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qierxing · 10 months

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A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. This is one of the longest fics I’ve written…..carried by my love for Heartslabyul. Been chipping away at this every so often until now. I would strongly recommend reading Shiny’s part first, or else a good part of this will not make sense. Part two will be something that will be floating in the future.

TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of PTSD & panic attack symptoms, self-harm from bad coping habits, dissociation, dismemberment, references to Alice in Wonderland, made up lore LOL

I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality…"

– Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll

i. Cremation

Ramshackle's mailbox is a pitiful thing.

It sits right in front of the small graveyard near forgotten covered in tangled vines and weeds. Unlike its surroundings which shine from recent renovations and repairs, the hinges still squeak loudly when the latch is opened and the outer parts are scratched and dented. On bright sunny days, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

And today, it's even more obvious.

The box now is in danger of tilting off its support pole, filled with the weight of lumpy letters, spilling out envelopes upon the dirt. Around it sits various colorful wrapped boxes and packages that are piled haphazardly across each other. You swear it gets larger each passing day.

“How many does this make?”

A battered top hat pops into existence next to you, one of the resident Ramshackle ghosts who's been helping you around lately. (He had said you remind him of his siblings when he was alive. You're still unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.)

You let out a sigh through your nose. There's nothing to say about the situation in front of you. You wish they could disappear the minute you wish for it, yet the colorful wrappings and the various envelopes scattered around your feet don’t vanish the more you stare.

“I’m really sorry about all this.”

The ghost shakes his head, frowning at your apology.

“It’s not your fault, prefect.”

The words are reassuring, but they don’t make the gross feeling go away when you crouch down and start picking up letters that have fallen out of the mailbox.

From: Azul Ashengrotto

Sender: Vil Schoenheit

Sent by: Riddle Rosehearts

All of them are addressed to you, of course. You can already imagine their contents: filled to the brim with regret and guilt, blotted words begging for forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done. When you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want anyone visiting Ramshackle, that wasn’t an invitation for them to flood you with unwanted mail. Then again, perhaps you should have foreseen that they would do this. All of them are stubborn to a fault. It wasn't like your phone was any better until you’ve blocked all numbers making it go off endlessly like a shrieking parrot.

The resulting letters alone are thick enough to rival the textbooks Professor Trein assigns students. Pressing your lips together, you turn around to start heading back to your temporary home.The rest of the bulky packages can wait. The ghost helps swing the door open and Grim perks up from his seat in the living room as you set down the letters.

“Grim, can you get a fire going?”

“Now?”

He eyes the thick pile of letters with wary slit pupils and asks, “Aren’t ya…gonna read ‘em?”

You did. For the first few ones, at least. They were barely discernible, their apologies blurring by as they begged for your grace and mercy. That they would do anything to right their wrongs. If you didn’t know any better, you would say their reverence was akin to a cult.

It makes your skin crawl.

After that, you stopped bothering to even skim through. What is the point of continuing to make sense of lunatics? Of cruel games and intrepid players?

"We have the wood, and the house is a bit chilly, so why not?" You reply. Grim scrunches his eyebrows but doesn't object as heavy wooden logs are dumped into the grate. He takes a deep breath and blows upon the letters scattered on the wood, encasing everything in familiar neon blue flames.

You settle into the armchair next to Grim, staring into flickering blue flames. Grim curls up next to you, purring contentedly. All too easily, your eyes lull close to the sound of crackling flames consuming paper.

–

When you step out onto the front porch the next morning, you're overtaken by an overwhelming fragrance.

There's crimson red petals floating through the air. Fluttering in the crisp morning wind, they fall in your hair and the rest end up crushed under your feet. You'd feel bad if it wasn't so pungent; the very air feels like it's infused with the scent of roses.

Your nose crinkles as you pick up the impossibly huge bouquet that is wrapped in silk and ribbons. It's certainly beautiful, you'll give it that. Yet this scent doesn't bring back good memories. It only brings vivid flashbacks of being lost among rose bushes, covered in dirt and scratches, trying so frantically to find a way out. When every single crack and snap was a possible life threat.

You don't realize you're crushing the bouquet until something trickles down your fingers. It doesn't feel like blood pooling between your skin. Relaxing your grip ever so slightly, you find pin sharp thorns running down the stems where you were gripping. The fleshy meat of your palm is punctured cleanly in the shapes of the thorns. Was it left unclipped on purpose?

The card is the next thing you find with bloodied fingers, rumpling white cardstock and soiling it without a care.

To our beloved player,

We deeply apologize for the pain we have caused you and beg for your forgiveness. We will make sure to atone for our sins of harming you.

The initial and the bouquet is too obvious of who it's from. Riddle must've penned it, because none of the card soldiers would ever write this formally. But it must've been Cater's idea to send the bouquet–Trey nor Riddle would've come up with such a sentimental and sappy idea. And Ace and Deuce would rather die than do such a cringey thing.

The door opens again behind you. You turn to see a half-awake Grim groggily yawning. He stops once his blue eyes land on the bouquet in your hands.

"Whazz that?" He points a paw at the rumpled roses, and you hastily shove them behind your back.

"Nothing." You say.

Grim makes a face before finally breaking the awkward silence with, "Do ya want me to go tell 'em off–"

"No."

The answer is rushed and makes Grim's eyes widen. It's crazy, you know. But to have Grim try to solve the problem for you doesn't sit well with you. It's not like it's his fault for what you went through.

And maybe, deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of telling them nasty insults and curses to make them hate you more.

"I'll take care of it." You add, trying to reassure Grim, who only stares impassively. He shakes his head.

"Am I making another fire?"

"...if you can, please."

ii. The Morgue

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been brought to Twisted Wonderland.

Yuu’s…body has been moved to another room. It freaks you out more than you would like to admit. It’s familiar, yet it’s not. It’s carved to your image, but with none of your personality. There’s something wrong with the way its eyes are tilted, the dip of its cheeks, the curve of the chin. An idealistic, dreamy mirror of yourself.

Still. You’ve seen many dolls in your lifetime, and even you cannot deny the life like artisanship. The seams of the joints are cleverly hidden and the skin is smooth and unfettered without any misshapen resin(or clay?)–these are marks of a true doll-maker.

“It’s your vessel.” Grim had said with a matter of fact tone. As if you weren't looking at an unmoving human body. “Everyone was freakin’ out cuz’ it just shut down outta nowhere.”

It must’ve been because you were brought here at that moment. The hypothesis doesn’t really make you feel any better. You should know better than to blame an inanimate shell of a vessel, but...

You jerk awake, cold sweat running down your neck and face. It takes a second for you to realize you're not being encased in burning scarlet flames and it's not claustrophobic verdant green hedges surrounding you. The bed sheets are tangled, wrapped in a chokehold around your legs and torso. Instead of translucent leaves, the bed canopy curtain shields you from the moonlight pouring in. The soft snores of Grim sync with your ragged breaths in time.

Tonight's nightmare had been recurring for a while. Every single time you thought you had shaken it off, it comes back like a bad omen.

Instinctively, your hand runs over the bumpy raise of scars running down your back and neck. Most of them had faded with magical treatment and time, but there are some that still have rough skin that has hardened like scales on a dragon.

Your fingertips curve inward and dig.

You thought you were safe. The rose maze is large and encompassing: hiding would be the best move. You breath in–

– and you were face to face with the Crimson Tyrant himself.

His face contains no humanity, his eyes only reflect dark, dark anger and resentment. You thought you were staring into a never ending abyss. Something inky black catches your eye, and you realize with horror that blot is trapping your feet and leaving stains upon your skin.

"Stop right there, imposter!"

Your nails scrabble at the bumps and raises, tearing through them with obsessive speed. Faster, faster–it doesn't feel right, you have to scrub your skin clean of those foreign textures.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping your legs from collapsing to the blot climbing its way up. You have to do something–

–something wraps around your neck and torso, and all air leaves you as it squeezes and knife sharp needles gnaw into bone.

Your breathing grows more hoarse as your nails scratch faster and faster, desperate to remove more of those vile clumps of impurities.

"You will suffer as Yuu did." The verdict is declared with deranged gleeful vengeance. The tyrant points his scepter at your fallen body covered in thorny vines reminiscent of roses. Blot swallows your form and screams whole–

It's only when the familiar smell of iron registers in your mind, that you finally snap back to your senses. When you finally draw your hand back to view, it's covered in clotted blood and torn skin, both dead and fresh, all clogged under your nails. The open cold air now makes your neck and back sting sharply as blood trickles out of reopened wounds.

It's with a heavy heart that you quietly leave the bedroom entirely to wash away the blood in the kitchen sink. Crimson dyes the white ceramic for a brief moment before swirling away down the drain.

The wounds sting and ache, but you can barely be bothered to tend to them as you resign yourself to the living room couch with a thin blanket. You think of Grim sleeping unaware upstairs and close your eyes. The old weathered grandfather clock in the corner ticks on and on with each second.

No, you can't blame a puppet for functioning for its purpose.

But you could tear its limbs out of its sockets so it could never walk anywhere again. If you plucked out its fingers and eyes, it wouldn't be able to find its way around anymore. Sewing the mouth shut would seal the deal.

Then it would truly know how it felt to have no choice.

–

Working as Sam's assistant helps take the mind off things. Crowley had begged you to resume classes as Grim's 'beast tamer', but something in you screamed at the thought of having to shed your feelings aside to return to what normalcy was. As if this world didn't run on the giant malicious cogwheels of fate and lines of code.

How painfully obvious it is that your mere presence is just a substitute.

"Ah!"

You look up from sorting products on the shelves to a surprised looking Riddle Rosehearts. No no no no–

You take in his sunken gray eyes and pale skin, before going back to shelving products. It takes strength to play dumb. Your shaking hands betray the fear growing within as they sort through stationary merchandise. Finally, the products are lined up neatly and you're trying to bustle away as quickly as you can–

"W-wait!" You try to ignore the half whispered plea, moving behind the counter with an unnatural speed.

"Please, wait, I need something!" You do stop, because unfortunately, you can't completely ignore a customer in need. So you take a deep breath and grit your teeth, turning around with a polite smile. Stare straight ahead. Think not of smoldering flames and knife like rose thorns–

"What can I help you with?" He stares into your eyes, frantic and desperate. It's clear with the way his mouth opens and closes that he wasn't sure how to continue his case.

"If you aren't sure, take your time to browse, dear customer." The grin was starting to wear on your cheeks already with how much you struggle to keep it in place.

Please just leave, you internally beg. You settle behind the counter, watching as Riddle bows his head and disappears among the shelves for his items. A tired sigh leaves your nose.

Your hands keep shaking no matter how hard you clench and unclench them.

He can't hurt me here.

Sam is just a yell away and there's mace and a knife in your bag underneath the counter.

It'll be fine. It's not the Tyrant.

A clink of glass catches your attention, as some ink bottles are pushed on the counter.

"I've finished." Riddle's smoldering eyes choke you under their hues.

"I'll ring that up, then."

The exchange happens quietly yet as you hand him the bottles, he pauses, looking down. "What happened to your hand?"

Shit. There were still obvious swollen scratches and puncture holes imprinted on your hand. You completely forgot about bandages after Grim caught you with the bouquet the other day. You quickly hide your hand in your pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He seems to want to say more, but is cut off when someone else comes up behind him, waiting to pay for their items. He only swallows hard and nods, setting out with only a guilty look back.

You finally breathe out a long sigh of relief when the door chimes echo behind him.

"That'll be ten thaumarks and thirty madols."

This is the fifth time Riddle's shown up during your shift and bought ink. This time, it's a deep crimson color not unlike the shade that saturates his dorm. It reminds you of torn skin on nails from that night, and it takes a minute to shake those thoughts off as you pick up the bottles.

"Prefect, could I talk to you after your shift ends?" You turn to fix him with an incredulous stare, and he grimaces.

"I promise I won't harm you! Did you not get our letters?" But how can I trust you? On this cracked chessboard you are forced to play upon, you don't know where to place Riddle at all. He is too much of an unstable bomb that could blow up in your face at the wrong impression.

"Fine." He definitely won't back down until you agree to hear him out, and it's best to let him state his case once and for all. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you outside."

"Excellent. I shall wait for you then, prefect." He takes his bag and leaves with a small bow.

The time passes all too quickly. Sam shoos you out before you can try to coax some overtime hours from him. And much to your annoyance, Riddle is waiting for you promptly as you step outside.

He looks nervous as he bows his head in acknowledgement of your presence. You'd almost feel bad, if it weren't for the fact that he nearly beheaded you at first sight.

"Have you received our recent letter and flowers?" A long silence follows, before you reluctantly nod. Your hand throbs as you open and close it out of habit. You just removed the bandages this morning, but the unbearable itch to reopen the scars is too tempting. Steel eyes are immediately drawn to the movement. "I see. Then I won't drag this out. Prefect, could we prove to you our sincerity to make amends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said. Please let our dorm express to you our sincerity to mend our relationship." The intensity of his eyes makes you sick to your stomach.

"You've apologized enough, Housewarden Rosehearts. I'm sure your card soldiers have too." Subconsciously, your hand drifts toward your neck.

He winces. No doubt it must be a sting to his pride that his numerous penned letters weren't acknowledged. "It's not just about apologies. We want to start over–turn over a new leaf, if you will, for our relationship. It would be a disgrace to the Queen of Hearts herself if I could not atone for what I've done."

Always with the rules. You're not entirely sure what Riddle means when he says 'mending your relationship', but it seems he's already set his mind to it. It would be hard pressing to get him to change his mind now.

"...sure." You reluctantly acquiesce. The tips of your nails brush against scarred skin before drawing back. You shouldn't. It took so long for the wounds to close again, for sinew to piece itself together, and for skin to finally grow back. You don't want another lecture by Crewel or Trein.

He brightens considerably with a look of relief. "Good. Then, please wait for our call."

You watch in confusion as he trots off hurriedly after another deep bow. Wait for our call? What does that–

Something buzzes, and you realize it's your phone, lighting up with a notification from Magicam. You frown, tapping on the icon. A message?

cay4cay sent a message request

The second you processed the username and profile picture, you instantly hit the block button. With a frustrated scowl, you shove the phone into your pocket. You deleted Yuu's account and only had a burner account for info purposes. How the hell did that social butterfly find your handle?

You groan. This is all too much.

iii. Paying Respects

A letter arrives, but not by mail.

A jarring commotion rudely rips you from sleep's embrace. You groggily sit up, blinking once, twice, before realizing the noises were very much real and still happening. Who is this loud on a Sunday morning? Grim continues to snooze right next to you, unperturbed by the disturbances. You debate whether it's worth it to get out of the comfy covers. Then another yell echoes up to the room and you groan in annoyance.

You slam the entrance doors open, ready to give the lecture of a lifetime before you stop in your tracks.

Deuce Spade looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. Even Ace Trappola, haughty asshole that he is, looks thoroughly ashamed to be caught in a compromising pose. The scene is so familiar that you can't seem to be confused. It takes a second of awkward staring from all three of you before you realize that you're still standing in your thin pajamas, out front in the public entryway in the cold.

"...May I help you?" The distant polite inquiry has them both flinching. They scramble to their feet, brushing off dirt and debris from their fist fight.

"We're very sorry!" Deuce bows deeply, while Ace scoffs and looks away.

"Housewarden Riddle told us to give you this, so…" Ace shoves a white envelope with a seal boasting a crown insignia into your hands. The Queen of Hearts. You exhale through your nose. So this is what Riddle meant earlier.

You open the envelope gingerly, carefully inspecting it as if it were some kind of trap.

"We're going to have a party soon." Ace is still determinedly avoiding your eyes. "You can come…if you want."

You hold back a sardonic chuckle. Even after everything that's happened, he's trying to act like some kind of cool, suave guy. Your eyes drop down again and you open up the flap to reveal the elegant crimson cursive that decorates the paper.

You're cordially invited to Heartslabyul's monthly tea party. Please send your response ASAP.

Date: XX/05

Time: 14:00 - 17:00

A silence lingers in the air, heavy as a rock. You can tell without looking that the two were holding bated breaths waiting for your reply.

This certainly was out of the blue. But. It was Ace and Deuce. Riddle may have issued the order, but they must've taken initiative in delivering her majesty's decree. Stubborn and tenacious, yet they were still endearing with their loyal friendship. Who in this world would run across a whole desert for you?

That wasn't for you though. The intrusive thought immediately makes your lips thin. The card soldiers shift at the subtle expression change, nervousness painted all over their faces.

You would be lying if you said you weren't curious. Why an invitation to a tea party? It was rather unlike Heartslabyul–or at least most of them–to be indirect like this.

"Sure. I'll be there. I can bring Grim, right?" You flip over the card and envelope, raising an eyebrow at their stunned faces.

"Wait, you serious?" Ace stutters. His ruby eyes blink rapidly as his mouth gapes open. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.

"Why would I waste my time lying to you?" You sigh, crossing your arms. Granted, you never did send any response back to that ostentatious bouquet, but you were already preoccupied with the hundred of other letters and packages flooding your mailbox.

"In that case, of course Grim can come!" Deuce says, looking like he's been released from an entire burden off his chest. It was no doubt plaguing him on what your answer would be.

"Great." You wave a careless hand, turning to close the door. You're so ready to go back under soft bed covers. "You can give my answer to your housewarden. See you then."

A hand grabs at your arm and tugs you back suddenly. You turn and open your mouth–

"You! You're the one that caused Yuu to shut down!!"

Wind blasts past you, leaving a thin trickle of blood down your cheek. Eyes wide, all you can do is stare at furious crimson eyes glaring you down.

"-Hey!"

Those eyes. It's the same bloody crimson. The same sharp glint of raw bloodlust. Your right cheek aches terribly. Cold sweat runs down your back. Try as you might, you cannot suppress the reactive instinct to flee.

"Don't touch me." Your terse response has Ace retracting his own hand immediately.

"S-sorry, sorry–" He’s scrambling to get past his mistake. If you were in a better state of mind, you would've laughed at his genuinely flustered state. "I–I didn't mean to grab you like that, it’s just that–"

"We also have something else.” Deuce cuts in, trying to cover for Ace’s blunder. He shoves something warm under your nose, and it takes a hot minute to process what you’re smelling.

Lavender. The cookies within his hands are simple and aren’t decorated, but the buttery floral aroma they emit leaves you salivating. You slowly take it from his hands, staring at the carefully packaged bag.

“...From Trey,” Deuce offers hesitantly after seeing your surprised expression. His tight expression and stiff posture betrays the way he is attempting to look respectable. “He's wanted to send you something for a while now.”

For a while? His dorm mates were all clambering to get any crumb of response from you. He might've had the manners then to understand that you wouldn't be delighted to hear from someone who only watched from the sidelines as you were being attacked. Did he only wait because his beloved housewarden didn't move yet? How typical.

“Tell him thanks for me.” The two of them shuffle their feet while exchanging glances at your freezing cold tone.

"Don't mind us, prefect." Deuce elbows Ace, causing the red head to click his tongue and glare back. "Sorry for bothering you like this–we'll get going now!"

The two actually leave without more fuss, leaving you to twirl the invitation in trepidation.

When you look down again, the flowy calligraphy has been smudged by your fingers, ink blooming on your skin like blood.

–

"What does one wear to a tea party, Sam?"

The question slips out before you know it, making the store keeper turn around and raise an eyebrow at you.

"And why is our little imp curious?" He teases. At your unamused face, his face splits into a garish grin.

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Crewel. After all, he does have quite the fashion sense." Sam strokes his chin in thought. "While we do have some outfits here, it might be best to get advice from someone who has been to these kinds of events."

And so, you find yourself standing in front of an indifferent Divus Crewel, who takes one look at you and takes another drag from his fashionable cigarette holder. He continues to shuffle through papers, all the while shaking his head.

“I should’ve known Sam would be the one to send you.” His voice sounds annoyed, yet carries no weight of anger. Much like how his bark is worse than his bite, Crewel isn’t one to heartlessly turn you away. “A tea party, you said?”

“Sam recommended that I go to you since you have more experience in this sort of thing.” Crewel does another critical once over of you, no doubt estimating your measurements for the look he’s thinking of. As expected of a former Pomefiore housewarden. He seems to already have an idea of what outfit would be best.

“I’ll help you, but you’re running some errands for me first, pup.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the alchemy professor. Now you’re stuck picking out ingredients in the botanical garden while you’re waiting for him to get the materials together for your outfit.

Of all the botanical zones, it just had to be the tropical zone. The harsh artificial lights shine down as you lean down to pick herbs. While the temperature is bearable, you don't know how much more sweat your outfit can take before it gets soaked completely. The humidity is choking, and you feel dizzy from both the moisture and heat clouding your senses.

