOOD CHARACTERS AHHHHH

-Also found out who Skittery is, *chefs kiss*

-I also like how Jack goes to Davey's house, and I may not be a javid shipper bc of this version

-I really love Denton and don't get me wrong I love Katherine BUT MAN'S TOOK ON A DAD ROLE OKAY

-AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON SPOT FUCKING COLON, MAN'S GOT A KANE OKAY AND LOOK AT THOSE EYES

-Also love how Spot sticks with then throughout the whole movie

-AND ALSO DON'T GET ME STARTED ON HOW BROOKLYN SHOWS UP OUT OF FUCKING KNOW WHERE TO SAVE MANNHATTEN LIKE DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DOES TO ME, IT'S SO CUTE HOW THEY JUST POP OUT OF NO WHERE AND BEAT PEOPLE UP

-King Of New York, do I need to say more, LIKE COMPARED TO THE LIVE ACTION IT WAS GOOD, SO GOOD, and they tap dance! And look at Race, Mush, Blink, SPECS, like ALL OF THEM, THE END WHERE THE BOY SPINS ON THE FAN-

-I could go about that scene but another day

-THE DANCE MOVES, like damn ALSO SANTA FE??? LIKE HELLO, MAN'S ROAD A HORSE AND SANG AHHHH, the little ending with him a Race meeting gives me so much joy

-Sarah is bae and I'm gay for her

-MEDDA, SOME ONE STOP ME, OMFG SHE REALLY SAID, AND THE RALLY OMFG WHERE ALL THE KIDS SING WITH HER I CAN'T, I FUCKING CAN'T

-I just love to compare a lot of things okay man, like how Jack gets capture and Davy and other tried to save him LIKE I AM SOBBING, also Blink what a man throwing himself in front of Jack,

-DENTON YOU BITCH TOWARD THE END BUT HE CAME AROUND JUST LIKE JACK

-Also what was that scene where Davy saves him LIKE OMFG PLEASE KISS ALREADY, also he has really nice blue eyes....

-Can we also talk about Brooklyn turf, across the bridge, THEY WERE SWIMMING-

- Can you tell I really like this Spot

-It's a master piece in every way, only the one problem I have is Crutchie, which he was good don't get me wrong but he do be a bit cringy in this one BUT BUT, I still love him and maybe he was supposed to be that way, I think he gave Jack a potato or bread and he did it because family-

-Also is there no Finch or Albert? I saw a red head but I'm dying on the inside, either way there-WAIT WHERE IS ELMER DID-BUTTONS I- WHERE ARE THEY... AND THE TWINS, AHHHHH,

-Maybe I should know this, givin I had seen this before but got out of it but on viewing back, I'm lost

-The characters might never been made till the musical, Hollywood is weird

Alright I think that's enough, I need some fresh air.....or I could rewatch it a 3rd time this weekend-

#newsies musical #newsies #92sies #spot conlon #racetrack newsies #jack kelly #david jacobs #what am i doing #im so hyped

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we-are-inevitable · 1 year

Note

Your ask box is my kingdom, I am taking it over

But anyway I so badly want your thoughts on Jack and Davey in my college prof au please please please I know I haven't spoken about it on tumblr yet except from a little bit but I love your Javid so yeah

-has watched high school musical thank you very much

ok ok @roideny obvi this is your au but here are my Very Important thoughts bc i love them Very Much ugh. in love w them

David Jacobs-Kelly:

44 years old, born in ‘79

Undergrad: majored in English, minored in Creative Writing

Masters: Poetics and Theory AdvC- NYU

Doctorate: English and American Literature, thesis is over gender and sexuality in Shakespeare

he’s been Dr. Jacobs-Kelly for about seventeen years by the time the story takes place!

as a prof, he teaches a comp class, an honors comp (Critical Analysis and Writing), and some creative writing/poetry courses! he’s a very busy man.

he meets Race, Albert, and Finch because they’re students in his comp class!

when he’s not teaching, he’s really involved in the local queer scene. i feel like he’s a staple at drag brunches and pride celebrations; he’s not a huge club fan anymore but he still loves being Involved. growing up during the aids crisis is traumatizing at the least, and im sure he lost a few friends, so he stays up to date in the queer stuff to sort of honor them.

he marries jack in 2011 when gay marriage is legalized in new york!

he’s a huge shakespeare fan, as seen by his phd studies. he has a hamlet-inspired tattoo because he’s gay

tbh he probably has a cat named after shakespeare (they have two cats im calling it now. shakespeare and bryan, name courtesy of jack)

he and jack don’t have any kids, but he’s a loving fun uncle for Les and Sarah’s respective kids!