“Prefect?”

You look up wearily from basil plants to see Cater Diamond in his labwear, with a face that mirrors your stunned expression.

Give me a break. Immediately, your awkward customer service smile falls in place. First her Majesty, then Tweedle Dee and Dum, and now the March Hare? But Cater knows how to read the room. Maybe he'll know to let it go–

Your hopes are dashed as he immediately bounces up to you with a grin. “Didn't think I'd run into ya like this. Whatcha doing here?”

“Er, Crewel wanted my help with getting him ingredients…” This conversation was quickly swerving into awkward territory. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know…” Cater chuckles sheepishly, “I got assigned to water the plants…”

You take notice of the steel watering can in his gloved hands, then the long green hose by his boots. “Ah.”

“Guess that means we’ll be working together!” He chirps cheerfully and you cringe. Seven, anything but that! You quickly turn back to your basket and begin to pick up the pace in harvesting the basil. The quicker you finish, the faster you can get out of this deathly awkward situation.

“By the way, Acey and Deucey wouldn’t stop chatting about you accepting our invitation!” You flinch as Cater idles up next to you, using the hose to spray a generous amount of water over the patch of herbs. “It was pretty cute to see, y’know.”

“R-really?”

"Trey was also glad too. He and Riddle have been planning to make it the best tea party ever," he mock emphasizes. "They've been running the dorm ragged over the party deets. Cay Cay's been so busy with planning stuff!"

"That's not really necessary…" A feeling of guilt worms into your guts for a moment. You squash it. What Riddle and the others do is none of your business and no obligation of yours.

"Right? That's what I said too!" Is he implying that you're the reason there's more work than usual? How shameless is he?

After a good minute of dead silence, Cater pipes up again.

"Sooo, prefect, whatcha been up to lately?"

You can't take it anymore.

“Why are you talking like I have a gun to your head?”

Ever since he made his presence known, he's adopted a high pitched cheery tone that grates on your ears. It was akin to a customer service voice, but you know Cater. That's his influencer speak.

Cater's chipper smile vanishes instantly.

"Whaaaat?!" You catch a glimpse of his snaggle tooth in his exclamation. He quickly turns and moves to water a patch of sprouts further away, "Like, what are you even talking about? You know ol' Cay Cay's just trying to lighten the mood!"

More like he's desperately trying to appeal to you. He knows which attitude will get him the most views, and the best expressions to rake in likes and comments. You often thought that trait was endearing in its own way when you saw him as a fictional character. Now that you're dealing with him as a human being, it just pisses you off to no end. How could he? You know Cater isn't known for his genuineness but….you thought he would at least act his usual aloof casual self. Then you would know that it wouldn't matter if you offended him.

The straw basket is finally filled with everything Crewel asked you for. It's with dirtied skin and sore muscles that you turn towards the exit without sparing Cater a glance.

"If you say so, Diamond." You hurl the words like a molotov cocktail, and it's very effective. Cater's eyebrows twitch and his hands clench around the watering can. It's one thing to call him by his last name, it's another to completely blow off the nickname he blatantly shoves onto you. "See you later at the party."

“Wait, wait, time out for a second!! Can you at least unblock me on Magicam?” The last sentence makes you freeze in your tracks.

When you turn around, Cater’s somehow still smiling that insincere smile of his. Your neck prickles with dread.

You trust me now, right? His crinkled lime green eyes gleam.

You're not fooled. He is desperate to appeal to you not from genuine adoration, but rather guilty obligation. Although he tried to scrub it from his Magicam profile, you saw the blurry reels and pictures of you fleeing for your life. The detailed descriptions underneath. Each one boasting deliberate timestamps meant for best exposure. He put a bounty on your head with his own hands.

Two can play at that game.

"Block you? I don't have a Magicam account," is your dry response. Cater continues to smile as his eyes close.

"Really? I swear that it was you…" His lips jut out in an insincere pout, tilting his head. You shrug apathetically, hoping the conversation runs itself dead.

"Well, if you do make one, hit me up okay?" Cater calls out after your retreating back.

Once you're in the school corridors and catching your breath, you dig your phone out with shaky hands and pull up Magicam.

Hitting delete account has never felt more relieving.

–

The outfit, in your quiet opinion, was not worth the mental gymnastics you had to do in the botanical garden. Not that you were going to say anything to the very teacher who has been known to treat his students like barking dogs.

"It should fit just fine," Crewel smooths out the crinkles in the fabric before handing it to you. "Go on now. Try it on."

A simple white with a red ribbon bow tie and black slacks. It was rather simple, which is just fine. You didn't need or want to stand out in this party. But you certainly didn't want to end up looking like a slob either. This suit your needs quite nicely.

Smoothing down your shirt, you give a spin as Crewel looks on unimpressed. He waves you off with a dry "Don't expect me to do any more favors for you, pup." You mischievously grin and wave him goodbye as you trot off with your clothes in tow.

The last rays of the sun sets the hallway ablaze with orange and yellow hues. You hum as you take the familiar pathway back to Ramshackle. With everything crazy that’s been going on lately, it gets too easy to be swept up in the moment. As you watch the shadows flicker between the stone pillars, you slow down to observe the scenery for a bit.

The sunset catches a glint and reflects bright white for a moment. You blink and it’s gone when you focus. You stop, confused at the intrusion.

A loud click echoes behind you, but when you whip around, there’s nothing but the empty hallways.

You stand for a moment in place, waiting and listening apprehensively. Nothing else happens, and it’s with cautious paranoia that you turn around and start speed walking.

iiii. Funeral

It would be impolite to show up to a party without something.

But now as you're standing before the mirror leading to Heartslabyul, you're having second thoughts.

What if it isn't good? You glance down at your box containing the simple custard puddings you were able to make just last night. You didn't really have the skills to make complicated sweets and the puddings only took three ingredients. And your outfit, what if it isn't up to the Queen of Hearts' rules–

"C'mon, [First]! Or else the food will be gone by the time we get there!"

You breathe out a giggle. "I don't think anyone can beat you on your eating speed, Grim."

"You don't know that!" He hops up and down impatiently, waiting for you to adjust the box in your hands.

Right, who cares about any of that?

You follow your companion through the warped glass.

The fresh spring breeze graces you first, then the refreshing scent of flora, and finally, the warmth of the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, the stretch of viridian green pastures and vibrant flowers greets you. The land of Heartslabyul is as picturesque as you remembered on screen. It feels unreal.

And waiting for you at the end of the path is the very first dorm you've befriended.

"Weird. Where's everyone at?" Grim grumbles, ears twitching in irritation.

The entrance is completely devoid of any human presence. You don’t sense anyone in the building either, which is completely strange.

Grim's right. Where is everyone? For an incoming tea party, wouldn’t there be various students rushing in and out for the preparations?

“Perhaps they’re in the maze?” You glance warily over to the tall hedges that bloom with beautiful roses. “Should we wait?”

“Ugh, that’s so rude of ‘em to keep us hangin’ though! I say we go lookin’ for them. Who knows how long we gotta stand out here!” Grim shakes his head, distraught at the thought of having to wait for his food. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

"You just want to see if you can eat something." You tut at Grim's scheming face.

"Mya, so what?!" He yowls. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Grim, wait–" You call anxiously, but your companion is already scampering off into the dorm. You're left with no choice but to take a deep steadying breath and press on.

But the kitchen room is also empty when the two of you pop in. However, it seems like it was used recently, if not for the smell, then the sight of various dishes laid out on the counter would have clued you in. You sneakily compare your puddings to the spread laid out before you and wonder again if it isn't too late to put them away in a dark corner.

"What do you have there, prefect?" A low voice breathes in your ear.

You and Grim shriek in tandem, with you almost fumbling and dropping your box and Grim’s signature sharp nails digging into your shins.

The looming presence behind you is revealed to be Trey Clover, who has an apologetic face after spooking the two of you. At least he is conscientious.

"My bad, my bad," he chuckles, "I should've been more obvious about my arrival." He places a steady hovering hand behind your back. Just barely touching, yet close enough to feel its heat. Embarrassingly, the feeling is soothing enough that you can't find it in yourself to pull away.

"Sheesh, for real! You took some of my life with that, y'know Trey!" Grim hisses, detaching his claws from your poor legs. Trey only laughs and ruffles his head.

"I’m sorry about that Grim. Anyway, you guys came just in time," Trey begins to transfer the dishes onto a wheeled cart. "Food just needs to be carried out and the tea party can begin—but you have something, don't you?"

Regret seeps in when you think of your sad puddings next to all these gorgeous pastries and appetizers.

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s really needed since you got all this,” you laugh sheepishly as your hands automatically hide the box behind your back.

“No way.” Trey’s smile is warm but firm. When he gently guides your hands to give up the box, you can’t find it in yourself to protest. “It can’t be that bad, since you made it.”

You're struck silent, and Trey immediately takes advantage of your state to press his hand to your back to usher you forward. His fingertips graze your side, and for a second, you swear his lips quirk into a smirk.

You follow alongside Trey as he pushes the cart out through the door.

"By the way, I'm happy to hear you liked the lavender cookies." You look over to see the baker smile warmly. "I would've tried something with the candied violets I had, but I ran out just as I was making them." He sighs as he shakes his head.

Something with the way he's worded it makes it sound like there was more to the story, but you don't care enough to pry further. Trey's golden orbs slide to meet yours discreetly, and you realize he's waiting for you to respond. You murmur an apathetic response back, and he visibly droops.

It's a long, quiet walk through the rose maze.

It seems your arrival with Trey threw everyone off guard. You don't know why they look so alarmed: the venue looks absolutely resplendent. Colorful lanterns dot the tree lines, swinging back and forth cheerily with brightly colored flags. The long table is draped with fine cloth embroidered with intricate lace patterns. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. And the rose bushes, blooming with both red and white roses, are pruned cleanly, not a leaf or branch out of place.

It is a tea party fit for the Queen of Hearts.

"And the guest of honor is finally here!" Easygoing as ever, Cater calls out jauntily to you both. He seems to be the only one not visibly panicking. "Trey, what took ya so long?"

"Had to get the dishes here, you know." He shoots a knowing glare at Cater, who flinches with a sheepish smile. "Someone was supposed to help me, which would've made it a lot faster."

Ah. Cater giggles nervously while twirling his hair. Ace and Deuce exchange disbelieving looks before shaking their heads.

“Welcome, prefect.” Riddle greets you with a stiff bow. "And Grim." He hastily adds, seeing your companion’s face twist sulkily. The action makes you smile, if only for a moment.

“We’ve been waiting forever for you, Yuu—” Deuce jabs an elbow sharply into Ace’s side, making him cough and sputter mid sentence, but the damage has already been done. Another awkward silence reigns as everyone’s fearful faces are directed at you, trying to figure out how to best traverse the conversational minefield.

“W-What Acey meant to say is–” Cater is cut off immediately.

"Uh, er, come to think of it, what's your actual name?" Deuce is the one who pushes forward despite everyone else’s horrified looks. As if he had uttered a profane exclamation.

"My…name?" You echo back.

Right. Since all they knew was the puppet, they didn't know your true name. Heavy silence hovers in the air, even Grim was looking at you in anticipation.

"My name is…" Something chokes your throat. Reluctance? Or fear?

"[First]. [First] [Last]."

They mutter it among themselves, tasting the syllables and weaving the rhythms of the letters. How strange. With sugar coated lips, their voices ring like church bells for prayer. You're born anew, for the way they look at you is enough to make your heart soar for several fleeting seconds.

For a brief moment, you could believe that you were with your Heartslabyul again.

The tea party begins like a baby animal: slow, unsure, and always in danger of stumbling to the ground. But it’s Heartslabyul, and who else would know how to best host a party for its guests?

By the time the tea is being poured into your cups, a steady conversation has started naturally flowing between all of you.

“Is there something the matter?” Riddle asks for the nth time as he worriedly gazes at the way your eyes stray to the hedges and whimsical decorations beyond the table.

"Oh uhm…” You hesitate, still not meeting Riddle’s worried face. “Why are the roses both red and white? I thought one of your rules is that tea parties always have white roses."

Riddle exchanges a look with Trey at your question.

"That is true, [First], however…" He pauses, before continuing with a determined look. "Red and white roses are customary for parties celebrating with new friends."

“New…friends?” Your hand is frozen at your teacup.

Something fiercely warm fills your chest. There's cautious hope glimmering in Riddle and Trey's eyes. That wasn’t fair. How could they say something like that and not expect you to react?

The party ends on a light note unlike its stiff beginning. The soldiers gather to see you and Grim off, but once Grim scampers off with his leftovers in paw, her Majesty moves to your side.

“Prefect–no, [First], would you come again?” He asks. His hands are trembling, tugging at your sleeve timidly like a young child again. “F-For an Unbirthday party, of course!”

It’s a request that’s not selfish, you note. Her Majesty’s card soldiers look on expectantly behind their monarch, and it takes everything within you to not collapse.

“Of course. I can’t wait for it already.”

Your heart weighs heavy. They do not know that the promise is an empty white lie. Though you cherish them, you do not wish to act the role of a doll whose purpose is to play house.

When they looked at you with those pleading eyes, who did they see?

Yuu, the puppet they adored for its safe default responses and supportive words?

Or you, the player who has their own flaws and biased personality?

It's okay, you reason.

They won't be able to tell the difference between clay and flesh.

v. Burial

You have a hunch about Yuu.

Only a guess based on many hypotheticals, but better than nothing.

If the puppet stopped working when you arrived, then shouldn't it go without saying that if you left this world, that it would return back to life?

The wooden door creaks open, stirring up dust and sending it flying into the air. You cough and sneeze, waving your hand to disperse the irritant. Serves you right. After all, you refused to step into this room since Yuu's body was hauled here. Didn't even dare to come clean the room. The dust settles and you can finally make out the puppet's silhouette from the waning light rays of the window.

It still adorns its proper NRC uniform, wrinkled in the spots where you had lifted it. It hasn't moved at all from its sprawled pose on the sofa. You remember the dread at realizing the only fitting school uniform you could possibly wear was on this puppet. It only cemented your resolve to break away from the puppet's image. Even if you had to resort to clearing out ancient closets and haggling with faculty, you'd rather take the raggedy shawls and worn flannel over the crisp blazer and button up the puppet wore.

Its skin has become ashen gray, drained of any life. Old joints creaked in agony when you adjusted it to a sitting position for better examination. For a while, the both of you stare at each other.

Despair tugs at your mind. How long will you be trapped in this world? Has the Headmaster even done anything to help you get home? You snort. He couldn’t even bother doing anything when it was just the vessel. Why would that change now?

Can you hear me?

The voice, so quiet yet clear, makes you whip your head around. No one's in the room. Are you finally going crazy?

You can hear me, right?

Is one of the ghosts playing a prank on you? You can't pinpoint the source of the voice at all.

I'm here–look!

With dread and fear pooling in your heart, your head turns slowly to meet the doll's eyes; whose pupils are now fixated on you.

The urge to scream and push away the doll is overwhelming. But in a world where the supernatural is natural, you suppose that dolls that can speak are the least impossible thing out there.

I can help you find your way home.

You swallow thickly. Pursing your lips, your grip on its arms tightens as you lean in. Something stirs, and it’s crazy, but you swear it hums in pleasure.

Listen to what I say carefully…

Decorations? Check. Refreshments? Check.

Outfits? Check.

So why does it feel like there's something missing?

"What's wrong, Riddle?" He turns to see Trey's concerned face. He gives an awkward smile back.

"I'm not quite sure, but something feels amiss." He explains, rubbing his neck. It's obvious enough to make him feel the familiar slivers of irritation slither through him.

He tries to will it away. It's a good day, and there was nothing to be angry about. The player–no, [First]–had decided to give them a chance and agreed to come over to celebrate an Unbirthday party with them. Ace and Deuce are behaving as good, law-abiding card soldiers should be. The roses were saturated with dripping red, the dormouse had its nose smeared with jam–so what is this itch that won't go away?

"We can do a double check of everything again," Trey offers gently. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Riddle shakes his head. “It’s almost time for them to arrive. I will not have them waiting on something that isn’t even a problem.”

“Housewarden~!” Speak of the devil. He turns with a frown at Ace’s loud shout, but it fades to a small smile when he sees you trailing after Ace.

"Hello, Riddle." You smile warmly at him, and his cheeks flush pink.

Wait. He stops. Have you ever called his name? He doesn’t have time to ponder this before he’s interrupted by Trey and Cater bringing in the food.

When everyone is seated and the party is in swing, he notices something.

“Is the food not to your liking, [First]?” He inquires as politely as possible, softening his tone to make it sound less accusatory.

You fluster, waving a hand. “Not at all. I’m just not that hungry right now.”

He decides to leave it, because it’s not as if it’s wrong, per se, if the guest wasn’t eating. He recalls Ace’s previous words to him.

“Housewarden, you really should loosen up a bit! Otherwise you’re gonna end up being a killjoy!”

He may be many things, but he is not a killjoy! Just because he was particular about certain things doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to let go.

But something feels off.

Then he realizes that while the conversation is flowing as usual, you are hardly speaking at all. You only speak when directly spoken to, and even then, it’s short, clipped responses.

He watches incredulously as you pour yourself a cup of tea and then drink it.

The golden scepter materializes in his hand as easily as breathing.

Everyone else reacts explosively, looking alarmed at the scene unfolding. Meanwhile, you merely stare blankly at the end of the scepter nearly several inches from your nose.

"Riddle, hold the phone, what are you doing?!" He barely hears Cater's frantic voice to his left. He's too focused on the way that…that thing is not reacting at all.

"You. Where is [First]?"

It's silent for a moment, and then a disturbing crooked grin breaks out from its poker face. It starts cackling loudly and it makes his blood start boiling.

"Start speaking or it's off with your head!" He screeches, scepter shaking uncontrollably in his hands.

"Boo, I was hoping you guys were stupid enough to fall for it.” The thing taunts, leaning back in their chair.

Red fills his vision. How dare this thing use your visage and breath such vile words? Before he could register it, his arm swipes across. By the time his eyes clear and his breathing steadies, he's staring at a decapitated body that is mangled beyond repair.

It takes another moment to realize he is not the only one who has raised their magical pen.

Trey is at his right, golden eyes dark as Riddle realizes he positioned himself to shield him. Cater mirrors Trey, but his arms are visibly shaking and his eyes keep switching from him to the broken body on the trimmed lawn. Ace and Deuce had positioned themselves to the backside, but they too, barely seem to be holding themselves together, clenched fists at the ready for physical blows.

“What…” he breathes, “is going on?”

The only answer he gets is the wind whistling through the grass blades.

He collapses to his knees as he fumbles with a body that has been torn asunder, but instead of flesh and bones, he only finds clay and chipped resin.

“What have we done?”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere heartslabyul #my works #if this gets good reception i'll have a easier time of writing part 2

1K notes · View notes

a-dauntless-daffodil · 2 months

Text

it's very bad no good cupcake baking time for the hotel crew (save them) (charlie did you think this throu-) (NO)

Charlie: “I have! The most brilliant plan for a group bonding activity!”

Angel Dust: “Oooh~ Bondin’ or bond-”

Vaggie: “You live here for free.”

Angel Dust: “Buy my silence, Vaggity Fair, cause’ it sure ain’t free.”

Vaggie: (groans) (slips him a twenty) “Go on babe, what’s the mission statement?”

Charlie: “We should all bake CUPCAKES together!!”

Hotel Crew: "......"

Husk: “…Why.”

Charlie: “Beeeecaaaause it’d be so SWEET!”

Vaggie: “And you also live here for free.”

Husk: “Not of my own free will I don’t.”

Charlie: “Aw c’mon Husk, please? Baking is probably KINDA like drink mixing, right?”

Husk: “It’s not.”

Vaggie: (SIGHS) (slips him a twenty)

Husk: “I’ve got cooking sherry around here somewhere, I think.”

Alastor: “How thrilling! Extreme heat sources, flammable liquids, and so many little bottles and vials that couldn’t possibly get mix up with anything in the pest control cabinet!”

Niffty: “Hee hee hee…. Rat poison~”

Vaggie: “Twenty bucks and you LOCK that cabinet, okay?”

Niffty: “Thirty and a new knife set!”

Vaggie: (has given up) “Fine.”

Niffty: “OKAY!”

Charlie: “We need to go shopping anyway. We’ll need flour and sugar and uhhhh flavory things of some kind probably and um, those little paper thingies- the cup cake… skirts?”

Alastor: “Glad to see how prepared our intrepid leader is for this marvelous expedition!”

Charlie: “Cup cake… dollies…?”