Jack Jacobs-Kelly:

45 years old, born in ‘78

Undergrad: Studio Art! but he dropped out after a semester <33

he just decided that college wasn’t for him. why pay money for something he doesn’t need?

he goes straight into a set design apprenticeship that medda helps him get! medda is his adoptive mom, so he’s been around queer spaces and theatre since he was around 15. he loves it, it’s his home

that being said he probably sells his own paintings and maybe does mural work on the side, he likes to keep busy and is invested in the art scene, and he meets davey when davey moves to New York for his masters! he’s the reason davey stays in NYC <33

he’s very eccentric, and very much doesn’t give a fuck. he’s a black queer man- the universe already nerfed him, so why worry about anything else? i can see him being the really go-with-the-flow husband to davey’s more tight-strung academic vibe. they really balance each other out

again, they don’t have kids, but i feel like this jack is very much For The Youths? i can see him volunteering a lot, working for organizations that help troubled kids get into the arts— i feel like it’s his passion project that makes him feel better when davey is busy at the university all day. in another life he’s a foster parent, but he and davey just don’t have the lifestyle to foster, so he focuses his energy elsewhere!

whenever davey “adopts” some freshmen he’s always on board. he really hits it off with Albert!

not as involved in the queer scene as davey, but his career is literally in musical theatre set design, so even if he’s not in the queer scene he’s In The Queer Scene

i don’t wanna talk about him losing medda but i can see him eventually inheriting the theater!

he loves his nieces and nephews! he’s a big family guy

Extra Thoughts:

jack and davey are a pair. they rarely go anywhere outside of work without each other, and they’re so, SO in love.

jack pretty regularly comes to see Davey while he’s at work; he’ll bring him lunch to office hours and pop in to watch him lecture from time to time.

davey attends the opening night of every show jack works on <33

their apartment is always a mess LMAO. davey has papers and books everywhere, there’s paint on the floor, brushes all over the place— it’s what happens when you cross a tired academic and an adhd creative. shit happens.

they actually stay pretty hip and on-trend? idk how it happens but jack is rlly good with youth culture and davey is on top of gay culture so like. yeah they work.

over summers and breaks, they travel a lot! not anything crazy expensive— they love international travel, but they’re also a big fan of road trips and rental cars!

they are my FAVORITES and i love them so much

#ugh el ily thank u for letting me contribute #jack kelly #davey jacobs #david jacobs #livesies #newsies musical #newsies #ask a jac !#elliot tag #prof davey au

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willowistic22 · 1 year

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Newsies and Their Favorite Taylor Swift Album

Not them as a Taylor Swift Album, but what I think their favorite album is. Some of these might correlate with their personality imo but for the most part it’s just what i think each of their fav albums are that might kinda sorta contradict their personality lolz. Also i’m so sorry for leaving out Debut but honestly i can’t think of anyone saying that album is their favorite😭😭😭.

Jack Kelly: Fearless. Our favorite cowboy, what did y’all expect his fav album would be? I believe that listening to ‘You Belong With Me’ changed the chemistry of his brain eternally.

Davey Jacobs: Midnights. This man just loves the lyricism and production of each songs on this album.

Crutchie: Red. He’s not necessarily heartbroken but he just loves the way each song expresses emotions in their own respective way.

Katherine Pulitzer: Lover. Secretly a hopeless romantic and her fav color is pink don’t lie to me y’all know I’m right.

Sarah Jacobs: Evermore. The production of the songs is what made her love the album. Also the subject of most songs just truly hits home for her.

Racetrack Higgins: 1989. This guy is 1989 coded. Taylor wrote this album for this specific people-pleasing-extroverted-definitely-have-various-issues dude.

Romeo: Speak Now. Hopeless romantic and not afraid to say it but specifically loves it in the fairytale kind of vibe. Also ‘Better Than Revenge’ is his villain song.

Albert DaSilva: Lover. Will never admit it but he is a hopeless romantic and hearing ‘Daylight’, ‘Lover’, and ‘False God’ for the first time truly changed the trajectory of his life.

Finch Cortez: Red. He loves acoustic production and he adores the lyricism of this album with just the right amount of heartbreak songs and love songs.

Buttons: Midnights. He loves the subject of the songs. Talking about self-hatred, anxiety, heartbreak, being at peace, falling in love, being an overachiever, and etc.

Elmer: Speak Now. He loves how the album is basically a rock album in disguise and will stand by that till the day he dies.

Kid Blink: Reputation. Not necessarily because he seaks vengeance or anything but more so he loves how the album address romance. About finding someone to go through your highs and lows with.

Mush Meyers: Fearless. It’s an album that he feels is full of hope despite all the heartbreak and he loves it. Also he loves the production of the songs.

Specs: Folklore. Peak lyricism in Specs’ opinion and he adores how simple the production sounds. His favorite songs on the album are ‘The Lakes’, ‘My Tears Ricochet’, ‘Cardigan’, and ‘Peace’.

Mike: 1989. He’s an extrovert so of course he’d favor the most extroverted album. But despite it, he adores the more slower songs on the album like ‘You Are In Love’, ‘Clean’, and ‘Wildest Dreams’.

Ike: Reputation. He loves the whole ‘picking yoursed up after being betrayed’ theme of the album but also the ‘I found pure love despite the hardships of life’ but mostly he adores the production of the album as a whole.

JoJo De La Guerra: Red. It has the perfect balance of heartbreak and love that’s always there to help him get through a rainy day. He was sold the moment he heard ‘Treacherous’ and ‘State of Grace’ for the first time.

Sniper: 1989. She is 1989 in human form let’s be real. She loves the high energy of the album and the way the album addresses heartbreak in a high beat tempo. But her favorite songs are ‘How You Get The Girl’, ‘New Romantics’, and ‘Welcome To New York’

Smalls: Midnights. It’s authentic and honest when it comes to addressing specific emotions and it’s being told in a very poetic and raw way. But also she adores the raw pop production of the album.

Spot Conlon: Reputation. This goes without saying because that man is Reputation coded. But not in the way most people would expect. He loves the idea of finding love through all the noise and despite what people has said about him.

Hotshot: Evermore. He finds that this album’s heartbreak songs deals the most damage and he loves it. But don’t be fooled, his favorite songs on the albums are ‘Willow’, ‘Dorothea’, and ‘Long Story Short’.

I am right and yall can’t tell me otherwise. And keep in mind this is all their favorite albums and not like who is which album. I believe if I make that post some might get different answers and reasonings. But i’ll leave that for another post.

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pettyprocrastination · 1 year

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Hi darling, I’m so sorry about your zuzu. Ollie got a new blanket today and he would like to show you :

If you feel like answering - which Pedro boys would have dogs? 😘😘😘

Thank you laura, and hello lovely lovely ollie! He looks so cozy!! I think

frankie is absolutely a dog guy. Like through and through that man talks to his dog he takes him for drives in his truck he gives him table scraps and lets him lay on the couch. his dog is the epitome of mans best friend cause He loves him so much

I like to imagine Dave york with a dog, but it's a little fluffy white dog (like zuzu :') because his daughters wanted a cute little puppy instead of a big trained guard dog and now he has some little yippy thing he has to talk on a walk every morning before work because he can't say no to his wife and daughters.

idk if dogs exist in starwars but yall saw when Din called to the massiff in season two and it trotted right on over? and he gave him some scritches? he deserves a big massiff that watches over him and grogu like a scaly Labrador.

I think Joel would love a dog. Goes in with the thing of him wanting a ranch, he deserves a pup he can train to protect his flock and herd the sheep in at his side <3 Sarah probably begged him for a dog growing up and he said that she could walk the neighbor's as training to see if she could handle the responsibility of taking care of one.

So I know climate-wise it's unrealistic to think of there being dogs in dorne- but (and ive talked about this with @thesadvampire ) I like the idea of dorne being home to a type of hyena type animal called a "dornish laughing hound" that are seen as scavengers and NOT pets but then oberyn's baratheon wifey is gifted a pup as a wedding day gift and she loves him so very much. He gets a jewled collar and is eating sweet meats and fruit from her hand every day but will bite anybody else. Oberyn is not happy about this arrangement in any way but can't say anything cause that's his wife's dog so he just has to live with the fact that this feral puppy that will grow into a giant hound is now chewing his shoes and sleeping in his spot in the bed.