Vaggie: “I’ll handle it. You remember how to pre-heat the oven?”

Charlie: “NOT with actual fire!”

Alastor: “Aww.”

Angel Dust: (handing back the twenty) “I want a new pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. Mine broke~”

Vaggie: “I don’t want to know.”

Husk: (handing his twenty back too) “Beer.”

Vaggie: “Beer? You run the hotel BAR.”

Husk: “What, you think I nip stuff under the table at work?”

Alastor: “Oh there isn’t much thought needed when it comes to you, I’m afraid.”

Husk: “You think I LIKE that I do that? That’s the stupid hotel’s shit, can’t relax sneaking shots that aren’t mine, racking up a tab like that. This beer is gonna be only for me.”

Charlie: “Husk…”

Vaggie: “Great whatever, guilt free beer for the alcoholic.”

Alastor: “How touching. And I require-”

Vaggie: “What YOU need is a-”

Charlie: “Happy place!”

Vaggie: “-which I’m not picking up for you. I’ll get more cleaning supplies too while I’m at it.”

Charlie: “More? Vaggie, have some faith! We’re all adults here! It’s not gonna be THAT messy. We just need to measure things, maybe chop some stuff up first-”

Niffty: “KNIVES.”

Charlie: “-put all in a- blender-? A blender would work for mixing, right? Then pour the batter in the things and into the oven! Which I WILL remember to preheat this time. Without fire.”

Vaggie: “Good point.”

Charlie: “See!”

Vaggie: “We should stock up on first aid stuff too.”

Charlie: (pouting) “We’ll talk about it on the way.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, thanks for wanting to help carry groceries, but I really think we need to divide and conquer here.”

Charlie: “Huh?”

Vaggie: “Husk is already halfway to the wine cellar.”

Charlie: “He wh- Husk wait! You can’t help make friendship cupcakes if you’re blackout drunk!”

Angel Dust: “Toots that’s the whole idea.”

Vaggie: “Fifty bucks if he’s still conscious when I get back. I’ll need him in the kitchen later if we’re gonna get through this alive.”

Angel Dust: “Spend it on getting’ him a really NICE beer and you’ve gotta deal.”

Vaggie: (eye twitch) “Why is all my money turning into drugs and sex toys?”

Niffty: “And KNIVES!”

Vaggie: “The one silver lining…”

Alastor: “You know, if you won’t extend simple shopping list courtesies to me, then I suppose I shall have to go shopping myself as well.”

Vaggie: “Keep your shopping on the other side of town from me or I’m coming home with a flat screen tv.”

Alastor: (annoyed channel switch sound) “….Noted!”

– LATER –

Hotel Crew: “………….”

Oven: (DING)

Vaggie: “…”

Vaggie: “….cupcakes are done.”

Charlie: “Oh yay. Whoo. Hoo.”

Hotel Crew: “…….”

Vaggie: “If no one takes them out they’re gonna burn.”

Angel Dust: “Let ‘em.”

Husk: “Little fuckers deserve to fry.”

Charlie: (exhausted) “No one deserves to burn for all eternity.”

Niffty: “Yeah! I wanna RIP THEM APART and STAB THE CRUMBS.”

Alastor: “Well that’s two votes for burning and two for rescuing, to a certain extent. I myself would like to try out these DARLING cupcake toppers that I found while out doing my shopping completely alone.”

Vaggie: “Oh my girlfriend’s dad shut up. You won’t die just because no one was listening to you for ten minutes.”

Alastor: “In any case, that makes three for rescue and two for burn, with you as the undecided vote, Vaggie. Choose wisely~!”

Vaggie: (sighing) “Someone hand me the oven mitts.”

Husk: “They’re in the fucking blender.”

Angel Dust: “What’s left of ‘em.”

Vaggie: “Fine. Someone move the pile of dirty dishes off Charlie so SHE can be our oven mitts.”

Charlie: “It’s so peaceful under here…”

Vaggie: “The friendship cupcakes are dying, babe.”

Charlie: “UggghHHHHHH ‘kay. Coming.”

Angel Dust “That’s what she sa-”

Vaggie: “KNIVES.”

Angel Dust “-cough cough cough! I didn’t say nothin’, I got a piece of walnut shell stuck in my throat!”

Alastor: “Usual night for you then, hmm?”

Husk: “Who the fuck put in walnuts?”

Vaggie: “Who cares. If they shelled them then it’s at least better than the coconut thing.”

Charlie: “Did we add anything that wasn’t nut related?”

Vaggie: “Uhhh.”

Angel Dust “Nope!”

Husk: “Is that the only thing you were keeping track of.”

Angel Dust “Hey I know my strengths and I’m stickn’ to ‘em!”

Charlie: “Speaking of strength and sticking… um…”

Hotel Crew: “……….”

Charlie: “They’re bubbling.”

Vaggie: “Yeah.”

Charlie: “Or, breathing?”

Vaggie: “Yeah…”

Charlie: “Is that normal? It feels kinda… not normal.”

Vaggie: “It’s. Impressive.”

Niftty: “They’re ALIVE!” (knife) “For now.”

Charlie: “Well I guess we shouldn’t REALLY judge them until we’ve actually seen what they taste like-”

Angel Dust “Not it!”

Husk: “Fuck no.”

Alastor: “I’m terribly afraid that I am on a diet.”

Vaggie: “You eat rotting deer carcasses.”

Alastor: “And THEY aren’t still moving when I chow in, ha ha!”

Charlie: “Okay well, I guess I’ll just…”

Vaggie: “Wait. You’re probably immune to half the stuff that’d kill us.”

Charlie: “Right, so I should-”

Vaggie: “You’re not a good example of what happens when a non-demon princess person eats these, sweetie. If wanna test for uh, quality control, it shouldn’t be with you.”

Hotel Crew: “…..”

Vaggie: “….hand me a cupcake.”

Husk: (edges out of the splash zone)

Charlie: “You don’t have to do this.”

Angel Dust: “But you totally should! After I get my phone out though, hold on a sec-”

Vaggie: “I’m standing right in front of Radio Head over here so don’t even THINK about recording this.”

Alastor: “Aww my dear little angel-”

Charlie: “Alastor.” (calm smile) (horns out) “Her name is Vaggie.”

Alastor: “-Vaggie, yes, I would almost be willing to make an exception to my own morals for you.” (grins at angel dust) “Almost.”

Angel Dust: (lowering his phone) “I was jus’ takin’ a selfie. You know. Since I’m covered in sticky white shit anyway.”

Husk: “This fucking sucks.” (shakes his paws)

Vaggie: “No. THIS does.”

Vaggie: (bites cupcake)

Hotel Crew: “……………..”

Vaggie: “….hm.”

Hotel Crew: (STEPS BACK)

Vaggie: “It’s… well it’s kinda…”

Charlie: (cringing) “Break up worthy??”

Niffty: “PAINFUL?”

Vaggie: “It’s.. Fruity..?”

Hotel Crew: (stares at still moving cupcakes)

Angel Dust: “No. Fuckin’. Way.”

Husk: “Since the fuck WHEN did they have fruit in them?”

Angel Dust: “They didn’t! I swear I checked!”

Charlie: “Are they, um, edible?”

Vaggie: “Well I wouldn’t sign them up for a baking competition but I’m not dying either, so.”

Charlie: (excited) “So we did it? We all made actual cupcakes together?”

Vaggie: (smiling) “We did it. Mission cupcake completed.”

Charlie: “HAHA YUS!” (fist pump) “FRIENDSHIP POWERRRRRRR!!!!”

Alastor: “Now now now, no cupcake is fully complete without a lovely floral topper!”

Angel Dust: “Ain’t THAT the truth~”

Alastor: “Which I bought. Alone. Without any second opinion to rely on.”

Vaggie: (rolls eye)

Charlie: “And they’re so cute! Thank you Alastor- you picked wonderfully. Everyone, get decorating!”

Niffty: (drooping) “No stabbing?”

Vaggie: “You can poke ‘em each with a knife to check that they’re done.”

Niffty: “HEHEHEH.”

Vaggie: “Poke them with the knife ONCE Niffty- hey- NO- don’t leave it inside-”

Angel Dust: “That’s what-”

Husk: “Will be on your gravestone if she fucking hears you.”

Charlie: “Awww~ Now they’re adorable AND delicious!”

Husk: “Don’t.”

Angel Dust: “I didn’t say nothin’!”

Vaggie: “I actually kinda wish you’d go back to sex jokes instead of whatever you’re doing to that cupcake”

Angel Dust: “There’s more than one kind of oral performance in the world~”

Vaggie: “Say that and then look at what Niffty’s doing to her cupcake.”

Husk: “Unholy fucking shit!!”

Niffty: (GLEEFUL CACKLING)

Charlie: “Okay well, we clearly each have our own… unique ways of enjoying these cupcakes. Some more uh, graphic and concerning than others-”

Angel Dust: “Why the fuck are the insides RED like that?! Who put in red dye???”

Charlie: “-but the point is we all came together to make these sweets! Which. Taste like strawberries?”

Vaggie: “I didn’t buy strawberries.”

Charlie: “A-at least it and the redness go with the rose themed toppers!”

Angel Dust: “Yeah, I mean, is it weird that out of this whole maybe-living cupcake thing, the professional spun sugar parts are the ones with the funkiest taste to ‘em?”

Vaggie: “….”

Vaggie: “Alastor. Where the fuck did you buy the rose themed cupcake toppers.”

Alastor: “Hmm? Does my private, SOLITARY shopping FINALLY interest you?”

Vaggie: “Where you literally on the other side of Pentagram City from me.”

Alastor: “I do believe that is what you requested, and I, being a proper gentleman even to someone who might be considered a less than proper lady, was only too happy to oblige!”

Charlie: “Vaggie are you okay? You’re looking kinda pale.”

Vaggie: “I’m.”

Vaggie: “Alastor did you get these rose themed toppers-"

Vaggie: "-in Cannibal Town?”

Angel Dust: “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Alastor: “I did.”

Angel Dust: “FUCK!!!”

Husk: (hairball noise)

Charlie: “Oh no.”

Alastor: “Dear Rosie gave me quite the discount. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

Charlie: “Oh. Nooooooooo-”

Alastor: “I think it utterly darling of her~”

Niffty: “Alastor, hey hey!”

Alastor: “Yes, murder of my eye?”

Niffty: “I stabbed my cupcake topper heheheh WHO did I just stab????”

Charlie: “NOOOOOO-”

Alastor: “I believe it was an unsatisfactory husband by the name of Bill.”

Niffty: (grinning) “A BAD boy?”

Alastor: “Not bad enough to escape Rosie’s Emporium intact but yes, in a manner of speaking.”

Niffty: “Oooh.”

Niffty: (snatches up another cupcake and hugs it) “For my collection.”

Charlie: “GAAAHM NOT HEARING THIS! I DIDN’T HEAR IT!”

Angel Dust: “GREAT CAN YA MAKE IT SO’S I DIDN’T EAT ANY OF IT EITHER!??!”

Alastor: “Not to your tastes, Angel Dust? And here I though you enjoyed have strange men in your mouth.”

Charlie: “DO WE KNOW HIS ADDRESS SO I CAN SEND AN APOLOGY LETTER???”

Alastor: “I suppose his business card might still be in the hand Rose tore off him-”

Charlie: “AAAAAGH!”

Vaggie: “Hostia. You really can’t not be the center of attention for five minutes can you.”

Alastor: “I can, truly I can and very happily! It seems however that YOU cannot withstand the consequences of your own, short-sighted actions.”

Charlie: “Um guys-”

Vaggie: “Oh yeah? You’re not the only monster here, dumbass.”

Charlie: “We’re getting a little off topic-”

Alastor: "But as I am the only one not mired in glorious self-pity, certainly I am the most impressive specimen here.”

Charlie: “Okay this is going a bit-”

Vaggie: “Impressive HA! Fuck your empty grin and your stupid suits. You’re not even the one with the highest body count.”

Angel Dust: “Are we talkin’ sex stuff orrr-?”

Vaggie: (takes topper off her cupcake and pops it in her mouth)

Hotel Crew: “………”

Vaggie: “What?”

Charlie: “Vaggie, um. Person.” (points) “Person food.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, you know how murder crazy exorcist are. You really never thought we didn’t lick a little blood off our weapons now and then, to feel extra badass about slaughtering people sometimes?”

Charlie: (dazed) “I’m thinking about it now.” (covers cheeks)

Niffty: “BLOOD!”

Angel Dust: “Oh ew. Oh you're getting off on that- Oh that’s just-”

Charlie: “Part of her past, a thing EVERYONE has.”

Angel Dust: “BLEH.”

Husk: “Also step one to seeing her shitfaced.”

Charlie: “Ha haaa…” (claps hands) “Okay everyone- that’s a wrap on today’s bonding activities! I uh, I think we can save the clean up until we’ve all recovered from the actual cupcakes a bit, right Vaggie?”

Vaggie: (shrug) “Whatever.”

Husk: “About damn time.” (sighs) (walks out) “I’ll get the fucking vodka.”

Niffty: "HEE HEE." (carrying cupcake over her head) "TO THE COLLECTION!"

Angel Dust: “Hold up baby! I wanna get shitfaced too after this!”

Charlie: “Well I think it’s all very interesting! Angel stuff is interesting, isn’t it Alastor?”

Alastor: “Yes. Quite.”

Vaggie: “Uh-huh.” (slumps and drops cupcake) “Bill tastes boring as hell, by the way, maybe let Rosie know before she sells anymore of these.”

Charlie: “Oh? Maybe THAT’S why she gave such a steep discount?”

Alastor: “Perhaps.”

Charlie: “Awww cheer up Alastor. You can bring her some of our cupcakes as a thank you, now that we uh, we’ve um, had our fill of them already.”

Alastor: “Hmph.”

Vaggie: “Think I’ll head up now.”

Alastor: “While grabbing a drink along way, hmm?”

Vaggie: “Yeah. Why not.”

Charlie: “Vaggie-” (catches her hand) (squeezes) “-grab one for me, too? I’ll be right behind you.”

Vaggie: “…wine from the cellar then, huh?”

Charlie: “I’m having whatever you’re having.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, you hate the shit I drink.” (small smile) “I’ll get us something from the cellar. Meet you up there.”

Charlie: “In a heartbeat.”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “Alastor.”

Alastor: “Oh don’t scold me for her baggage, dear, I don’t make her carry it.”

Charlie: “I’m not scolding. I just- I get that you have this whole-” (air quotes) “-annoying big brother who hates being ignored thing going on with Vaggie, and while it IS kinda sweet-”

Alastor: (microphone feedback) “Excuse me?”

Charlie: “Could you turn it down a tiny bit when it comes the exorcist stuff?”

Alastor: “I do not-”

Charlie: “I know I know you don’t mean to make her all droopy like this, it’s boring for you, totally a killjoy-”

Alastor: “There is NOTHING enjoyable about that woman!”

Charlie: “-So maaaaaaybe back off a little when things get too serious?”

Alastor: “NO!”

Charlie: “Think about it okay?” (pats his shoulder) “Anyway, thanks for sticking around for the friendship cupcakes, see you at the next hotel bonding session, Dadastor!”

Alastor: “At the next-”

Alastor: “………”

Alastor: (hissing) “DADastor!?”

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #alastor the radio demon #angel dust hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #niffty hazbin hotel #incorrect quotes #WHATEVER WHATEVER #it just happened whatever setting it free #do not know enough about baking to show it going wrong #/have/ made breathing cupcakes before

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darkenedurge · 4 months

Text

Wanted to write a little Dammon/Tav confession thingy – they’ve been on the brain lately.

(Fem/Tiefling Tav, sorry fellas and non-tiefs)

“Did you see his tail wagging?” Astarion pokes, catching up with Karlach’s stride – something you’d seemingly mastered long before he had, despite knowing her for the same stretch of time. You offer him a glance, and a quirked brow – visible confusion, only further carried by your oblivious, “What?”

He tuts, rolls his eyes – snooty as ever. “Dammon.” Astarion clarifies, still urgent in his pace as your band wanders the intrepid, shadowed lands – all of you, clinging to Karlach’s warmth. Wyll, forever the quiet, and the observant, chimes in, “He’s right, his tail was wagging. The second he saw you.”

“So?” You haphazardly brush off, with a light, unconvincing shrug. Though, you knew full well what they were implying. Full, full well. Being a tiefling yourself, a tail swish was hardly chocked up to mere coincidences.

“In fact,” Astarion continues to tease, leering closer, “Your tail was wagging twice as much. Even when we’d had to bid our farewells.” You visibly jolt, yellowed skin burning a deep, sunset orange – cheeks blooming with the colour, alongside the very tips of your ears.

Karlach, of course, gasps. “Do you fancy Dammon?!”

“Better yet,” Wyll interjects, “I think Dammon fancies her.”

You half-debate throwing yourself into the depths, let the shadows consume you – your stomach twisting in knots. “He does not!” You protest, failing to realise you hadn’t defended the claim against yourself.

Astarion hums, with a chuckle – that classic, scheming sound that so often escaped his lips. Oh no. “Well, then I suppose the tail wagging was just my imagination? Or, maybe it was the way his eyes light up when he sees your face, or how his cheeks flush at the sound of your voice? My.. I seem to have been imagining an awful lot lately.”

You begrudgingly groan, hands flying to cover your face – eyes squeezing shut. Karlach’s coos and ‘aww’s can be heard, muffled, from ear to ear.

Wyll hurriedly appears at your side, coercing his way between you, and Astarion – “Perhaps you should tell him? How you feel, I mean,” He suggests, sweet as ever, “I’m sure, so sure, he feels the same.”

A pause, you remain head-spinningly quiet. Wyll furthers, “We are on our way back to Last Light, after all.. it’ll shut Astarion up, at least.”

“I heard that, Wyll.”

Wyll waves a hand, dismissively waving him off. The notion of protection, from your resident blade, always brings an unbreakable smile – regardless of the circumstances. Relenting, you merely nod – meek, and hesitant. Regardless, Karlach cheers – hollers.

It’s a miracle that you haven’t been attacked at this point.

The sanctity of Last Light lingered only mere feet away. Several more steps, and you’d be faced with your promise of confession. To grant you your dignity, the three musketeers had busied themselves with a brief bout of trading, before entertaining themselves at the bar. Bothering Rolan, no doubt.

Swallowing dryly, you tap the shoulder of your resident blacksmith – near immediately awe-stricken as he spun, pointed teeth poking through a bright, yet notably weary, smile.

“Hey, you! You alright? Need some gear adjustments?” Always so forthcoming, so desperately happy to help. Your heart swells, tail anxiously tapping the ground behind you. In reply, you shake your head, an audible breath shuddering as it passes your lips.

“No, actually,” You shift, gaze flickering to the ground at your feet, “I wanted to.. tell you something.”

“Oh?” Dammon says little else, setting his tools aside, leaning back against his makeshift forge table – and it’s embarrassingly attractive. Your tail taps quicken, fingers interweaving – fidgeting.

Dammon notices, brows furrowing – expression, laden with concern. Instinctively, he reaches for your hands, encapsulating them in his own – “What’s wrong?”

With a soft, subtle bite of your lip, your gaze finally flits back upward – meeting Dammon’s pleading eyes. Your stomach flips. “I think..” A sharp, sharp inhale, “I think I’m in love with you?”

Lips, warm, and soft, upon your own. You can smell smoke, stale yet somewhat pleasant – and you can taste heady, lingering aftertastes of wine. Dammon is kissing you. Your tail, ever with a mind of its own, winds around his ankle – your heart, heavy and loud, thumping in your ears.

You feel his smile, all too familiar, whispered into the kiss before he draws back. His thumbs run over yours, eyes sparing a glance at your joined hands – admiration dancing within his irises. “I was.. hoping you might say that.”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #dammon x tav #dammon x reader #bg3 dammon #tav x dammon #dammon #bg3 x reader #tiefling tav

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dindjiarin · 1 year

Text

Shelter - Joel Miller x Reader (Part Two)

Your easy emotions wreak havoc on Joel, and so do the people you two encounter... good thing you're there to help him.

In which our intrepid hero deals with some shit. And some 👉👌.

Masterlist ->

AO3 Link♥

RATING: Explicit. SEXUAL CONTENT: Consensual P in V, Choking Kink, Attempted Rape (not by Joel). VIOLENCE: Gore, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death of an Animal (Deer Hunting).

TAGS: Joel Being Absolutely Whipped and Filthy-Mouthed, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Age Gap.

WC: 13k

As Joel steps through the doorway of the mom-and-pop furniture store, the glow of the gas lantern he’d found earlier is a beacon.

He rounds the edge of a gigantic, cheaply-made chest of drawers to see you asleep. The glow of the lantern casts amber light over your face. Your hair is strung across your cheek and Joel crushes a wild urge to crouch and brush it all away. He glances to the left and his heart stops for a moment when he realizes Ellie is sitting up, watching him.

“You found something,” she declares without hostility.

These girls’re too observant for me. Joel lets the silence hang for a moment before deciding how to reply.

“I’m gonna talk to your sister in the mornin'.”

“Yeah, I saw you talkin’ earlier,” she snickers, then levels him with a glare. “You better be careful. I’ve got no problem killing you myself.”

He doesn't grace that with a response.

“I notice everything. I like you, Joel, but I love my sister.” Ellie shrugs dramatically, “I’m just sayin’. I’m on her side if you pull some shit.”

“I’d expect nothin’ less, kid.” Joel’s voice strains as he lowers himself down onto the sleeping bag you’d laid out for him. He wishes you hadn’t.

Ellie shifts her attention back to her book (a new one you’d found and given to her called Nancy Drew) while Joel shuffles down into his bed.

Joel lets the faint lull of the ocean carry away his stress for the night. His eyes close but he feels the desire to look at you, just a couple of yards away. He denies the desire, squeezing his eyes tighter, and focuses instead on what he can hear. A page turns. The wind's howl over the building. The sound of your steady, peaceful breath traps his attention, and he soon drifts away.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“And how do you know it’s legitimate?” You press him.

Joel sets his hands on his hips. “I know my brother's writing.”

You chew your lip. Like Joel, the day is much colder than yesterday.

“That’s a long walk."

“That’s why I’m givin’ y’all the choice,” Joel explains. “Same deal as last time.”

Your eyes twinkle as you ask, “Ah. You’re only trying to hold up your end of the deal?”

But Joel’s desperate to keep himself from falling for your charm like he had the previous evening. Instead of rejoining with a witty comment, he simply says:

“Yeah.”

Taken slightly aback by his mood, you’re quiet. Then you turn to Ellie. “What do you want to do? If you’d rather stay here, look around this area more…” you trail off, waiting for her opinion.

Ellie’s eyes dart to Joel before answering. “I mean, I’ve never seen that far north. And we should make Joel keep his promises.”

Joel can’t help but make a pfft noise at that.

“Do you want us to come with you?” You ask him point-blank. It’s that simple for you.

And he can’t answer that. Yes, he did; and no, he didn’t. Yes, he wants the two of you to come with him. But no, he didn’t need the weakness of his growing attachment to both of you. It isn’t that simple for him, and he bristles when you try to make it so.

He raises and lowers his shoulders in a half-hearted motion. “If you come, you can always leave, but if you stay here for now, you’ll prob’ly never find it.”

Your shoulders sag at the deflection, but you’re not surprised. It had been out of character for him to have gotten so close to you last night, so it should come as no surprise when he returns to his regular, shut-everyone-out attitude.

“Okay. Good point. Ellie, if you’re not interested in staying here, that’s all I care about.”

“It’s fucking nice here. It’s so cool. But I miss people. Decent, normal people.” Ellie cuts to the chase, and you ruffle the ends of her ponytail fondly. “All we got is Joel,” she digs at him with a sly look.

“You’re somethin’ else, kid,” Joel scoffs. “Alright, we’ll set out tomorrow. Spend today gathering supplies.”

“I’ll make a list,” you offer.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

That evening, as you say your goodbye to the ocean, you stand on a jetty hugging yourself. It’s the hour of sunset, and you’ve never seen a more beautiful one.

Sunbeams paint the clouds violet, gold, pink, and red. Some clouds in the distance are a heavy gray, pregnant with the storm that will come in the night. The sky behind is a deep blue. And, though none fall, you’re unembarrassed by the tears that well in your eyes.

Your parents never saw the sea. You may never see it again after tomorrow morning. Loss in the face of such grandeur feels more poignant.

Joel stands beside a sand dune, lost in thought once again. How do you maintain the capacity to feel so much and keep getting up every day? He’d spent the last eight years in a cloud of violence, alcohol, and occasionally something heavier. He couldn’t find it in him to care about himself half of the time, let alone a fucking sunset.

Frustrated at his fascination with you, he turns his back to finish preparing for the long walk to come.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Over a week later, the three of you cross the western edge of the state. The slog through the lowlands had been made easier by the discovery of a working pickup truck two days earlier. It had to have been used by someone recently, though no one had been at the rural home when you’d boosted it.

It was old, and the gas gauge perpetually stated it was on E, so Joel siphoned gas every two hours. Because of this, it was necessary to take the interstate or other, passable roads with vehicles laying around like miniature gas stations.

The days spent walking had been hell. There had been no breeze, and the weather had been so mild as to have the three of you sweating under your clothes. You’d had to remove everything but your jeans and your dirty tank top.

Joel hated that. He’d have fought the weather if he could.

He’d been outright rude to you several times. Cutting over you when you spoke, or intentionally asking Ellie a question that you should’ve been asked. Then, sometimes he would slip up. You caught him staring at you, your chest, or your hips. Each time he was caught, he’d withdraw sullenly until Ellie annoyed him with a terrible pun.

He was also caring.

Separately, and more than once, you and Ellie had woken up with his jacket draped over your sleeping form. He answered some of Ellie’s prying questions (“What did you do for work?” “Now or before?” “Both, I guess.” “I was a contractor. After it all went to shit, I transported… contraband.”) without much fuss.

He often kept watch with Ellie, telling her the odd short, humorous story from his distant past. He never told her about his family, nor details on his life after the outbreak.

The first time you'd woken up to Joel's heavy, pleasantly musky jacket across your body, it was like he had cursed you. Your eyes trailed him the entire day as his powerful stride pushed him forward, the lazy confidence of his hand resting on his gun. You watched his throat and the hook of his nose as he took a drink of water, unbelievably parched yourself.

Then he caught you. His eyes, unwilling to see what was flashing neon in your own, tore through you. He refused to give in, but daily he made it worse.

To the unending amusement of both of you, he even delivered the punchline to Ellie’s first joke of the day once. Unpredictable motherfucker, you frequently cursed at him in your mind.

Today, the atmosphere in the cab is stiff - at least between you and Joel - and no one had spoken in over an hour. You knew Joel wouldn’t be the one to break the silence, and you’re unsurprised by the one who does.

“Why does Dr. Pepper come in a bottle?” Ellie asks.

At the odd question, you turn your body to look at her in the backseat, but she’s hidden behind her joke book. Oh, you realize. “Hmm, I don’t know. Why?”

“The answer is: ‘Because his wife died.’” Ellie lowers the book and frowns. “I don’t get it.”

Joel chokingly laughs. It’s so unexpected that you and Ellie stare at him for several seconds.

“He comes in a bottle.” Joel chuckles again and looks at you pointedly.

“Oh.” You cover your mouth and snicker. “Oh.” You sit back in your seat, your cheeks red.

“No, no! Don’t do that - what am I missing?” Ellie yells. She returns her eyes to the page as if the context will appear. Somehow, it does.

“Oh, my god. I get it. I wasn’t expecting a dirty joke; that’s the first one in here.” She muses.

“Thank fuck,” you comment.

The tension between you and Joel had been nearly unbearable, and the slips in his emotional unavailability were driving you insane. Avoiding thinking about… that… was the only way you’d survived being stuck in this enclosed space with him.

“There’s a whole section of them,” Ellie says with awe.

You whirl around to try and snatch the book from her, but she’s faster. She holds the book out of your reach, your seatbelt locking you in place.

“Ellie, give me that.”

“Why?”

“Let her keep it,” Joel interjects.

Ellie looks at the back of his head like he’d grown an extra one.

You ignore him. “Ellie, for fuck’s sake, at least skip the dirty jokes.” Your imploring eyes tell her what she needs to know: Don’t make this more awkward for me than it already is.

“Okay, okay, chill the hell out.” She rolls her eyes and sighs at you as only a teenager can. Then she motions at you, then Joel, then you again.

“I know,” you groan.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel’s an attractive driver. It’s an odd thing to think, but you can’t help it. He casually holds the wheel with his left hand while his right elbow braces on the center console. Occasionally his obscenely thick fingers stroke the scruff on his face. You wish he wouldn’t.

“Hey, we’re not far from that house with the chickens are we?” You observe as the rolling hills flow by.

“Think it’s about a half-hour that way,” Joel indicates out your window. His hand crosses into your personal space, flustering you. “I doubt the ones we left alive are alive anymore.”

“Yeah - no, I was just wondering. That was good meat, though. What a waste.” It had been so long since you’d had chicken, you’d forgotten how delicious it was.

The day you met him, Joel had killed a couple and cooked the meat that night and the next day. Unfortunately, you’d had no way to transport chicken - live or dead. It wasn’t lost on you, however, that Joel used the word “we” when he had been the one to kill, clean, and cook it.

Ellie breaks the silence again. “Hey, Joel.”

He hums questioningly.

“What’s your last name?”

He responds with automatic promptness, “Miller.”

Ellie contemplates. “Joel Miller. Sounds good, I like it.”

Joel Miller. It does sound good. Everything about him is so attractive, I hate it, you complain petulantly. Why couldn’t he have been ugly?

As the truck crests the hill, a huge valley opens up through the windshield. A loud boom! shudders through the car. Joel clamps onto the steering wheel with both hands, keeping control of the vehicle until the power steering gives out. Fish-tailing onto the shoulder and down into the grassy ditch, the car comes to a jolting stop halfway down the mountain.

“Ellie, y’okay?” Joel spits out the question faster than your mouth opens to ask the same thing.

“Yeah. What the fuck, man?” It’s rhetorical.

Joel’s alarmed eyes rake you over, “You alright?”

“I’m good. What happened?”

“Think the tire blew.” He slams his hand on the steering wheel, “Fuck.”

“Great.” You peek out the window and notice the sun’s position. “It’s going down. I don’t think we should stay in the car tonight.”

Joel grunts in agreement and ducks to look in the rearview mirror. “Those rocks should be safe.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

In the blackness of the evening, the three of you lay in a triangle formation upon a large shelf of a limestone cliff. The cliff vaults up to your right, and down to the left. The view of the valley had been beautiful during sunset, but for once you had been too stressed to notice.

You lie on your sleeping bag, Ellie’s head at your foot. Joel lies with his head near yours. Concentrating on either fixing the car or abandoning it consumes you to a point that you don’t notice when Ellie starts snoring. Nor do you notice when Joel moves his bag closer to you.

“What're you thinkin' about?”

“Joel- what the hell," startled from your spiral of anxiety, you jump. "Sorry. Just lost in thought.”

“I can tell.”

Your head turns sharply, and you squint at him in the darkness, trying to determine what his goal was. “What’s that mean?”

“You didn’t say anything about the view from up here. Just wonderin' what you’re worryin’ about.”

Oh. He noticed that? You blush, thankful for the cover of night.

“Oh. Well,” you fully roll over to face him. His head is propped on his hand, and his silhouette is all you can see. “I’m worried about walking so far. Or trying to find a tire. I’m pissed off about the pain in my arm. I’m worried about Ellie.” Your voice fades to a mutter, “I’m worried about- about you.”

It’s quiet for a beat too long. “Why about me?”

“I -” you’re not sure how to say what you want, so you settle for the basics. “You’re unpredictable. I feel like one day we’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. And even though Ellie and I were on our own for so long before, it’s been…” you look for an appropriate word, “It’s been helpful having another adult I can count on.”

And here it was for Joel. He wasn’t stupid. You’re skirting around telling him that both you and Ellie have grown fond of him. He didn’t want that.

No, that isn’t true. The truth is he shouldn’t want it.

Joel doesn’t answer.

The natural sounds of the night replace your conversation. It’s so still, so quiet. You lay your head down and curl into a comfortable position facing the man.

You hadn’t expected him to respond. He’d accidentally shown you cracks in his armor by parenting Ellie occasionally, helping with a task that should’ve been yours or Ellie’s alone like keeping watch or preparing dinner, and laughing.

For fuck’s sake, laughing with us - but still he kept the armor.

Sleep has taken you when Joel quickly pushes a lock of hair over your shoulder and states,

“‘m not goin' anywhere.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The sound of rubber rolling on pavement is the background to Ellie’s unceasing chatter. The bright sunshine feeds her mood as though she survives on photosynthesis. She’d left her joke book at the campsite, but she jabbers on about nothing and everything. After trekking for an hour, you managed to find a tire that Joel agreed should fit the truck. If it could shorten your cross-country trip by even a day, it was worth the effort.

Joel hunches over the tire, rolling it back up the highway. His backpack and gun sway with his movements. The awkward angle and the added weight of his gear have his brow dripping sweat.

“So, what if it’s really snowy up there? Will we get frostbite? What if we find a moose - do those still exist? Aren’t they like the size of a house?” Ellie’s exuberance couldn’t be stopped.

“Joel, please…” you murmur as you jog up alongside him. You slip your fingers under the strap of his rifle, trying to relieve him of at least one burden. Joel abruptly straightens at the contact, leveling you with a questioning look. Your lips twist into a reassuring smile. You curl your fingers tighter and tug the strap down his arm.

“I’ll take the backpack, too.” You keep your voice gentle as though you’re trying not to spook him. He allows you to take the gun but jerks away when you reach for his backpack strap.

“No, it’s heavy. I don’t want you takin’ both.”

“I know it’s heavy, that’s why I’m trying to take it from you.”

The gun is slipped from you as Ellie brushes your side. You’d been too focused on Joel to realize that she’d stopped thinking aloud.

“Now she can take the backpack, ya stubborn old man.” Ellie slings the rifle and stalks ahead.

A bead of sweat falls from his temple; he’s defeated. With a groan, he shrugs off his pack and holds it up for you.

“If it gets too heav-”

“Stop pretending to be a gentleman,” you reach for the bag.

Your fingers close partially around Joel’s, rewarding you with the sultriness of his rough fingers. For an extended breath, Joel doesn’t let go; he squeezes it a little harder. Eventually, he unclasps his hand, allowing you to bear the weight.

A couple of miles later, the silver truck is visible among the trees. You quicken your step.

Joel's gotta roll the tire up that hill.

“Can I help you carry it somehow? Rolling it up this isn’t gonna be fun,” you offer.

Joel simply shakes his head, breathing deeply in resignation. He lifts it, grunting, deciding to carry it the last length. You’re glad he denied your offer because, wow, why is that so hot? You stare after him for far too long.

At the top of the hill, a younger blonde man peeks in the truck's window. Ellie hands Joel's gun back to him, then, as you taught her, she circles into the trees out of sight.

"Howdy," the man straightens and calls out to you and Joel. "Got any ammo?"

Joel has his gun pointed at the man before he finishes speaking.

"No."

Deciding that Joel wasn't the best negotiator, you step ahead.

"Are you looking to trade or to steal?" You step cautiously closer and the blonde man gets a better look at you.

"Well, shit, I would've put on my two-day old clothes instead of my week-old ones if I'd known I'd run into you."

"You know this guy?" Joel snaps at your back.

"No?" His tone confuses you. Then to the trader, "Whatcha looking for?"

"I need some nine-millimeter, preferably. Shouldn't be too much of an ask since they're the most common. I do have some food up for trade." He holds up a large, navy duffle bag.

It was obvious to you that this man was used to his good looks and charm winning him points. He was slightly older than you, and you couldn't lie, this guy must've done well for himself in the apocalypse. He looked healthy, attractive, and normal.

The man continues, "I'm Zach. You show me yours and I'll show you mine?" He grins, but it fades fast. "Just tell the attack dog to calm down."

Attack dog?

You turn to catch a look at Joel: he stands with his gun pointed casually and coldly in Zach's general direction. You've never seen such an intimidating, contemptuous look on his handsome face. A shiver runs through you. Your poorly-timed attraction to him heightens. A tumult of terrible things you want him to do to you crash through your mind.

"Are you okay?" You quietly ensure.

Joel gives a curt nod, never taking his eyes from the younger man.

You face the trader. "Sorry, we don't have any nine-millimeter. We don't have anything to trade, really."

"Ah, that's fine. There's another group around this area. Maybe I'll try them."

"A group?" You query, your voice rising in concern.

"Yeah, you ain't seen anyone, sweetheart? There's a whole community of farmers. Rumor is they have chickens."

"Oh," you stutter. "Wow, chickens."

"Yeah. Supposed to be a lot of folks, so I guess that'll be my next try."

Zach looks you up and down, a genuine smile gracing his clean-cut face.

"You sure you don't wanna take a day trip with me? Take you to see some chickens? I'm sure your dad won't mind?" The winsome younger man cocks his head at Joel as if asking permission.

In the span of a second, Joel is a brick wall in front of you. He raises his rifle, his scope trained on the man's chest.

"If you don't get the fuck outta here, I'll give you those bullets you're beggin' around for."

The barely-restrained anger in his voice involuntarily has you leaning closer to him. He sounded like he was speaking to a deadly threat, and you instinctively crave his protection. Your heart races, wondering what spooked Joel.

Zach throws up his hands, "Fuck, man. Okay. I can't hit on her? Sheezus."

He starts back up over the hill, throwing worried looks every now and then, seemingly terrified that Joel will act on his inexplicably violent mood.

When he's gone, Ellie comes popping out from behind a tree.

"Damn, Joel, you made that guy piss his pants," she approves.

"What happened?"

The intense belief in your eyes that Joel had been morally right in that situation almost bothers him. He'd threatened the kid because the kid threatened him. Joel can't put rational words to it, but you're his… responsibility.

"Had a forty-five on him. Not a nine-millimeter," Joel lies.

"Wow, you could tell that?" Ellie's face glows. "That's impressive as shit. Teach me the difference? And how to shoot?"

Knowing damn well that Joel had never seen any weapon on the guy, you tell your excited younger sister, "He will, El, but first he's gotta change the tire and get us going again."

Joel rubs his jaw, sure you saw through him. “Actually, might be good to go hunting here where the woods’re thicker. And I'd gotta go before dark.”

"I'll go with you," you don't let him squirm away. "Ellie, you know the drill. Keep an extra eye out while that guy's around. I think he's-" You wanted to say harmless, but realized that would undermine Joel's actions.

"I think he's gone; but just in case," you hand her your rifle.

Ellie looks from butt to barrel with awed respect.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"So, what the hell was that about?" You interrogate Joel once the two of you are a fair distance into the woods.

"Nothin'," is Joel's forthcoming reply.

"Joel, for the love of-" you grab his shoulder and spin him to face you. "What set you off?"

Joel works his jaw, looking away from you, then meets your eyes with a faintly-playful tilt of his head.

"He called me old." Joel's face is impassive.

You fight a smirk. "Are you being serious? Ellie calls you old all the time."

"He was annoyin' me."

"I annoy you."

"I know, you're doin' it right now."

Sighing, you give up. "Fine, don't tell me."

"You upset I scared off a suitor?"

"A suitor? Damn, you are old." You push his arm in jest as you both continue marching through the woods. "He was too young for me."

"He was older than you."

"Too young." You say again. "Too happy. Too charming."

"Oh, he was charming, huh? That was workin' on you?"

You catch his eye and smile like you have a secret, "No."

Joel knows you're goading him, and his chest aches with exhilaration. He'd point loads of guns at loads of people if you'd keep smiling at him like that.

You breathe out the word, “Deer,” and Joel sinks into a crouch, tugging you down with him. The two of you take cover behind a downed hemlock. His rifle rests on the treebark following the soft footsteps of a large animal.

The way he pulled you down has you pressing into his side and you’re certain even the deer can hear your thumping heart.

But neither of you move. You can feel the unyielding firmness of his body; it’s so incredibly comforting to you that it’s all you can think about. Joel Miller.

He breathes in, and on the exhale he fires. The shot echoes through the woods, sending a handful of crows cawing into the air. Joel retracts his rifle and turns his head to you with a faux-humble smirk.

He’s even closer than he was that night on the beach; your heart stops, then kicks into overdrive. With his hair mussed and his smile lopsided, he looks happy.

Instantly realizing his mistake, but too weak to correct it, Joel risks another glance at your lips. He peers back up at your eyes and he’s dry-mouthed at how blown your pupils are. He watches with confliction as your face changes. You swallow a sudden lump in your throat and drop your eyes.

You pull away and whisper, “I can’t do this.”

And you can’t. The constant heartache of Joel pushing and pulling at you was too much. Today, he’s open, but tomorrow he’d be withdrawn. It was selfish and it was idealistic, but you wanted all of him or nothing. Calling it a crush was trivializing your feelings. An injustice; you knew what you felt for him was stronger than that.

You stand and offer him your hand. If he couldn’t give you what you wanted, that's okay, because you’d love him anyway - as platonically as you could.