I think marcus pike is just a companionship guy. I can see him with cats and/or dogs. Both of them fit into his fantasy of having a family to come home to so he loves them both very much :)

If Maxwell lord has a dog it's going to be a very fancy high breed he has professionally trained (or maybe it's the pitbull of the seamstress he and his wife are in love with hehe)

#ask #asks #thank you laura <3 #i havent watched any pedro media in so long i genuinely had to think ogf like. what his roles are again lmao #this is keeping me calm thank you love <3 #the hyena one lives in my brain constantly #also i am peeping at ollie's blanket i know those fabrics!

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queen-of-deans-booty · 1 year

Text

Clip Show: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

Your phone rings this time, and you answer it without looking to see who it is.

"You son of a bitch. What the hell are you doing, Crowley?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm killing everyone you've ever saved--the damsels in distress, the innocent whippersnappers, the would-be vampire chow--all of them."

"How do you even know where they are?"

"I have my sources and a cracking research team. When you three hit a town, you tend to leave a mess. Now, you're probably wondering why my droogs aren't in there giving you the bum's rush, so let's brass these tacks, shall we? I'm gonna gut one person every twelve hours until you bring me the Demon Tablet and stop this whole trial nonsense."

"We don't have the tablet. Kevin took it and--"

"I took Kevin, then someone took him back. Word from the cloud is that it wasn't Heaven. So either the cutest little Prophet in the world is with you three lads, or you better find him because time, she is a-wasting. About now, you're thinking of ways to stop me. You won't be able to, but you'll try because that's what you do. So, time for an object lesson. Indianapolis, the Ivy Motel, room 116. You have fifty-seven minutes."

Crowley hangs up, and you turn to the brothers with a pale face. You explain everything that just happened, and that's enough to rush back onto the road.

You're not sure who is inside room 116, but when she opens the door, you get a flashback to when you helped her back in New York.

"I'm just glad this whole thing is over. I never liked Upstate New York." You said.

"I guess this means you're leaving." Sarah said sadly, looking at Sam. The air started to thicken up with awkwardness and you looked between Sam and Sarah, nodding.

"Okay then, Dean, why don't we wait by the car." You smiled to Sarah, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean's shoulders slumped but followed your instruction anyways.

"I'm the one that burned the doll and destroyed the spirit, but don't thank me or anything." Dean grumbled as you walked with him.

"Mmm, I'll thank you." You said seductively, leaning up to his ear and nibbling on it. He growled and pushed you against the car, kissing you. You pulled away and looked into his eyes that sparkled with love. You turned around and leaned into his body, your back to his front and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You held onto his strong arms, watching Sam and Sarah say goodbye.

Sarah closed the door of the auction house while Sam was outside. You guess Sam never made a move. You knew he wanted to and he should. You smiled widely when Sam walked back to the door and knocked. The door opened to reveal a smiling Sarah and she leaned up just as Sam leaned down and their lips met.

"That's my boy." Dean muttered with a smile. Sam deserved to be happy and in that moment, you knew he was.

Sarah is glad to see you three after being years apart, but as soon as you explain what's going on, she becomes grim.

"So a demon named Crowley is gonna kill me in sixteen minutes."

"No, he's not. I'm not going to let it happen. My powers are stronger than ever. You won't die, but that won't stop him from trying."

"What are you doing in Indiana?" Dean asks, trying to get her mind off things.

"I was scouting an estate sale for my dad."

"Look, we're gonna put Devil's Traps everywhere. We've got holy water, an exorcism ready to play on a loop, and anything that comes through that door is dead. Look, I know this is insane, but insane is kind of what we do. We'll keep you safe," Sam promises.

"Okay."

"That's it?"

"You've done this before. I trust you."

She fiddles with her fingers, and you notice the rock on her hands.

"Damn, look at the size of that ring," you gri.

"Yeah, his name is Ian. He works search and rescue. I guess I have a type. Our daughter, Bess, will be one in a month."

"I won't let anything happen to your family, Sarah. I promise," you squeeze her shoulder and join Dean to give Sam some privacy.

They talk for a few minutes, and then Crowley calls. Dread fills your chest, but you won't let her die.

"Crowley," Dean answers with a growl.