“Should we butcher it here? Or drag it? It’s gonna be a chore either way.” Your voice is forced cheer.

Joel clears his throat, thrown for a loop. “Mm. Guess we’ll drag it.”

He takes your hand and you haul him up. He pauses to put his gun back on safety and sling it over his shoulder. As he does so, you stride toward the unlucky deer.

“I didn’t know lovebirds still existed.” You’re several yards from the deer when a man’s taunt drifts on the wind.

A greasy, stocky man in his late-thirties strolls out from behind another massive hemlock. He’s halfway between you and the deer carcass. Twigs snap behind you as Joel hastens to get to your side, but the man raises his handgun.

He aims at your friend, but Joel only slows his pace. The man grunts with irritation and points the firearm at you. Joel’s footsteps stop.

“Ooh, you’re easy to control, huh?”

You picture your gun back at the campsite with Ellie as she kept watch. It’s hard to regret giving it to her, though. She had a weapon and so did you. As long as Joel was around, you’d be okay.

“What’d you want?” Joel grits out; he’s pissed.

“Buddy, I don’t like your tone. Neither do they,” and the dumpy man tilts his chin behind both of you.

Two more men crush leaves and branches below their feet as they materialize. One is older and armed with a small hunting rifle. The other is much younger than both his friends despite his beard; this man foregoes a weapon. Joel rotates to face the new problem, backing up as he does so, but the first man is wise to Joel’s play.

“Stop moving toward her.”

Joel stops once more, his teeth clench so hard that his jaw pops.

“We followed the deer. Been tracking it for a half-mile.”

“Then take it,” the inflection in Joel’s voice is flat, terrifying.

“A’right, a’right, don’t get your panties twisted,” the bearded man jeers. He then shares a meaningful look with the bulkier man near you.

Standing between Joel and the heavyset man, you’ve angled yourself diagonally to see both men. Unfortunately, Joel is not the closest. The stocky man lunges forward and snatches your left arm, wrenching it behind your back painfully. You cry out in sheer agony as his thumb digs into your stitches.

“Don't fuckin' hurt her,” Joel whips out, seething. His mouth pulls into a horrified scowl, his hands raised in desperate surrender.

The man pulls up your flannel sleeve, saying, “Ah, see, I thought you were overreacting. I was so gentle.” His oily nose sniffs your hair, “Did this guy hurt you, baby?”

You twist away from his rancid breath on your neck. It occurs to you to lie, to try to get them to believe Joel was possessive for a reason other than whatever drove him. Basic ethics, most likely.

If you lie, maybe they’d see you as less of a bargaining chip. Joel certainly wasn’t helping. He’s keeping his feelings forefront with that black look on his face.

With reluctance, you mutter, “Y-”

But it’s curtailed by your own scream as Joel stumbles to his knees. The two men stand above him - the butt of a rifle is pressed against the back of Joel’s head. His eyes find yours, and a trickle of blood drips down his forehead. Tears stream freely down your cheek.

How could they? Joel is carefully and permanently on a pedestal in your mind. The peak of masculinity - both good and bad: protective, providing, impenetrable. Seeing him bleed, sagging on his knees was unthinkable. It was perverted, wrong.

You headbutt the man in the nose, a painful crack against the top of your skull. Grabbing the barrel of his handgun, you wrench it loose and stumble away. The man swears and doubles over, hands over his face.

Gasping for breath, you aim the gun at its owner and order, "Make them back off."

"Bitch, I'm not their daddy. I don't control ‘em," the man sounds pained.

The rifleman shoves the barrel of his gun into Joel's temple. "Put it down or I'll kill him."

"Hey, listen. You owe me, now," the stocky man says. "If you set down the gun, turn yourself over, we'll leave him be."

In your moment of hesitation, you lock eyes with the man you'd never expected, fear in his wet eyes. Then a freight train barrels into your side.

The gun's owner was quicker and quieter than his build should allow. It wasn't fair.

“Now, as feisty as you may think yourself, I’m not a fan of that.”

Your cheek is roughly grabbed, squeezed, and you're forced to watch as the rifleman slams the butt of his weapon into Joel’s back. Joel sprawls onto the ground, the wind knocked from him.

Weeping freely now, you beg, “Stop hurting him. Please, please don’t.”

“You gonna do what we ask?”

Joel tries to speak, but he’s rewarded with another blow to the ribs. He groans and falls onto his uninjured side only to have the bearded man deliver a clumsy kick to his stomach.

“Yes, yes. I won't- won't fight if you’ll let him -” you break off at the look in Joel's eyes. “Please, let him go.”

“Goddamn it,” he groans.

Taking advantage of Joel’s attackers focusing on him, and the man holding you being unable to see your face, you mouth: Ellie. Take her. Go.

He growls your name and a curse which earns him another kick to the ribs. He coughs violently, then pushes himself up onto his knees, breathing heavily.

Still staring at you, he softly shakes his head ‘no’. A dead leaf falls from his hair; his brown, puppy eyes are devastated. It crushes your heart into the thousands of pieces you’d been so sure it was already in.

This doesn’t feel real. It’s as though you and Joel had slipped into a nightmare out here in the lonesome woods. None of this was real. None of it except your certainty. If you could save him, you would. You'd tried; and you'd try again. He could keep Ellie safer than you could. It’s simple for you - always had been. The decision wasn’t a decision at all. Love was a practice; a concrete, tangible thing; an action. Love sacrifices.

“‘Course. I swear. He’s not exactly our type. Good news, boys, y’all know I hate a fighter.” The man wraps an arm around you and drags you backward.

He’s deliberately slow enough to let you watch as Joel stands, pained. He punches the oncoming bearded man in the jaw and, using his momentum against him, drops the fucker to the ground. Joel then lunges for the rifleman, but the young, bearded man is up faster than he should’ve been. He snakes an arm around Joel’s throat.

“Joel!” You wail, thrashing in the man’s arms. “You fucking swore, you fucking asshole.” But you know it had been a long shot. You don’t even get to see Joel’s face one last time before you’re dragged over a ridge.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel’s temples throb with his heartbeat. The near-deafness in his right ear isn’t new, but he feels more like a flash-bang grenade exploded in his face. It had been late afternoon when he’d taken you hunting, and the pale blue lighting he sees when his eyes blink open tells him it's just after sunset.

He puffs out a cloud of the mulched forest floor between his dry lips and pushes his palms down to leverage himself off the ground. The temperature had dropped rapidly and the air stings his bruised lungs.

It’s then that he hears your cry. It’s muffled like someone has their hand over your mouth. He hears feet scrabbling in the leaves, and his body physically stiffens at the remembrance of where he is.

Rage and panic napalm his mind. Those assholes must believe they’d killed him because no one in their right mind would leave Joel Miller alive; not when they had his… his.

He wanted to be mad at you. Wanted so desperately the chance to be mad at you. How could you believe them? Why would they have let him go once you stopped fighting? His heart races and he wonders if he's having a heart attack. He had been right in the beginning about you being too trusting. He had been right this whole time.

He hides his fear of losing you behind blame, anger. But then his own guilt kicks him. You were doing exactly what you’d do for Ellie. For anyone you cared for. He should’ve been stronger. He should’ve saved you.

Joel casts a searching eye for a weapon, though the righteous rage inside him would be enough. There it is. He can’t quite believe it. One of these boys with a room-temperature IQ had left his .22 propped against a tree trunk near the lip of the earthy depression.

Ignoring the pain lancing through his body, Joel crouches and shakily snatches up the gun. He moves to the top of the small rise and peers around a tree.

Sitting on your shins is the bearded man who knocked him out; the sandy-haired man’s grimy fingers are trying to shimmy your jeans down. The second man, the rifleman, whom Joel now notices is wearing a torn band shirt, is seated in the dirt above your head, pinning your arms. The third member of the goon squad, their leader, is straddling you, kissing your neck.

Joel refuses to look at your face because if he does he’ll go insane. Instead, he raises the .22 in a flash and fires a shot at at the music fan holding your arms. His orbital bone shatters, blood spurting everywhere.

Without pausing, Joel launches out from behind the tree and swings the .22 into the head of the man who took you from him. He swings the gun as if he’s winning the World Series with it. The resounding crack is so loud that Joel knows he’s killed the fucker instantly. That pisses him off more. A better death than the shitstain deserved.

Two men are dead before they even know he’s coming. Joel turns on the last one who’s now crab-walking backward from your legs.

“Hey, hey, please,” the younger man holds up a hand in panicked surrender. “You killed my brother, you killed him! Ain’t that enough?”

“You’re right behind him,” Joel grits out. He tosses the gun aside.

“Please, no, listen. No, no,” the man begs.

You retract your knees, hugging them to your chest as you sit up. Your body is a tempest of fear, revulsion, relief, horror, disgust, gratitude, and anger. You’re not sure which one you feel strongest. You’d been hassled before, nearly every woman left in the world had been and the odds hadn’t been great pre-outbreak, anyway. But it’d never been that close.

All you focus on now is Joel. Alive, and standing between you and all the world.

“Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t tell you to run because you’re already in the safest place you could be. You don’t want to close your eyes. If you do, he might disappear. You can't give up a sense while drowning in fear. Take your eyes off the one buoy you had? You just can't do it.

The sounds you hear are worse than what you see. There’s the dull thudding sound of Joel’s fists connecting with your attacker’s face, the man’s primal screams suddenly stopping, and the squelching of blood.

Joel kneeling over the man, his solid right arm rising and slamming down is all you see. It's all you want to see. You'd be lying if you said his violent defense of you wasn't thrilling, wasn't stirring something inside you.

It will haunt you for a while, but the relief of Joel being alive would ease all pain. And in truth, the would-be rapist deserved it. He deserved that side of Joel just as you deserve the other side of him.

You finally close your eyes when Joel's swings slow. Tucking into yourself, you relive the last few minutes and begin to cry.

There’s a hand in your hair. You flinch and your arms go up to protect yourself when you feel a weight sink to the ground beside you. Opening your eyes, you’re unable to move in the sight of Joel’s frenzied face. Freckles of blood dot his skin, and his eyes are wild. His breathing is rapid as his hand combs through your hair.

“You’re okay,” his deep voice is raw, “you’re okay.”

He crushes you to him - his hand cradles the back of your skull while you bury your face in his chest. A pained groan rolls from his mouth but he doesn’t let go. His earthy, leather scent is grounding.

You scramble to match his kneeling position to fit into him further; you push underneath his jacket, wrapping your arms around his torso, needing to feel him. He rests his cheek on top of your head.

“I thought they killed you,” you cry brokenly into his clothing, the inconsolable grief of losing him still pressing on you.

“Never fuckin’ do that again,” it’s too soon for him to be mad, but he tries anyway. He pulls back just enough to take your face in both hands, “If you’re given that choice again, you do not choose me.” His troubled eyes dart between yours.

You know you can’t retort, so you drop your gaze. You can’t promise you won’t take a bullet for him, because you would. Just like you would for Ellie. You slowly retract your arms from underneath his jacket, feeling awkward.

“I’ll try to think of something else first,” you answer him, your voice laden with too many emotions.

You tilt your head up to see Joel’s beautiful face marred by a tortured expression. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your cheeks.

He wants you to be strong, yes. To fight. You are unapologetic joy and he can’t lose that. Joel would happily die if he knew you’d still smile at nature, at all your small reasons, at your sister. He can’t lose you, can't fail you.

In great contrast to the gentle way he holds your face, his jaw is clenched so hard that it looks painful. Concern creases your brow and your mouth opens a fraction to ask if he’s alright, but Joel’s lips are suddenly swallowing your question.

He burns away the swirling mire in your mind. There’s nothing, no pain or fear. Nothing except for him. His kiss is desperate - a leaf clinging to summer. As your hand returns to caress his side underneath his jacket, you can feel his heart beating as fast as your own.

A soft moan is forced from you when his hand fists in your hair. Your hands slide up his flannel-covered torso to cup his scruffy chin.

You part your lips, and breathe, “Joel.”

He moans into your mouth.

Then you delve into him, deepening the kiss. His arms encircle you, one hand in your hair, the other squeezing your ass, keeping your body flush against his. He’s even warmer than you imagined. The night chill no match for him.

A bird tweets in the distant dusk. Then it’s as if he suddenly returns to earth: he leans back, putting distance between the two of you.

“’m sorry. That was… bad. This is -” he stops, looking around, and presses his swollen lips into a thin line. “Not right. Sorry. We’ll go find Ellie.”

With that, he lets go of you completely, leaving you adrift. He stands and offers his hand to you. Confused, more muddled than you’ve ever been in your life, you accept the help silently. He drops your hand as soon as you’re upright.

Holy shit. He kissed me, right? Or did I lean in first? His rejection stomps on the already-broken pieces of your heart. I knew he wouldn’t let me in.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Ellie hops off a rock and slams into you, nearly bowling you over. She tilts her head to look up at you, and you wipe away her tear stains.

“I could hear you yelling. I could hear it, but I promised.” She cries in horror, referring to what you had ingrained into her every day since the outbreak: if you two were separated, she stayed put. She never came if she heard trouble. Ever. No exigent circumstances. She’d hated that promise, fought you on it constantly, but fucking hell were you glad she listened. You refused to even entertain what might’ve happened had Ellie been there.

“We’re alright, Ellie. I’m so sorry.” You smile tiredly. “Everyone’s okay.”

To your right, you see Joel out of the corner of your eye. Ellie leans over and grasps his sleeve, making sure he’s tangible. Joel’s mouth twitches in a tiny but reassuring smile.

“I’m fine, kid.”

“You guys look like shit,” she swipes at her tears.

Joel barks a laugh, the quick change in Ellie’s disposition precisely what was needed.

“I’d like nothing better than a hot shower,” you reply. You can still feel their grimy hands on your body. You shudder.

“Dunno ‘bout a hot shower, but I’m sure we could find a spring tomorrow.”

You sigh, “Guess that’ll have to do.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Are you -” Joel stumbles over his thoughts, “Are you gonna be okay? To sleep, I mean?”

“Unlikely,” you give him an uneasy smile. “I’m happy to take the first watch.”

“Alright,” he settles on the rock next to you.

You protest, irritated, “Please go rest. You've had a - a bad day, too.” You needed time to process everything and his presence was distracting.

“I’m not gonna rest if you’re keeping watch alone.”

You scoff. “I learned my lesson, okay?”

Was he hellbent on making you mad at him tonight? After he saved your ass? For the third time. Oh, my god. I really am one big problem for him.

Redness flushes your cheeks at the realization. You owe him so much yet all he does is drive you insane. Sorting out your feelings about everything was priority number one.

“That’s not what I m-”

“Well, what do you mean?”

“If you’d let me fuckin’ finish,” he makes a frustrated hand motion. “Got a hard enough time admitting it at all, an’ you want me to just come out with a poem or some shit?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I think we should eat those last two granola bars. Don’t you guys? They’ve been in my pack for, like, three weeks.” Ellie walks over and interrupts purposefully, tired of the argument.

“Well, they lasted eight years, so I don’t think a few days will affect them, but that’s fine with me.”

Ellie trots over to her backpack and breaks two bars in half. She returns and gives you one half and Joel another. Holding her own half from the second bar, she “clinks” her bar with yours.

“Cheers,” she laughs before biting her piece. You smile and take a small bite of yours. Ellie wanders toward the sleeping bags, slowly picking apart her granola bar.

Under your breath, you tell Joel, “Please go get some sleep. I owe you and I’m fine.”

He stamps the butt of his gun on the rock he’d been sitting on in acknowledgment, then mercifully leaves you to your daunting task.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It's still dark when your relief comes. He looks terrible. His knuckles are flaked with both his and another's blood, and his forehead still bears traces of the afternoon.

"There's a stream down there," you indicate to your right. Its babbling could be heard in the quiet air.

"I'm fine," he grouses.

"Joel…" you gently chide.

Pulling a shirt from your pack, you walk off to the stream. You're back less than a minute later, and you point at the rock you'd been sitting on.

"Yes, ma'am," his voice is still monotone.

You position yourself in front of him, his face level with yours. He closes his eyes as you carefully rub the damp cloth across his dirty, blood-streaked forehead.

"It's been hours, why didn't you clean up?"

Joel only shrugs in answer.

"What's wrong?" You stop wiping.

His eyelids open and the flickering campfire reflects in his glassy eyes.

"Can you just keep doin' that?" He closes his eyes once more. You oblige.

He doesn't mean to, he doesn't even register that he's done it until it's too late. He flinches as his sore, bruised knuckles bend to fit his hands around your hips. You tenderly grasp one and begin to wipe it free of residue.

Neither of you speaks, too lost in your own thoughts and in the moment. Joel feels so close and so distant.

You’d sorted through your emotions over the near-assault with brashness. It was the end of the world. Dwelling on things you had survived was pointless.

No, the problem was Joel. You thought you’d got him killed, then he was alive, then the kiss, then he rejected you. Guilt, grief, joy, embarrassment.

You still weren't sure who initiated the kiss, and his defensive coldness led you to believe it had been you. In truth, you supposed you were just back at square one. Joel forever opening up then shutting down again.

It only made you feel worse. Desperately you wanted to cling to him, have him tell you that he didn’t blame you. Have him make the world go away. But even if he did that now, it wouldn’t last. He wouldn’t let you fully inside.

“Thank you,” Joel murmurs when you back away.

“Like I said, I owe you.” Your voice gives away no inflection.

Joel watches you walk over to where Ellie lay. You kiss her forehead, then cuddle in behind her. He sees you whisper something in her ear.

Joel understands. An easy reprieve from your own emotions was to care for another’s.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The silver truck glimmers behind you. You regard it with sadness before trudging onward. The sun beads in your eyes as the westward walk continues. Looking down isn’t a reprieve as the sun reflects off the pure snow. The soft, rolling plains stretch out, but the horizon is jagged with the promise of greater hills or rock formations. There’s not a single car to be seen.

“It got us through, like, four fucking states in three days,” Ellie holds up a map of the Midwest you’d found at a state welcome center.

“You mean I got us through four fuckin’ states in three days,” Joel boasts.

It had been too long since he’d filled the gas tank, but with the broken gauge, he’d been unable to predict exactly when the vehicle would give up the ghost. The answer was somewhere over the border of Nebraska.

“Sure, Joel, you did it all on your own,” Ellie rolls her eyes. She kicks a chunk of snow. “I’m so happy you're here to do everything.”

Since the fight, you’d found it difficult to even look at the man next to you. You had bared yourself to him that day; shown him that you were willing to die for him, that you trusted him with Ellie, that your greatest fear had been his death; and then that fucking kiss. And here you both were: unable to look at each other.

“At least one of you is,” Joel mutters, his breath clouding in the freezing air.

The man could find his way under your skin even if you were wearing a latex bodysuit. You bite your lip to prevent the automatic, angry retort.

Thinks I’m dead weight. You think bitterly. Don't blame him too much. Almost got him killed. Probably thinks of me as a dumb kid.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to quell the heartbreak. You understood his opinion: you’re weak because you care. You had given up on trying to show him that that was the only way you could live with yourself.

A cloud blows over the afternoon sun, illuminating the land in a new way. The horizon silhouettes a building in the distance, at least a mile out. You shield your eyes, then point.

“Shelter?” Your teeth chatter together with perfect timing and, from the corner of your eye, you see motion. Joel is unwinding the scarf he’d found. He drapes it around your neck.

“Wrap it over your chin,” he instructs.

You do so. It had been a new scarf from the same rest stop where you’d picked up the map. It smelled old, but it was warm. His warmth. You regret curling it over your mouth because on top of the old smell was Joel. At least he can’t see most of your face now.

Joel relished the way something of his - albeit his for less than a few days - looked on you. He’d take what he could get. You’d pried open his hardened heart and nestled inside. Joel had never met anyone like you. So capable and vulnerable and easy to be with. And fucking irritating. And stubborn. God, you piss him off.

You’d been different since that night and Joel hadn’t the emotional intelligence to work out your problem. As far as he could reason, you were upset with him for not saving you sooner, or for kissing you at such a shit moment; or, he worried, kissing you at all. His fear that you see him as a father figure grows larger.

“You and I go in, Ellie covers the front?” You start planning. “Together or me in the back?”

“Could be one of those state historical cabins, so there might be only one door anyway,” Joel theorizes.

“Good point,” you concede.

You evaluate Ellie’s back as she walks in front, wondering if you could get away with a hushed conversation with Joel. The heaviness between the two of you was reaching a breaking point for you. You’re just one state away from Wyoming now, and you can’t let him leave without fixing whatever was happening. Luckily, the wind howls occasionally from the west, so your words are unlikely to carry to her ears.

You drop back, slowing your pace. Joel notices and slows as well.

“Is it because I told them you hurt me? Because I kissed you? Or because I- because I almost got you killed? Is that why you're still so mad at me?” You pepper him suddenly.

Joel couldn’t be more surprised if you had stabbed him.

“No, I know why y’ told ‘em I did that,” he answers. “An’ I know you thought trading yourself was the best option.” His voice drops an octave, “It wasn’t, but I get it.”

“You get it? You don't blame me? Then why are you being so mean to me?” You plead.

“What?” Joel's face turns to yours.

“You’re even colder than usual. You make these little digs at me, you don’t trust me to keep watch half the time anymore. You treat me like a child you’re disappointed in.” The irony smacks into you when you nearly whine that last sentence.

Joel grabs your arm, stopping you and turning you to face him.

"I don’ do those things because I think you’re a child. And I thought you were the one who was mad-” he pauses, unsure how to organize his argument. Snowflakes catch in his gray hair. His dark eyes are stark against the white surroundings. “But I couldn’t feel less fatherly 'bout you if I tried.”

“What - what the fuck does that mean?” You ask, baffled and failing to keep your pitch low. Ellie notices now that the two of you have stopped.

“Can you guys fight in the damn cabin up there?” She crosses her arms and tilts her head back dramatically. “Either kiss or kill each other, I’m so tired of this.” And with that, she spins around.

When you reignite eye contact with Joel, he’s burning a hole through you with every emotion you’ve ever made him feel. There’s a moment when you think he’ll take Ellie’s advice, but then he sighs.

“Go on, girl,” he gestures ‘after you’.

“‘Girl’? You said you weren't infantilizing me.” You scoff.

“Infantilizing? Well, ain’t that a five-dollar word, where’d ya learn that?” he snarks in exasperation. God, you piss him off.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel had been right, again. You were getting tired of that. An empty wooden box with a fireplace on the lower level, the cabin was at least a shelter from the snow flurrying down. It had plain, empty floors and a staircase with no railing but a trapdoor to separate the top floor from the bottom. That was handy in case a problem arose.

There was a great debate about lighting the fire. All three of you took turns arguing both for and against it (Ellie: “But it’s fucking frozen in here,” Joel: “You wanna alert any dumbass in the area to our presence, darlin’, go ahead,”), but in the end, the frigid temperature had the final say. Ellie and Joel ventured back into the growing white swirl outside to look for wood in the tiny shed.

While they were gone, you laid out the camping gear and set about making this house a home for the night. In the corner, you notice an old brochure for the place.

Perfect. Kindling.

You dig through your pack to find your lighter when Ellie shoves open the heavy wooden door with two logs in her arms. She kicks the door closed, despite its weight.

“This was all I got, but I think Joel might’ve got more.” She announces, slamming the logs onto the hearth.

“Was he right behind you?” You ask, laughing preemptively.

“Oh, shit, yeah.”

She runs to the door and jerks it back open. There’s Joel standing in the doorway with his arms full of wood. His leveled glare and signature frown send both you and Ellie into fits of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie chuckles.

Joel’s long legs step over the threshold, and when he gets close enough to Ellie, he shakes his hair over her, showering her in melting snowflakes.

Still laughing, Ellie blocks him with her hands and cries, “You dick!”

Sitting cross-legged next to the hearth, you no longer need the fire, warmed by the scene playing out in front of you. No matter the type of relationship with Joel, you couldn’t care about the two of them any more than you do now. The smile on your face is so wide that you feel like you'll split.

Joel approaches and sets the logs down far more gently than Ellie had next to the fireplace. You hold up the two logs Ellie had grabbed, and together with Joel, start the fire.

After a dinner of canned veggies, Ellie sprawls out on the floor in her t-shirt and jeans. Joel sits with his back to the flames while you lean against the heated stones.

“It’s hot down here,” Ellie complains.

Joel's face darkens with irritation.

“I’m allowed to be hot.”

“You’re the only reason we got the damn thing going,” he accuses. “You got too much energy. It’s got you all -” he makes a shaking motion with his hands.

“I do not,” Ellie yawns. “I’m actually exhausted.”

“That floor upstairs has a trapdoor. Might be cooler, El.”

“Doesn’t heat rise or some shit?” Ellie asks.

“Yes, but this place is airtight and I’m betting it’s colder up there. I don’t care what you do, I’m just telling you.”

“Okay, I’ll go look.” Ellie hops up in a fluid motion and bounds across the room and up the stairs. She’s gone for a few moments, and you picture her standing with her eyes closed acting like a human thermometer.

She stomps down the creaky old steps, “It’s way cooler but not cold so I’m gonna sleep up there.” She starts to gather her sleeping bag, pillow, and her clothes.

Your stomach lurches. Alone with Joel overnight? That’s… that’s never happened.

“Do you want company, Ellie?” You ask, trying to take the coward’s way out.

“Uhh. Do you mind staying down here?” Ellie asks with a grimace. A teenager has to take every opportunity to be independent.

“Course not. Just making sure you’re okay,” you reassure her, though you’re the one who’s not okay.

“Goodnight, then. Love you,” Ellie balances her stuff as she makes her way up the stairs. “‘Night, Joel!” Then the squeak, bam! of the trapdoor hinging shut.

“‘Night, Ellie,” comes his reply.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Let’s get this over with,” you sigh pessimistically.

“Wish I hadn’t kissed you,” Joel blurts out before you finish speaking. It was obvious he hadn’t planned this any more than you had.

Subconsciously, you put a hand over your chest at the stabbing pain of his words. Though you suspected it, it was hard to hear it from those same lips.

Joel looks into the shadowy corner of the cabin. “Everything used to make you happy. Sunsets, mountains, clouds - hell, even I managed to make you laugh once or twice. But you've been so… so angry ever since - since I kissed you.”

Okay, so I didn't start the kiss. One less thing to feel guilty for.

“I wasn’t sure who moved first. Then you said it was ‘bad.’” Your voice curdles to a whisper in embarrassment.

Joel’s head jerks to you. The firelight glows on the right side of his tanned face, highlighting his patchy beard. “You thought I meant your kissin’ skill?”

You don’t reply, a lump in your throat at the memory of all you felt that day and the sting of his rejection.

What scared you most that day was not what nearly happened to you, but what had happened to him. In a way, you understood him much better now. Letting people in only got people hurt. That’s fine and dandy when you were the one getting hurt, but not when Joel had been near death because of your affection for him.

“No, you meant getting close to me.” You can’t make eye contact with him, but his hand twitches closer to yours.

“No, I didn’t,” his voice is so rough it could catch on silk. "You an' Ellie are all I got. What I meant was that I shouldn’t have finally let you know that next to three dead bodies after you’d been -” he stops himself, looking away.

Those two sentences in his gruff, passionate voice pick up the pieces of your heart.

It's your turn. “I haven’t been mad, I’ve been hurt. Confused. Taking a page out of your book and building a wall to protect myself.”

Joel frowns, “From me?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. I told you I’m not a good man. Tommy and I did bad shit to survive. But... I was worse.”

“Stop fucking comparing yourself to him,” you beg. “I don’t want your brother.”

“An’ you want me?” Joel chuckles darkly. “Old enough to be your dad.”

“You said you didn’t view me like a kid.”

“No,” his brown eyes find yours, giving you the same look he gave you out on the road and before he kissed you that horrible day. “No, when I think about you, it ain’t -” he hesitates. “It's what any man would think.”

You slide closer to him, your hip bumping the rock hearth, and murmur, “I don’t want any man, either.”

Delicately, you rest a hand on his jean-covered knee. Your mind had changed. If he would keep opening himself up to you over time like this, he was worth the risk. Worth the heartache.

He's warm even through the tough material. A summer's day at the lake, and you desperately want to go swimming. Joel's large, deep eyes memorize your face, and the fire blazing beside you pales in comparison.

“I can't. What if I fail you again?” His mind jumps to how close you were to being hurt. The fear shocking his body. The sound of your cry. “I don’t know how to be close to anyone anymore. And I’m-” his voice strains, but he raises his hand to touch your face.

You close your eyes, inadvertently parting your lips as well. His thumb trails and pulls on your bottom lip.

“I’ve killed innocent people,” he confesses, staring at your inviting mouth. "I’m not who I should be."

His eyes snap back to yours as you open them, “I… had a daughter.”

Joel’s eyes are watery, but he refuses to blink and let them spill. It’s Joel’s hardest confession and he does it purposefully while his brain is distracted. He needed you to know why he wasn’t right for you. Why he was stopping this.

“So have I. And…” You pour your heart into your words, “I’m so, so sorry, Joel. Nothing I can say will ease that pain. I- I can't even imagine it." You picture Ellie. You squeeze his knee where your hand still lay, "But I’ll help you carry it all, if you’ll let me."

“Goddamn it,” he growls. “You’re not lettin’ me have any room, are you? Always have to fuckin’ argue.”

His calloused hands seize your face, crushing his lips to yours. You mewl in surprise and the hand on his leg flies to his cheek. He holds you together though you feel like falling apart. The kiss was never chaste, but then his tongue demands its way into your mouth and you reward him with a submissive moan.

Joel feels his entire body ignite. His lips drag you to a state of arousal you'd only experienced in your dreams of him. His hands clutch the sides of your face, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he licks into you. Joel's heat soaks into you, pooling below your stomach.

Not close enough for you, you throw your leg over him, straddling him.

He groans deliciously as you settle on his lap. He runs his hands up and down your back, your sides, wanting to map your body.

You grip his hair, as soft as you always knew it would be, and refuse to let the man breathe. Your kiss is as incendiary as his, and both of you gasp around the other’s lips. You rock against him, feeling the hardness in his jeans.

“Fuck,” his voice breaks along with any restraint he still had.

“Please,” you cry, plain need dripping from your voice.

“Whatever y’want, baby,” he drunkenly promises into your skin, placing openmouthed kisses down your throat. “This gotta go, though,” he grumbles. He slides both hands up your shirt, removing it with a flourish.

His undeniable desire for you goes straight to your soul: a desperate ache for him. He works your bra off and replaces it with his hardworking hands. You throw your head back in relief, but it’s still not enough.

"Yes," you spur him on.

Returning to his perfect, indecently pouty mouth, your hands fumble with his belt. The clink of the belt buckle hitting the stone hearth underneath him is the most erotic sound you've yet heard. Without leaving your lips, Joel hooks your ankles around his waist and lowers you to his sleeping bag.

He trails down your jaw. You hurriedly unbutton his flannel, wanting to feel his skin flush with yours. He lets you slide your jeans off, in fear you might remember the last time a man tried to remove them.

But once they're gone, his hands skate along your hips and hook in your underwear. In a jumble of arms and material, Joel soon covers your nakedness with his own; his hard length throbbing against your hip.

“I can feel your heat, already,” he chokes, his voice gravelly. “Now, you gonna be quiet, or do I gotta cover this mouth of yours?” Joel’s thumb ghosts over your lips.

“I’ll be quiet, Joel. Promise,” you widen your eyes in earnest.

Joel groans, "Shit, woman." He ruts against you.

You lean to kiss his neck and jawline while your hands slide down in excitement to cup him, stroke him. You make a small, satisfied noise at the feel of him in your hands. He moans above you, dropping his head onto your shoulder, and you smirk.

“Are you gonna be quiet?”

He grasps your wrist and pulls it away. “You keep doin’ that and this’ll be a short ride.”

Joel ruts against you again, this time across a spot he hadn’t before - and you jolt with the sensation. He does it again, mesmerized by the way you move. He lines up and teases you, the mere contact sending your eyes rolling. You dig your nails into his biceps.

“Joel, before- I just want t-”

He stops you with a wet, filthy kiss. The throbbing between your legs has you rubbing against him for release. He erases your thoughts. Joel tilts his forehead to yours.

“I know y’do.”

As much as he fought it, worried about it, somewhere deep inside he knows exactly how you feel. He also knows he feels the same.

Written across my fuckin’ forehead, isn’t it?

But, unlike him, you'd never taken a break from loving things. You hadn't spent years denying that you were even capable of it anymore. He could not say it. But he could show it.

Your anxiousness melts away when Joel pushes into you slowly, savoring your expression. Total arousal and concentration has his mouth gaping. You nip at his bottom lip and he chases your mouth.

He can’t believe he’s doing this. For such a short amount of foreplay, you’re gushing for him. He almost gave this up over fear of letting you in? This with a woman who loves him? God, he is a coward.

“Don’t deserve this,” it’s a throaty moan as the patch of hair between his hips scratches yours. He looks down at the place he’s joined with you.

What a fuckin’ sight, Joel feels the spark at the base of his spine and almost comes right there.

“Oh, fuck,” you thread your fingers back through Joel’s hair.

Your breasts press into his hard chest as you arch to accommodate him. It doesn’t even hurt, you’ve been so thoroughly turned on by him. You just need Joel as deep as he can be in you, in all possible ways.

He drags himself out, then slowly eases back in. You whimper with the deviance of a man being inside you. Not just any man, either, as you’d told him moments ago. But Joel. Beautiful, emotionally fragile, powerful Joel who felt loyalty toward you, who protected you, who cared for you.

He drops his mouth to bruise yours, overwhelmed by your reaction to him. His pace picks up until his fingers dig into your waist as you cling to him. You try to keep the need to be silent forefront, but it was so difficult with Joel possessing you, forcing noises to exist. He clasps a large hand over your mouth.

He closes in over you, muttering, “How bad I wanna hear those noises. Wish I could hear how much you like it.” His hand slides up over your breast, manhandling slightly.

“I thought about your hands,” you adjust his fingers to admit in a whisper. "Thought about them all over me."

“Hm, did you?” His voice is thick with lust.

Before you can answer, he wraps his hand around your throat, and, watching your eyes, squeezes the sides carefully. Only enough to remind you how strong he is, what you do to him, and how utterly safe you are with him. He kisses you again, hard, and it's full of those promises.

It’s then that the tense pleasure building in your core snaps into an electric fire in your muscles. Writhing underneath him, he feels it, too.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he slows his thrusts while your body squeezes him.

“Oh, my god, Joel,” you cry as quietly as you can. You’ll never get off him after this.

It's the first time you've sung his name, and Joel knows he is well and truly fucked. He releases his grip. You grasp his hand and kiss his knuckles slowly.

He arches your hips and shoves his balled-up jacket underneath you. Joel places his hand over your mouth and thrusts into you with barely-controlled force, grunting with primal intent.

Your cry is muffled and distorted as he pushes inside you over and over. He rubs against a spot that makes you arch into him and decides that's his favorite. His thumb rolls over your sensitive mound and, combined with his filthy words, you feel him building another wave of euphoria.

All you know is his name, repeated over and over in your mind to remind you that Joel is the one making you feel this good. That knowledge alone shoves you back to the edge.

His lips are at your ear, and his accent is the strongest you’ve ever heard it, “Knew you’d feel like this. Always throwin’ yourself at me. Darin’ me to fuck you. Wantin' me to do it,” he can’t help himself: he tenderly bites and sucks at your neck just below your ear.

“Look so fuckin’ good underneath me,” he praises, his cadence clipped with exertion.

But Joel is tireless in his pursuit. Determined to show you how you make him feel. Determined to take what was already his. Hellbent on fucking you until it hurt to walk tomorrow. Shit, maybe he’d carry you. He felt free, wild.

It’s the way he consumes your body with his hands, his lips, his tongue as he fucks you that has your mind reeling into another realm, or falls off a cliff, or wherever it is he sends you. Your body is as taut as a bowstring before it snaps the second time. The pleasure of Joel playing your body like a guitar fills your bones, your veins.

“Y’still with me?” Joel presses a kiss to your lips. You feel yourself clench a final time around nothing. He sits back.

Absently, you run a hand along your stomach and feel a substance. You raise your eyes to his, and he grins sheepishly. It’s such an intimate smile, it hurts. He takes a shirt and wipes your skin.

“Sorry 'bout the mess. Wanted to pull out in time to come on the shirt or somethin’ but…”

He takes your hand, helping you sit up, and kisses your chin, cradling your face. You kiss him with fervor, and he breaks it to finish, “But you’re too damn much.”

“I’m never just right, am I?” You joke. You count on your fingers: “Too happy, too talkative, too argumentative, and now just too much.”

He grabs and kisses your fingers, saying huskily, “’s the way you should be."

"Put your clothes on," you laugh and follow your own advice.

"Yes, ma'am," he picks up his jeans and pulls them on without buttoning them, and you think about ripping them off and going for round two. You can see the brunette curls poking out invitingly.

He puts his undershirt on, then drags your sleeping bag to his. He unzips both bags to lay flat. A bed and a blanket.

"C'mere," he relaxes on the makeshift bed, holding an arm out to you.

After everything, this was what was going to make you cry? The sight of him, hair a mess, glowing in the firelight, enveloping you into his arms?

All those years staring at sunsets. Wish I could've been staring at this.

Tears prick your eyes as you kneel with him. He tucks you under his waiting arm and lies down, fitting you against him. His breath plays with your hair, and his hand trails up and down your arm soothingly.

"I thought this would never happen," you sigh.

There’s a moment of thought before Joel says, "Ah, shit. You were seventeen when-"

"Yep."

"Oh," he realizes you're a virgin. Or had been up until twenty minutes ago. He feels uncertain. "You okay?"

You laugh, "Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?"

"Wasn't really romantic."

"You and a fireplace? That's way more romantic than I would've asked for. I'd have been happy with you and a backseat or you and a tree."

You feel Joel's chuckle roll through his chest. He viciously revels in your words. All you wanted was him.

"That wasn't what I meant, though. I meant that I thought you'd never - that you didn't feel anything like I did."

"Mm," he tenses. "Course I do."

Communication was not his strong suit, and in this moment, he does not want to fuck anything up.

"Better for me to show you."

"And I prefer that any time," you praise him.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Fucking finally, holy shit."

Ellie stands above with folded arms and the smuggest smile you've ever seen.

"You guys must've been freezing down here because somehow you ended up all cuddled together and I know for sure you'd never do that willingly because you guys hate each other," she sarcastically monologs.

Your face feels like you held it above the now-dead fire.

Joel hasn't moved. Maybe he was pretending she couldn't see him.

In the night, the two of you must've rolled over, because you're curled around his back, arm slung over his side. Your nose had buried itself into the waves at the nape of his neck.

"Ellie?" You cover your eyes. "Shut the fuck up."

She just laughs.

"Now does this mean there will be more or less bickering? Because sometimes it's entertaining but sometimes, fucking hell, you guys really go at it."

Joel finally stirs, heaving a massive sigh. "You ain't gonna leave us alone, are you?"

Ellie wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Should I?"

Joel shoots her a glare.

Ellie makes eyes at you and you know she wants to barrage you with questions. You suppose it'll come sooner or later, and it's better if Joel's not there.

"Joel," you start, not sure what to suggest, but then he sits up.

"I'm headin' outside."

The door closes as he tugs his jacket on, and Ellie looks at you with poorly-contained excitement.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Shhh! Shit, Ellie, it's not a big deal." You haven't decided how much you're telling her.

Her glare could kill a horse. "Not a big deal? It's Joel. Mr. Antisocial. And you've been pining after him this whole damn time."

You shush her again, "He's going to fucking hear you."

"You think he doesn't know?" She asks incredulously; your affection for him was so obvious that she thought even Joel couldn’t have missed it.

You exhale sharply, "No, he definitely knows that now. I mean he doesn't know how long. It's embarrassing."

"So, he… knows now?"

Shit.

You physically deflate. You'll have to tell her. She'll wheedle or smart it out of you eventually.

"We… worked it out."

Ellie starts laughing.

"You FUCKED HIM." She laughs harder at the new territory. It was funny, and kind of bizarre to have a man come into the picture after all of these years and change everything.

You can’t help but laugh resignedly, "Don't be so crass. You don’t need the details.”

“I don't want the damn details.” She looks nauseated at the thought. “I can’t believe I leave you alone for one night and you pounce on the poor man.”

“I didn’t pounce on him,” you retort, even though you literally did. “We talked about some shit that went down in the woods last week and… and some other things. It was a mature conversation. I hope the bickering will be much less.” Then you add, “But I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Just don’t forget I exist.” Ellie semi-jokingly requests.

“Ellie,” you stand and hug her tight. “Don’t even say that. It’d never happen.”

“I know. I guess if anyone had to be as wonderful as me, I’m glad it’s Joel.”

“It’s not a competition. I’m also happy to know you're not mad,” you chuckle.

"Mad? It's like I got a brother. A… much older brother." She makes a face at you. "More like a dad."

"You never heard of DILFs?"