"Five... Four... Trios... Zwei... Uno." Sarah struggles to breathe. Whatever Crowley is doing, he's doing it remotely. You rush over to her and try to help her, but it's like she is being strangled by an invisible force. "She's dying, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"You son of a bitch!" Dean yells.

"Son of a witch, actually. My mommy taught me a few tricks."

"It's a spell. Find the hex bag!" you yell.

Dean and Sam immediately start to ransack the area, and you grab Dean's phone to talk to Crowley.

"I thought of sending in a few of my bruisers and really let them go to town. Then, trial one was to kill a Hellhound. Trial two was to rescue a soul from the pit. So, from here on, I'm gonna keep everything hell-related away from you. Plus, I just thought it seemed fitting. From what I understand, Sammy took that bird's breath away. What's the line? 'Saving people, hunting things, the family business'? Well, I think the people you save are how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism, the collateral damage, and the pain you've caused is the one thing that allows you to sleep at night. The one thing is knowing that these folks are out there, still out there happy and healthy because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes!"

"You're not getting her, you bastard," you growl.

"Sarah? They're your life's work, and I'm going to rip it apart piece by piece because I can, because you can't stop me, and because when they're all gone, what will you have left? You want to keep those people alive. I want complete and utter surrender. You'll surrender the tablet and the trials or we'll keep doing this dance. Your choice, my darlings."

You hang up on Crowley and let your magic guide you to where the hex bag is. Sarah doesn't have much longer, so you need to find it now. Clouds of magic form at your hands, and Sam and Dean pause when they see what's happening. The clouds of your magic cover every inch of the apartment until it's sucked into a single location--the couch.

You use your magic to rip it apart, and you find the hex bag easily. With your magic, you burn the hex bag right before Sarah could go unconscious. She sucks in a deep breath and coughs, and Sam rushes to her side to take care of her.

"You're okay. You're going to be okay."

"I didn't have any doubt," she coughs.

Crowley thinks she's dead and you're going to keep it that way.

By the time you get back to the bunker, Sam heads straight to his room. He's pissed about this whole thing, but you're just exhausted. Dean takes care of the kids while you stay in the library. You don't move from your spot at the table even when Dean comes back without the kids.

"Get up. Follow me."

"Where are we going?" you ask hollowly.

Dean doesn't answer and helps you to your feet. He takes you to the hallway where Sam and the kids' rooms are. Yours and Dean's room is in the other hallway on the other side of the Bunker. Dean stops outside of Robert's room and grips the doorknob.

"We're going inside and facing this."

"I can't," you mutter.

"No, you need to let it in, Y/N. I'm going to let it in with you. This is how we're going to start to heal."

"It's going to hurt," you whimper.

"Of course it's going to hurt, but then tomorrow, it'll hurt a little less. Then, in a year from now, it's going to hurt a lot less. You have to start now before something bad happens."

You know he's right. You don't think you can do this alone, so you're glad you have Dean here with you. You move Dean's hand out of the way before you grasp the handle yourself. You slowly push open the door into the dark room. The only light is coming from the hallway, but you don't move to turn on the light.

Everything is how you left it before he died. The only difference is that his urn is sitting on top of the dresser next to the rocking chair. Imagine what your life would be like if he was here right now. Maryann would grow up with her twin. Joanna would have a younger brother. You and Dean would have a son.

You walk into the room and run your fingers over the crib. Tears want to fall, but you're trying not to let them fall. Dean is right behind you to walk you through it, and you're grateful for him. The dresser is your next step where a picture of him all wrapped up in his blue blanket right before he was taken to the morgue.

Next to his picture is a framed picture of his foot and handprints. His hospital bracelet sits next to that, and a small box with a glass lid holds the lock of his hair. Your bottom lip trembles, and as soon as your hand touches his urn, you break down crying.

"He should be here, Dean," you cry and grab the urn.

Dean backs you up and takes a seat on the rocking chair. You fall into his lap and curl into a ball, and he begins rocking you gently.

"He should be here. He should have gotten to live. I didn't even get to hold him," you sob into your husband's chest.

You're both crying at this point, but Dean is better at controlling it than you are. You let everything you've suppressed since you came home from the hospital out in the form of tears. Dean isn't sobbing, but you can feel his tears on your head.

He's right, it hurts like hell, but it'll be easier tomorrow and then before you know it, it won't hurt when you think of him.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #spn #spn fic #spn fiction

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sourstiless · 2 years

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something so fundamentally different between 92sies jack and livesies jack, that i think the broadway musical really missed the mark on, was how they interpreted his longing for santa fe.

everything is under the cut because i think too much

in 92sies, it’s made very clear that santa fe isn’t actually a place jack wants to go, rather a place he uses to cope with the feeling of being alone and not having a family. you deduce this from its timing in the movie and the lyrics in the song. the song comes right after jack leaves the jacobs’ home. the very first verse of it is:

so that’s what they call a family mother, daughter, father, son guess that everything you heard about is true

so you ain’t got any family well who said you needed one ain’t you glad nobody’s waiting up for you

this is right after the first time he’s had a real experience being around and involved in a family in a long time. right after we see him happily jump back into the family dynamic, happily pretending that he is apart of this family. you can see these are words he doesn’t actually mean, but rather words he’s using to assure himself that he’s okay with being alone, and not having what they have, even though that’s not true. (see lyrics: when i dream | on my own | i’m alone but i ain’t lonely)

and we know it’s not true because he lies about having a family waiting for him, and he tells sarah that he’s not used to whether he goes or stays mattering to anyone, and asks her if it would matter to her. in that scene, he’s asking her this because he doesn’t want to leave, he’s just waiting for someone to ask him to stay because he wants a reason to. he wants to matter to someone, and if that someone is in new york, he won’t leave because he doesn’t actually want santa fe, he wants a family. he wants to belong somewhere, and he knows that running off to santa fe isn’t going to fix that, he just hopes that it will because he’s never mattered enough to anyone else for them to ask him not to go.

in the last verse, he sings:

so you ain’t got any family ain’t you glad you ain’t that way ain’t you glad you got a dream called santa fe

once again, reaffirming that his actual want is to be loved by and belong to a family, not santa fe.

the importance of all this subtext and context clues comes from it’s placement in the movie. had it come at a different time in the movie, the song may have had a very different meaning, but it was put there on purpose. to show that he is just a kid who was forced to grow up too fast, who works for a society who continues to fail him, who just wants to be able to have someone who cares about him and wants him to stay, and who wants have a life where he doesn’t feel so alone, abandoned, or ostracized. that’s why the song(s) is so heart wrenching.

the song wasn’t about santa fe. it was never about santa fe, the song was about longing for a family, something he didn’t have the luxury of.

in livesies, they actively make it a place where jack genuinely wants to go, and where he thinks he can fix all his problems. and obviously there is nothing inherently wrong with that idea, but it does take out the emotional weight of what santa fe actually means to him, and what it’s actually a metaphor for.

both the movie and the show have two versions of the song, however changing the placements of where they are and changing the lyrics, changes the meaning of not only the song (obviously), but also the meaning of santa fe in the show and to the character themselves.

in the broadway show, jack is literally singing about santa fe. in the santa fe prologue, he’s singing about how much he wants to leave new york, and how it sucked the life out of his old man and that he’s not letting it do that to him. he sings about how all he wants to do is just get away to a place that sounds so much better, so much prettier and so much cleaner and where he’ll be able to live free with not a care in the world, unlike what he has now.

see lyrics:

where it's clean and green and pretty

plantin' crops splittin' rails swappin' tales around the fire ‘cept for sunday when you lie around all day

and

work the land chase the sun swim the whole rio grande just for fun

there is one verse in the prologue that alludes to wanting to belong to a family, and wanting someone to care enough to ask you to stay, however, it is a short lyric that is quickly overshadowed by jack telling crutchie:

i bet a few months of clean air you could toss that crutch for good

(which i cant even begin to explain why that’s a terrible lyric, and why it’s just not good representation in general. a friend of mine who is disabled has explained it better than i have the ability to, and i’ll link their post if you’re curious about that.)

the family line, does not get a lot of spotlight, and is drowned out by the sheer amount of praise being sung about the actual place, santa fe. jack wants to leave. he doesn’t want to stay, and he wants to take crutchie with him. in fact, he does call crutchie family:

don’t you know that we’re a family would i let you down

which continues to drown out the other family line in the song, because this line shows that jack thinks of crutchie as family, and implies that family is not something he desires at this point because he already has it, and if it is something he wants, it’s not nearly as important to him as getting out of the city. it’s also important to note that this is the very first song in the show. this sets the mood for the entire play. you get this sense the whole time that jack does not want to be there.