"You're gross."

Continue ->

#my fics #the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal #smut #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou

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thebayclans · 11 months

Text

Origins of the Bay Clans: Arrival (Part 1)

When cats arrived—former housecats, ship mousers, strays seeking refuge and adventure—they knew nothing of their destination. They slipped silently aboard human vessels, their hearts drawn by curiosity, bravery, impulsivity, content to let the direction of their lives be led by wind and sea. Stone sought to leave a life behind.

After many moons on stormy seas, feeding off scraps and scuttling ship rats, the feline sailors began to question if they’d ever see land again. Just as the doubt grew unbearable, the cats found their wave-tossed vessels surrounded by snow-peaked mountains, a fortress encircling the bay. Their new home.

In a strange, harsh place, a land of extremes. Bountiful summers where fish broke the riverbanks under an unsetting sun, and dark, silent winters where death hung in the air like a heavy fog.

Beasts ruled the land, creatures so massive they towered toward the sky like the mountains that surrounded them.

These cats looked upon gods,

And saw themselves reflected back.

When Stone saw The Lynx, silhouetted against a sky lit with cosmic flame, she knew that these creatures held more power then they could imagine. Cats were naught but ants under giant paws, subjected to the whims of these unearthly beings, time and space dangling from their clawtips. They were to be respected, feared, and revered.

Stone gazed around her small, ramshackle crew, their eyes stretched wide with frigid fear. They could not return to their former lives, but trembled at the thought of a future here, amongst the vastness and cruelty of the wilderness.

“We will survive here. We will not fall to these beasts or to the nature they command.

We will follow these gods, and carve out a space to live beside them, learning their skills and deferring to their judgement. We will craft a community for ourselves to stand within, protected yet interwoven with the world which wishes to harm us.”

Her eyes bore into her comrades, blazing with determination. Her voice carried through the den, spoken with utter clarity, certainty.

“We must live, for what other choice is there?”

And a community they became. A family, a Clan, named by wildcats who hailed from distant highlands, a green, rocky place that seemed like a lifetime ago. Led by the intrepid Stone, the community stuck close to the human harbor and settlements, clinging to any sense of the familiar.

But something was stirring within Stone, an intuition that drew her deeper and deeper past the treeline, the memory of the Lynx still clear in her mind.

Until one day, pressed into mud fresh from the day’s rainfall, she found a set of tracks.

And set out to follow them.

#u can kinda tell which pictures i rushed but i wanted to finally finish this lol #lore #stonestar #stone #my art #stoneclan

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flanaganfilm · 11 months

Note

Hey Mike! First off, it makes me so happy to see you out there fighting with your writer friends to ensure they receive a decent living wage for the amazing work that they do.

As for my question, I would love to hear about some of the inspiration for making Before I Wake. It and Absentia were the last two of your films that I watched, and BIW just absolutely destroyed me. No other movie, including and especially a horror flick, has ever made me bawl like a baby like that. The entire tone of the film is so spot-on, and the climax of the nightmare monster “dissolving” from its evil form after being embraced…. To me that scene just perfectly encapsulates what it’s like to be a parent, and human; sometimes we just need someone to hold us and let us know things will be all right. We spend so much of our time making sure that our children feel loved and cared for, that sometimes we forget about ourselves. And you just fucking nailed it, my dude.

Like I said, I would LOVE to read any backstory or inspiration that you have for this film! It’s so beautiful and underrated.

On the WGA front, don't be too impressed with me - I mean, I'm a professional writer, I've been a member of the WGA since Absentia, so I'm out there fighting for myself as much as everyone else.

But on the Before I Wake front, you know I very rarely get asked to talk about this one, so I'm happy to... fair warning for another long post!

Before I Wake was originally titled Somnia, which is latin for "dreams." It was part of an unofficial trilogy of sorts, comprised of Absentia, Oculus and Somnia. All three of those movies were meant to work together as a thematic triptych.

Ultimately, Before I Wake was brutally sabotaged by its own studio, who drastically undermined it creatively and then destroyed any hope of a meaningful release. It remains a particularly heartbreaking chapter of my career... but a film I have and will always have tremendous affection for.

A lot of people think that Somnia was made after Hush and Ouija: Origin of Evil, just before Gerald's Game, but this is entirely incorrect. It was actually the second "real" movie I ever made, and was actually shot before Oculus was even released.

The basic premise of Somnia focused around a little boy whose dreams manifested physically in the world around him, and was an original concept I carried around for a few years before Oculus got picked up by Intrepid Pictures. In fact, I've talked about my first meeting at Intrepid, where I pitched a few ideas that were rejected... Somnia was the first one I pitched. Trevor Macy opted to pursue Oculus that day, but he ended up producing Somnia right after.

This unofficial "latin trilogy" seemed to fit together well. Absentia was a somber and bleak look at the loss of hope, Oculus was more thrilling dive into the labyrinth of past trauma, and Somnia was meant to take that loss and trauma and end the triptych on a note of hope and healing.

In fact, the script for Somnia was written before Oculus was greenlit. On the page, it was my favorite of the three. I was very taken with the story of little Cody and his personal boogeyman, and of the revelation at the end of the story... that with understanding, even the most monstrous of our fears can lose their destructive power.

Cody's birth mother had died of cancer, and he had seen her just before her death. That final image of her, as well as a misunderstanding about the pronunciation of the word "cancer" had led to the creation of a monster in his mind, who he called the "Canker Man"... a gaunt figure who took away people that he loved. When he finally learns the truth about his monster, and about his mother, he begins to understand it all... and the monster loses its awful powers as empathy and understanding take root.

While Absentia finished its festival rounds and Oculus inched its way toward production, Somnia was my first script taken out to market by my new agency. I had signed with APA just as Intrepid engaged me on Oculus, which was my first studio writing and directing job. Jeff Howard and I finished our first draft of Oculus and turned it in to Intrepid, and immediately turned around and started writing Somnia.

The script got some interesting attention. While some of the more mainstream horror companies balked at the emotional ending and preferred a story that was "more about a boy and his monster" than the emotional wrap-up we insisted on, others understood it right away.

Elijah Wood and his producing partner Daniel Noah sought me out when they read the script. We met for drinks in Venice and I was absolutely starstruck, and we've remained friends ever since.

Jada Pinkett Smith was another big fan of the script, which led to a surreal afternoon at her stunning home where we talked about the story at length and watched an early cut of Oculus in her home theater. Will Smith joined us toward the end of the meeting, and I had a difficult time speaking.

I've written before about the drama surrounding Oculus' premiere and eventual sale to Relativity Media, so I won't rehash that now, but as Oculus raced toward release, Trevor Macy at Intrepid made an offer to produce Somnia for Relativity and I eagerly accepted. My first "real" movie was going to be released wide in theaters, and the same studio was going to double-down on me - Somnia was greenlit by Relativity for a big domestic theatrical release. We'd pre-sell our foreign territories on this promise, and they eagerly snatched the movie up. This was my own Hollywood dream, coming to life.

It wouldn't work out that way. In fact, Somnia would turn out to be the first nightmare of my career.

It started well enough. We had filmed Oculus in Daphne, Alabama, taking advantage of an aggressive tax rebate. We would do the same with Somnia, bringing back a lot of my Oculus crew and shooting in and around Fairhope. We began shooting in the fall of 2013, less than a year after we'd wrapped Oculus.

We hit the ground running. Very little time had passed since we wrapped Oculus, and the movie hadn't come out yet, so at first it felt a lot like we were just picking up where we left off.

Bruce Larsen, who also carved the Oculus mirror, working on a prototype of the Canker Man.

We had casting challenges. I was still a relatively unproven director, my first studio film hadn't been released, and this was an ambitious script. After a lengthy search (driven by foreign pre-sales, a process I knew nothing about and now quite detest), Kate Bosworth signed on to play Jessie, and Thomas Jane - who I admired greatly from his recent work in The Mist - joined the production as Mark. (Funny story - Tom arrived with hair down his shoulders, and vehemently didn't want to cut it. That disagreement put us off on an awkward foot, and I ultimately conceded the point to him... though I do regret that now.)

The major discovery was 7 year-old Jacob Tremblay as Cody. Jake had only made one movie before this, he had a small role in The Smurfs 2. His self-tape audition came out of nowhere and we knew was a a phenomenal talent. Right after we wrapped, I got a call that he was being considered for a movie called Room, and we shared some footage to help him get the part (that movie would establish him as one of the biggest and most sought after child actors in the world... but we had him first.)

We were committed to practical effects wherever possible, and creating a striking suit for our monster. It all felt like it was going to work. But the shoot would prove to be much more challenging than we anticipated.

The shoot itself was challenging for the typical reasons. There was a little creative tension on set with particular actors, we didn't have enough money to pull off our more ambitious visual moments, and we were forced to remove several production days at the last minute, throwing our schedule into a bit of chaos.

But none of these issues were particularly unusual for a lower budget film, and while it was more challenging and frustrating than Oculus had been, overall the shoot was just fine. I felt that our third act was pretty drastically under budgeted, and what was scripted to be a deep dive into a child's imagination was stripped down to a few vines on the walls and some moths... but other than that, I don't really have much to complain about.

(Fun fact: it was also the first time I would work with Annabeth Gish. We were fast friends, and though she was only with us for a few days, I knew we'd end up working together again.)

We wrapped the movie, I got to editing, and all seemed fine. It was a unique story, much less horror-centric and much more of a fairy-tale. This was, of course, by design. There was a delicate vibe to the whole thing, anchored on Jacob's arresting performance, and a shadowy magic. It felt innocent, wondrous, and ultimately cathartic.

Then, Relativity got their first look at the cut, and the problems started in earnest.

We had been clear (and aligned, I'd thought) about what kind of movie this was. But almost immediately, despite these conversations, the studio began to push the film more and more toward being a traditional horror movie.

We had designed a practical monster in the Canker Man. Our creature was tactile, practical, and - we believed - appropriately simple. After all, it was meant to have come from the mind of a child.

The studio kicked hard, and the directive came down to try to make the monster "much scarier."

There wasn't a lot we could do; we'd shot what we'd shot, after all. The decision was made to take our footage of our practical monster and drastically alter it using visual effects.

The Canker Man would be digitally warped and molded into a skeletal, grinning creature. The visual effects artists would be using footage that wasn't captured with the intention of being altered that way, so a lot of the artifice would be obvious. He'd become a little rough around the edges. We told ourselves that this would be okay... it was a dream, after all.

Early camera tests of our practical Canker Man suit

The final VFX-enhanced monster This began to nudge our monster away from our core concept. While our practical suit would always need some help from VFX, this was now tilting into an area that strayed from the true identity of the creature.

Another major sticking point was the plot itself.

In the movie, Cody's adopted mother Jessie is shocked to find a physical manifestation of her deceased son, Sean, after Cody sees his picture. She then goes about trying to "rebuild" her dead son in the imagination of her new foster child, hoping to see and interact with him more... "I just want to hear his voice."

This morally questionable exploitation of Cody was, to put it mildly, the entire point of the story. Jessie goes too far, and when she finally resorts to drugging Cody to force him to sleep in the hopes of seeing her lost son, he is unable to wake up from a nightmare and her husband is killed.

Jessie spends the rest of the film clawing her way back to redemption, and having to atone for what she's done, all while finally focusing on Cody's past and healing instead of her own.

As a character, Jessie does things we do not agree with, and they have serious, permanent consequences. And the moral murkiness of this was, frankly, the point.

The studio was flinching hard. "It makes her unlikeable," they argued. There was a push to try to back off of this, and to pull the punch... sure, she could exploit him somewhat, but they wanted to pull it back. Kate Bosworth's performance began to be altered in the cutting room, flinching away from some of the more decisive choices in favor of a more watered-down, morally generic heroine.

This middle ground would prove to be ill-advised.

As we were battling over the edit, something else happened. Oculus was released in theaters in April 2014.

If the movie was a huge hit, it would mean I would likely win more of these arguments, and Somnia would be restored to something closer to my vision. If the movie bombed, the studio could (and likely would) run ramshot over Somnia, twisting it into a more generic studio horror story and jettisoning things they didn't quite understand.

Ultimately, the movie performed... moderately. It was kind of right in the middle. It wasn't a failure, but it wasn't a hit either. Both sides dug in. And suddenly, Somnia was being twisted into something between two tones.

Citing the "disappointing" performance of Oculus (which, frankly, did just fine), the studio insisted that we write and shoot some additional "scares". Among them was one of the worst studio notes I'd ever receive (well, at least until I started working for Netflix.)

The entire premise of the film was that, when Cody slept, his dreams would manifest physically. When he woke up, they would vanish. This was, to put it bluntly, our only rule.

The note came in: "We need a scare set piece to occur when he is awake."

Now, I can't understate how nonsensical this is. It defied the entire premise of the movie. Their rationale (such as it was) was that the audience wouldn't ever be frightened when Cody was awake, because they knew the monsters only came when he was asleep.

"Well yeah," I said. "That's why it's important that the movie isn't just about scares."

But they were insistent. If a monster showed up while Cody was awake, that would be "truly thrilling" and "catch the audience off-guard."

It was the equivalent of saying "the shark in Jaws only attacks people if they're in the water. We need an attack to occur on land." I mean, that would really catch the audience off-guard.

I had no idea how to address this note.

It was early in my career, I didn't have a theatrical hit under my belt, and I didn't have the ammunition to fight it. So I had to address it somehow, and it had to satisfy the studio, or else we may not get our theatrical release after all.

So I ended up writing a scene where Cody is wide awake, only to be attacked in his bed by the specter of a deceased bully (a previous victim of one of his dreams).

How the fuck were we going to make this make any sense? Well, we had to write a whole other scene - much earlier in the film - where a therapist explains the concept of "waking dreams." Jay Karnes (who was a lovely person and one hell of a good sport) had to randomly say "you know, some people can dream while they're awake" to Bosworth, desperately trying to set up this moment.

It doesn't quite work, to say the least. Cody looks under his bed, sits up, and is attacked by this eye-less specter. Then, he's dragged screaming under his bed, until the attack just... stops, for some reason.

We filmed it, and I thought it was the stupidest thing I'd ever shot (it wasn't, though - the stupidest thing I've ever shot remains the on-screen stalking and murder of a cat in the pilot of Midnight Mass, a truly braindead scene that Netflix insisted on adding.)

Along with this scene, which would become the crux of Relativity's trailer, we shot several other random scares that were peppered throughout the movie. Now, this wasn't enough to tip the film entirely into being a horror film... just enough to make it exist awkwardly in between two genres.

It got worse. The addition of all this new "horror" material made the film longer (go figure), so the directive came down to begin removing other elements to make room. Those elements were character development and context.

The cut began to get bumpy. The fairy-tale tone of most of our original footage was at odds with the overt horror tone the studio was insisting upon. Every time we tested one of these cuts, the audience was understandably confused... they really loved the concept, they really loved Jacob, and they all loved the ending revelation - but along the way, what was this movie? Was it a horror film? Was it a drama? A fantasy?

Even with this, our test screenings were actually pretty good. We were testing in the high sixties and seventies - which is, infuriatingly, right in that middle zone: not good enough to kill the studio interference, but not bad enough to let them take over.

So we kept fighting. And we kept cutting. And we kept testing. And with each screening, the studio forced it further and further into this no-man's land.

There were a few victories, though. Danny Elfman came on board to collaborate with the Newton Brothers on our score. Some of our non-horror sequences, like a scene involving Christmas-light butterflies, were being called out by our test audiences in the best ways. But the tug-of-war over the basic identity of the film was tipping decidedly toward the more horror-centric approach.

Finally, the studio came after the title. Somnia was too confusing, they said. Nobody knew what it meant. So, we added a scene where Jay Karnes - once again having to naturally sell force-fed exposition - literally defines the world "somnia" during a therapy scene (these therapy scenes were basically being used to spoon-feed material to the audience.)

That wasn't enough, though. The studio began workshopping other titles, and they landed on perhaps my most hated of all of the options: the ultra-generic Before I Wake, a title already used by a handful of low-budget thrillers over decades. We conceded after it was made clear that it wasn't really up to me in this case, and we limped into what I consider to be the worst title of my career.

With our new uneven tone, a new and "improved" monster, and a groan inducing title, they finally agreed to stop messing with the movie and honor their commitment to releasing it wide.

You tell yourself a lot of things in this business, and I told myself that the heart of the story - the revelation about where the concept of the Canker Man came from - was still intact, so all would be well. Viewers would be able to look past some of the bumps because the payoff was worth it.

But we didn't know what else was happening at Relativity.

They announced the release date for the film, posters started showing up in theaters, and we were anxiously awaiting our big wide theatrical release... when suddenly everything stopped.

We didn't know it yet, but Relativity Media was having huge financial problems. They were on the verge of bankruptcy, as a matter of fact, and though they weren't admitting it yet, internally they were in a state of absolute chaos.

Without warning or explanation, the studio moved us off our date. The movie wouldn't be released after all. We immediately knew something was very wrong, despite Ryan Kavanaugh's insistence that our date was "just a bad date," and that he'd moved the movie in order to make it "an even bigger success." No, this whole thing stunk. It stunk bad.

They set another date, and we watched and waited. But no trailers. No marketing. And then... that date was pushed as well. Again, they insisted everything was fine. But we knew. Something was deeply wrong with the company, and they were lying to us.

Some of this played out publicly. Kavanaugh and I got into a spat on Twitter when I suggested that the studio wasn't able to release the movie theatrically after all (I still don't regret saying this, and man oh man, was I proven right).

Meanwhile, our international distributors were scrambling. We'd sold a lot of international territories off the promise of our big theatrical release in North America, and they weren't going to wait forever. By the third time Relativity pushed our release date, the whole house of cards fell down, and various international territories started releasing the film haphazardly on whatever platforms they could.

There was no coordinated release strategy. Suddenly, the film was just available in Argentina, for example. Or it was On Demand in Russia. I remember being shocked when a German Blu-ray appeared on eBay without warning.

There was no rollout to critics, no coordination at all. Within a few weeks, it was pirated and available on torrent sites everywhere. And without a proper press rollout, the only reviews available were trickling in from these international markets, or random blogs in other countries. A slew of reviews - many of which were from obscure blogs in Russia and Turkey, not even written in English - hit Rotten Tomatoes. With no counterpoint from any credible critics, we debuted with a 30% rotten rating.

It would stay this way for years.

Relativity finally admitted the truth, declared bankruptcy, and went to court. Our movie was dragged down into the vortex with it. Our abysmal tomatometer score suggested that the movie wasn't released because it was bad, not because the studio had gone bankrupt. This assumption stuck to us like glue as the film languished in bankruptcy court.

Heartbroken, we turned our attention elsewhere. I would write and direct both Hush and Ouija: Origin of Evil before the whole distribution saga of Before I Wake was finally resolved.

In the years that followed, very little would be said about Before I Wake, and whatever was said was absolutely not positive... how bad must this movie be, after all, to be so unceremoniously pulled from the release? Some theaters just left the poster up, still saying "Coming Soon." I know of one theater in LA that had it up for over a year.

By the time Relativity finally settled their mess, and the film was unceremoniously given back to us with the most lackluster apology imaginable, and our chances of a domestic theatrical distribution were entirely obliterated. The film was already available online through piracy and a tiny handful of foreign blogs had defined our critical reception. No other studio would touch it.

We were able to arrange one screening of the film once it was unencumbered... we had a single showing at Fantastia in Montreal, a festival I adore. Instead of a huge worldwide theatrical release, the movie would play exactly one time, to one audience.

It was sold out, it played wonderfully, and it remains one of my favorite screenings of my career.

With Mitch Davis, Fantasia's artistic director, Kate Bosworth, and my wife Kate Siegel.

In the years that had passed since we shot Before I Wake, Kate Siegel and I had gotten married. At the premiere, and in the picture above, Kate was pregnant with our son.

We named him Cody, after the little boy in Somnia... the little boy whose dreams came true.

In 2016, Netflix acquired the North American rights to Before I Wake, and quietly dumped it on the service. There was no premiere, no rollout, no screeners sent to critics. One day it just appeared on the service without fanfare, as Netflix does to so many titles.

It didn't even appear on the New Releases tab.

A few critics found the movie on their own, and slowly some new reviews started to trickle out. Bloody Disgusting led the charge, discussing how the film had been wrongfully maligned over the years, and correcting identified it as a "haunted fairy tale" that was being handicapped by the expectations that it was a horror film.

Our tomatometer began to slowly rise. After some time, it tipped out of "rotten" into "fresh"... and today stands comfortably at 66%. Those early, malicious reviews are still there, the movie is still scarred by them... but despite Relativity (and eventually Netflix's) efforts to rebrand the movie as a straight horror film, most critics were able to see it for what it truly was.