now, yes in the movie jack does say that he’ll be happy when the strike is over so he can leave for santa fe, but that comment is almost immediately followed up by him telling sarah that he’s not used to him staying or leaving mattering to anyone, and that’s why he said that. because people don’t normally care.

and this is not a dig on movie jack for “not considering the newsies family”, so i hope that’s not how that came off. because i do think that he does consider the other newsies family, especially given how he treats them throughout the movie. that being said, it’s not the same as having a mother, and a father, and a real home of your own. that’s the distinction between jack longing for a family in the movie, and jack already considering himself having a family in the broadway show.

when jack sings the reprise in the movie, it’s coming straight after the rally has failed, and he has been arrested. after he cuts david off in order to keep him out of the refuge, and his one chance to be apart of a family again is seemingly off the table. though he hasn’t scabbed yet, the look on david’s face when he turns to leave is a enough to insinuate that there is bitterness or resentment in feeling like jack is giving up, and leaving him, and their strike. he falls back on that dream of santa fe because his real dream is no longer tangible.

he’s in the refuge, the place that he was so scared of going back to, and he feels completely hopeless, and powerless in this moment. pulitzer and snyder have completely broken him down. he can no longer keep up the facade of being okay with everything happening in his life (we see crutchy’s reaction to this), he knows what he’s about to do next and that his friends aren’t going to understand why he’s doing this. he knows they’ll be rightfully hurt and they won’t forgive him, and so this place, santa fe, is all he feels he has left. everything else has been unwilling stripped from him.

this wholly differs from santa fe in the musical, where jack is coming from a place of anger, guilt, and some self pity. he wants to go to santa fe because he wants to run away from his problems. he doesn’t want to deal with any of this stuff anymore, and he’s mad at crutchy from not being able to escape. but the thing is, santa fe was jack’s real dream in the musical. it wasn’t a stand in for anything. he’s not singing about santa fe because he lost the only thing keeping his head above water, he’s singing about santa fe because he is at the end of his rope with pulitzer, and he just wants out. he has lost his patience. but he knows what he wants, and where he wants to go.

now, i don’t think there’s anything wrong with being mad and outraged for being mistreated by those who are more fortunate than you. obviously, that’s the whole premise of newsies and why they striked to begin with, and i’ve been on that end personally before. that being said, i think by changing what santa fe meant to jack for the broadway musical, it just lost so much of the emotional weight that came with it.

jack stays in new york in the movie because he never truly wanted to leave. he wanted a family, and he realizes, with some help from roosevelt, he finally has that. he’s not giving up his dream by staying, because he already found his dream. but in the musical, because they painted santa fe as something that he actually wanted. it feels like he’s giving that up for virtually nothing because he had never expressed wanting a girlfriend, wanting a family, or wanting to stay. yes he was offered a job, but he genuinely thought moving to santa fe would make his life better, that it would make his friends lives better. he listed out all the reasons he wanted to leave new york in the santa fe prologue. it never had anything to do with the strike, or with the price of the papes, but rather with the city itself, so why stay if you’ve never been shown to have any incentive to want to? why stay if you genuinely believe the quality of life is better elsewhere, especially when you have the opportunity to leave?

without the double meaning for santa fe, there’s just so much that seemingly does not make sense, along with the fact that you lose so much of the emotion from the original. in having santa fe really be a stand in for a family, you are constantly reminded of the fact that jack is just a child. a child who was abandoned by everyone in his life, and by his family, and all he truly wants is to have that again. you don’t get that same feeling when santa fe is the true end goal for him. to me, the story feels so lacking, so empty, without it. i really just think the broadway musical fucked up on that one big time.

#92sies #jack kelly #i hope that makes sense #i started rambling at the end #and then i ended up deleting like half of what i wrote because i started analyzing the entire show and not just santa fe #but yeah #that’s my two cents #anyway family was such a huge part of the original #and i really think without santa fe meaning something else to jack you lose that found family feeling #which sucks #because found family is so fucking good #welcome back to me shitting on l*vesies #also to me over analyzing things #as i do #it’s like my trademark at this point #today’s episode santa fe !!!#i have other l*vesies complaints but #that’s for another day #newsies 1992

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