Our audience was as well, for the most part. Some viewers yawning their way through the Netflix original horror feature section would find it, and get something maybe just a little more thoughtful than they were expecting. A few people reached out to me to talk about losing their own loved ones to cancer, or about how the sweeter elements of the story impacted them. I've always been grateful for that.

But ultimately, the movie was just brutalized by its studio. I've never again had so much damage inflicted on a project by a creative partner and supposed collaborator. And while Netflix did the bare minimum when it came to releasing the movie, I am still very grateful that that they even did that much... if it wasn't for Netflix picking it up, I think there's every chance Before I Wake would have never been made available at all.

I'm proud of the movie. It's not perfect, by any means - it was an ambitious sophomore effort and I had a lot to learn about a lot of things - but it has some beautiful ideas and some moments that really work. I see its flaws clearly, too, and while I tell myself some were out of my control (like the awkward scares forced on us by Relativity), others were most certainly entirely on me. Not everything works, and that's okay.

But man, Jacob Tremblay is phenomenal in this movie. And I absolutely adore the final ten minutes.

My son Cody is almost 7 now, exactly as old as Jacob was when he was cast to play his namesake. I hope Cody's dreams come true; that's why we named him what we named him.

Sometimes, our dreams don't come true quite how we might expect.

Hollywood is just kinda like that, I guess.

#before i wake #behind the scenes

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scoobydoodean · 3 months

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Hey there, I have SPN Thought Worms i thought you might appreciate: You know how there’s debate wether (in the biblical story) Abraham “failed” God’s test, if it was a blind loyalty test or to see if he’d put his moral and love over unquestioned orders? In the same vein, do you think Dean truly ‘failed’ Death’s test with the ring and carrying out his duties for the day? Like maybe Death actually wanted Dean to be unable to do it bc it proved he had limits or smth? Or did he just get Sam’s soul back despite the apparent failure because he has a massive soft spot for Dean? (relatable tbh). Hope I made myself clear lol, the concept is jumbled-up in my mind, and have a great day!

This is a really interesting question! I also have a feeling I'll have a lot better of an answer when I get to 6.11 on this rewatch and have the entire season fresh on my mind. That said, Death actually says in the end that the goal was for Dean to learn something.

DEATH Today, you got a hard look behind the curtain. Wrecking the natural order's not quite such fun when you have to mop up the mess, is it? This is hard for you, Dean. You throw away your life because you've come to assume that it'll bounce right back into your lap. But the human soul is not a rubber ball. It's vulnerable, impermanent, but stronger than you know. And more valuable than you can imagine. So... I think you've learned something today. (x)

I'd really like to watch through season 6 again to solidify this one for myself, but I have a feeling that this isn't about teaching Dean a personal moral lesson at all. I don't think Death is at all concerned with the fact that the nurse died because the little girl didn't from a moral perspective—he wouldn't have ever given Dean his ring if he was. That isn't why he said "good" when Dean said he would have acted differently if he could go back. We can guess it also isn't just a simple lesson about "bringing each other back" being bad and "letting go", because that'd be pretty hypocritical given Death is going to help Dean anyway with no one forcing his hand (and he tells us Dean has use). It isn't a moral issue Death's addressing. It's a lesson he's giving on the structure of the universe. It's about balance. As Death says cryptically later in the scene:

I think what Death wanted to get across to Dean is that souls must pass on, and their energy must be allotted to the appropriate areas in time and space. If one person doesn't die, passing their soul on as energy, another person must die so that a certain balance and energy level is maintained in the universe. Death plans to help Dean from the beginning, because "Right now, you're digging at something. The intrepid Detective. I want you to keep digging, Dean."

Death, as a person who can't ultimately involve himself without also disrupting balance, is ultimately hinting at Dean as best he knows how that he wants him to stop Crowley and Cas from sucking a bunch of souls out of Purgatory, creating absolute chaos. But he can't say that, so instead, he gives Dean a lesson. He tells Dean that human souls are extremely valuable, and that they need to go to the places the universe wants them to go and stay there. If they don't—if they are moved on a large scale—something terrible will happen. Death has to expect Dean to extrapolate all of this information, which is not an easy expectation to fulfill.

So I guess to summarize: I don't think Dean failed Death's test, because actually using the ring and experiencing what happened when Dean tried to change things was more of a lesson than a test. The test was how Dean reflected on the lesson after and evaluated his behavior. He passed when he said he'd behave differently if he could go back. Death wanted Dean to understand the idea of balance in the universe depending on where souls go, and how important it is not to disrupt their flow or move them around. Changing things makes bad things happen. When there's just one soul, the impact is small (something Death is willing to let Dean toy with by offering his ring for the day). But what if someone disrupted the flow of many many souls at once?

#mail #6.11 #season 6 #death 1.0

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terrainofheartfelt · 6 months

Text

and now, a playlist:

Mister Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

or,

FirstPrince (Taylor's Version)

shoutout to my beloved cherry @blairwaldcrf my friend in rwrb and my enabler in everything related to the two himbos above.

shoutout to this post specifically for their intrepid scholarship

listen at the unlisted youtube playlist here

Track list and annotations under the cut.

✨tracks✨

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things They broke an $80k wedding cake. and alex is such a brat about it. and holds a grudge like none other

Gorgeous Alex hoarding that magazine cover of Henry. Henry is literally so gorgeous the bisexual jumps out

Teardrops on my Guitar Henry-coded the only one who’s got enough of me to break my heart I MEAN

Untouchable The. YEARNING. I want you but I cannot risk telling you so you please tell me say it first please say it first please. Ever thought about that bros being bros visit from Henry’s perspective? Hmm? I didn’t know you wear glasses

gold rush Long distance bro-ship. Just chattin and textin. Gay crush gay crush gay crush. Watching each other’s public love lives and seething. Almost jump into the fantasy but then letting it fade to gray. or as the british say, grey.

Stay Beautiful The constant texting. Each one finds a way to be the other’s highlight of his day. But we were ever so careful dear. Alex being america’s sweetheart and Henry being totally gone for him

Foolish One Henry kiddoooooo. The prince with the heart on the outside of his chest.

Forever Winter before their relationship is even romantic, they are a safe place for each other. Like christmas. and thanksgiving.

You’re on Your Own, Kid NYE. Henry’s gayass breaking point, searching the party of better bodies and wanting wanting wanting.

Tied Together with a Smile The prince charming act be coming undone!

Message in a Bottle Alex’s bisexual crisis. He knows henry likes him, and it’s kinda frightening, standing here waiting, and that asshole won’t return his calls so he’s gotta trick him into a state dinner at the white house.

Treacherous A state dinner of antici………PATION. And a makeout in the drawing room. As one does.

Electric Touch alex waiting after dinner in his white house bedroom all nervouslike

Snow on the Beach First hookup. Soft disbelief, because you wanting me tonight feels impossible. Snow in DC (a swamp) is as weird as snow on a beach imo.

I Can See You FWB era. If you could only see all the things that happen inside my head. At galas and polo matches and wimbledon and whatnot

Wildest Dreams The henry journey. This will end and it will wreck him but right now it’s beautiful. Also this is the song for hooking up in a stable post polo

Delicate Secret relationship. Boys are bad with feelings. Oh damn never seen that color blue. I pretend you’re mine all the damn time. Waking up with each other in Paris speaking of:

Paris No I didn’t see the news. Too busy getting dicked down by the most eligible bachelor in the Western world. What who said that.

Lavender Haze Don’t read into my melancholia. Let’s just stay in this gay suspended animation. This secret bubble. It’s safe here.

22 They literally spend Alex’s 22nd birthday together you know he was feelin’ 22. Pretty sure the novel says that actually

I Think He Knows It’s fun and flirty and the feelings are creeping in at the edges, but not enough that they have to face them

Jump Then Fall Alex is a smitten kitten

So It Goes… LA gala. All eyes are on them but as separate entities. Magician, illusionist. Trying to play it chill but being utterly incapable.

Starlight dancing in the club in LA. Alex getting carried away by queer joy

Dress Their night together in LA. their secret moments in a crowded they got no idea about me and you. Their hands are shaking from holding back from each other! Say his name and everything just stops! They don’t want each other like best friends! Pez only bought those custom kimonos so they could take em off! Ah ah ah ahhhh! Carve your name into Alex’s bedpost, Henry babe.

Hey Stephen cutesy emailing. Hey henry you blew my mind in LA last week u up? I can’t help it if you look like an angel/achilles/james bond

I’m Only Me when I’m with You Sweet email exchange post LA. I’ll be damned but I miss you

…Ready for It? (BloopPop remix) Henry says In the middle of the night in my dreams you should see the things we do….Let the games begin

Glitch Wimbledon. Fucking love doing things out of spite. I’m not even sorry. Henry will go back eventually to dudes to give him nothing but for now there’s this

Sparks Fly DNC. Henry really dropped everything to come see alex at the convention. The kinda reckless that should send him running, but he kinda knows that he won’t get far. Give him something that’ll haunt him when he’s not around, Alex.

Everything Has Changed Telling madam president mom. Do you feel forever about him? Henry making a point to be there for him is alex’s emotional tipping point.

State of Grace Time between dnc and lakehouse is their state of grace. No leaving, no leaking. It can’t last but its so good. Mosaic broken hearts, but brave and wild and I never saw you coming and I’ll never be the same

cowboy like me Alex texas boy. The reflective nature he turns on henry once he’s fired from the campaign. Thinking about that word forever

Wonderland Never worse but never better. In all their searching of the world they won’t find anything else that feels like what they have. yk?

Cruel Summer summer vacay at the lake house. the darkness approacheth. I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you but here I am sealing my fate over and over again

You Are in Love ‘you’re my best friend.’ and you knew what is was: Alex is so in love he could die

willow Alex at the dock like he is begging for Henry to take his hand and wreck his plans. He’s like that’s my MAN.

illicit affairs it dies a million little times. like by a lake in the moonlight. henry sees the truth when it shows and alex gets angry because you showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else

Bye Bye Baby henry fleeing texas. You took me home but you just couldn’t keep me

Midnight Rain He wanted it comfortable I wanted that pain. I broke his heart ‘cause he was nice

Hits Different when alex thinks about the sham the firm will make henry go through. I pictured you with other girls “in love” then threw up on the street

august refrain of henry. It was never mine. You weren’t mine to lose. This was over before it even began

Breathe Separated. Neither of them doing well.

exile alex obliviousness meets henrys stubbornness. the imagery of nations and homelands

Anti-Hero henry has it’s me high I’m the problem it’s me at tea time everybody agrees disease. no cure but it can be treated

Renegade alex working up a head of steam because he just wants to say get your shit together so I can love you

Maroon your body comes back to me in dreams and I wake with your memory over me that’s a real fucking legacy!!!!

my tears ricochet alex has literally never had it within himself to go with grace. Ever. In his life. Bless him. Screaming at skies. Stealing lullabies. You know how it is.

How You Get the [Boy] Narration of the storming of Kensington Palace. Alex being like I want you for worse or for better I would wait forever and ever

The Archer Henry prepared for a lot but he never prepared for Alex staying

Love Story The dramatics the mythologizing of one’s life the I want you / Then fucking have me like “baby, just say yes” also romeo and juliet and pyramus & thisbe are the same fucking story!!!!

Stay Stay Stay Morning after when Henry comes into the room with coffee. How he could have a lifetime of fine but he’d rather have this.

Holy Ground Dancing in the V&A

Today Was a Fairytale Lots of this music plays with the idea of fairytales and royalty and the push and pull idealism has with reality and it just fits so well. Because. Prince. &c.

Come Back…Be Here Having the big conversation and then alex having to leave and go back to dc. The long distance drama. This is falling in love in the cruelest way.

End Game choosing to do this thing for real. knowing what they’re up against. Big reputation big reputation ooh you and me would be a big conversation

Labyrinth oops they both caught feelings. Henry thought the plane was going down how’d he turn it right around

Cornelia Street The sacred new beginnings that became their religion aka those crazy 48 hours holed up in Kensington. Tender and fragile and amazing

mirrorball henry’s fable. His shattered pieces and the peasant boy with chin dimples who is not like the regulars the masquerade revelers. never been a natural all he does is just try try try

Paper Rings I thought you were a nuisance but whoops you're now the air I breathe. In paper rings and picture frames and dirty dreams

Timeless The phrase ‘see attached bibliography’ is the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me. All the quotes and recitations they send each other in their emails.

cardigan The intimate email conversations. Always wanting to know more about the other.

Lover The ease with which they say I love you post storming of the castle.

Out of the Woods The almost reveal and the cover up dates with June & Nora to make a cover. The hiding in an alleyway in the car. When the sun came up you were looking at me.

False God Rumors aside they are both In This and that shalt not change. Still worship this love. They might just get away with it.

invisible string it all began at the olympics. All the winding paths of our public lives one single thread of gold tied me to you, &c.

Mastermind Henry saying he’s loved Alex the entire goddamned time! Newsflash asshole (affectionate)

hoax Sería una mentira, porque no sería él. The only hoax he believes in! He feels forever about it!

peace The last email sent before the leak. Give yourself away sometimes sweetheart there’s so much of you

I Know Places The something that happens when everybody finds out. The vultures circling dark clouds.

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince Alex and the leak fallout. The whispers in the hallway. American stories burning before me & high fives between bad guys.

I Did Something Bad The email leak. There’s the harshness of the trauma, but there’s also madam president mom going “fuck it.” Don’t tell me this song didn’t pull henry through. Avoiding plans and sucking cock. Don’t knock it til you try it. Go ahead and light me up

the lakes (original version) I like this mix because it’s more ~cinematic~ to me. And something about henry not being cut out for these cynical clones and hunters with cell phones yk?

Run The phone call from air force one post leak. The eye in the storm

Sweet Nothing It’s them in the music room of Kensington. It’s alex “can’t let anyone know how much he needs” claremont-diaz admitting he’s just too soft for all of it

Slut if they’re gonna talk shit, we may as well be together in public. It might be worth it for once

You Need to Calm Down Shade never made anybody less gay, fake elizabeth ii. Why are you mad when you can be glaad, pip?

King of My Heart Wordplay on royalty words, yk. “That’s the bravest son of a bitch I’ve ever met” yk.

Change The crowds in front of Buckingham, alex’s speech from the white house. History, huh?

London Boy We hold this track listing to be self evident

Ours The contrast of the outer life and inner life. Private relationship under large public scrutiny.

It’s Nice to Have a Friend It’s about the best friends to best friends AND lovers.

Call It What You Want He wears his signet ring on a chain round his neck not because he owns me because he really knows me, &c

Karma Everything surrounding finding the source of the leak and Rafael Luna double agent and the fact that Alex and Henry can both say that Karma is their Boyfriend.

Long Live Election night in Austin.

New Year’s Day The mythical place NYE occupies in Alex’s public life and now his private one with Henry. The Balls Out Bonanza is great but now it’s about what comes after.

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #firstprince #alex x henry #henry x alex #playlist #*

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positivelybeastly · 23 days

Text

X-Force #50

All right, well, we finally did it, gang. We hit the big 5-0, and it's all done. And guess what?

It's all up hill from here! Wednesday spoilers below the cut, and . . . quite a lot of rambling? If I'm honest?

So, we open up on X-Force trying to kill good Hank and Simon, because they are dumb, despite Kid Omega and Sage asserting their genius. They blow up their little gay boat of love, and our intrepid heroes get pitched into the drink.

So . . . this is . . .

Why is Simon wearing a rebreather/oxygen tank?

Dear reader, I implore you to open this link, and scroll down to Simon Williams' powers and abilities.

Immortality: Williams is functionally immortal. Because of the ionic energy that empowers him, he no longer ages and is immune to disease and infection. This same energy sustains Williams' physical vitality far more efficiently than the biochemical process that sustain ordinary human life.

Self-Sustenance As a result of his transformation he no longer requires food, sleep, water or oxygen to survive. Simon is now a fully energized entity who can sustain himself indefinitely without nourishment, easily able to live outside habitable planet orbit.

Benjamin Percy, writer; Drew Baumgartner, Assistant Editor; Mark Basso, Editor; Jordan D. White, Senior Editor.

All four of these men are incapable of Googling basic facts about a character that Marvel has owned and been using since the 1960s. Basic facts that are available if you do so much as a basic skim of the man's Wiki page.

So, why is Simon wearing a rebreather/oxygen tank? So that evil Beast can destroy it and send Simon up to the surface, and good Beast and evil Beast can talk uninterrupted. That's the only actual reason. This is laziness from both an editorial and a writing standpoint, since you could have easily just had evil Beast use some kind of gadget to achieve the same effect, but don't worry! This won't be the most egregious lack of attention to detail this issue!

Yaaaaaay . . .

"My Beast," huh, Simon?

Gay.

Also, this scene makes X-Force look fucking pathetic, because Simon could literally wipe the floor with every one of them and not break a sweat. Simon 'my fists are LITERALLY as strong as Thor's hammer' Williams has nothing to fear from fucking Omega Red. His pacifism is the only thing keeping you from looking even stupider than you already do.

Orchis attacks to give the rest of X-Force something to do. I don't care.

But we do get this funny fuckin' shit.

Tie him up?

Logan, did you forget the last time you fought Simon? Or the time before that?

Anyway, the Beasts talk. It's not a particularly interesting conversation, for the most part.

God, this plan is just so fucking stupid.

But.

There is one moment that actually kinda works.

It's really funny to me that two of the worst Beast writers of all time, Brian Michael Bendis and Benjamin Percy, both managed to grok this essential fact - Hank McCoy loved being this version of Hank McCoy.

He was happy.

He was comfortable.

He was loved.

Feline Hank, as much as I love him, as much as he's my favourite iteration of the character, was never happy in his skin. How could he be? It wasn't something he chose, it was forced upon him. To save his life.

Well, what if he didn't want to be saved? What if he felt his life was so miserable that he might've thought, perhaps I should just let it all end?

He had moments, sure. But he never really escaped this feeling. This fear, this anxiety, this trauma, this pain. He carried it with him for the rest of his life. Just constant trauma, death, misery, regret, mistakes, chances not taken, failures.

But he would never be the same again. It's funny. He's the version I love most, but he's the version of Hank who could never love himself.

Which . . . is partly why it bugs me when people say Hank has internalised mutantphobia. Like, he kinda does, but I honestly don't really feel like it's quite that simple. He's comfortable in his simian form, he loves it, he only very occasionally angsts about it, he is happy. It's when he turns feline that he hates his mutant 'gift,' because now he has to worry about what might come next.

This is not the same as, I hate my mutant powers because they make my life inconvenient, because it means people hate and fear me. He can deal with that. He's been dealing with that since he was seventeen and nearly beaten to death by an angry mob for saving a child.

This is, I hate my mutant powers because they are turning me into something less than human or mutant. Because I am a danger. Because I am in danger.

And his fears are validated. He nearly kills Blindfold and Armour. He eats Logan's leg, tastes human flesh. He spends the last seven issues of Whedon's Astonishing X-Men with the taste of human skin and meat on his lips. How the fuck is he meant to be happy like this?

Anyway, back to X-Force. The two Beasts fight. Orchis shit happens.

Fuck off, Logan. Stop acting like you're at all relevant to proceedings.

Gay.

"X-Force ain't the ones you root for. But we get the dirty jobs done."

You didn't fucking do anything.

Hank and Simon could have fixed this entire mess without you. The only reason you were fighting a Sentinel was because you drew it to your location with your jet, firing at a gay little blue man and his fruity ionic boyfriend! You didn't contribute anything!

And then, as if to cap it all off . . .

What a self-aggrandising load of wank.

Hey, what was Colossus' plot arc through this series?

He spent 5 years being mind controlled and killed his girlfriend.

What was Domino's plot arc through this series?

Well, she got hurt a lot. There was that one time she got skinned. That was fun.

What was Laura Kinney's plot arc through this series?

There were entire issues where she didn't speak a fucking word.

You had.

50.

ISSUES.

And this is the best you could come up with?

"The plan was always for the war without to lead to the war within these two characters."

Is that why Wonder Man was more important to the climax of your book than Logan?

Go step on a fucking Lego, Ben.

This was allegedly a run all about black ops wetwork, the sacrifice of your soul to the harsh work that protecting your country requires, the inexorable slide towards moral degradation that comes from compromise.

It ended with a blue man in a stupid plant suit sacrificing himself to save a D-list actor from a bomb that would have crushed Mars into a pocket dimension, all so that his clone can go and become roommates with said D-list actor.

Ben Percy, of all the writers the X-office has welcomed into its midst, you were certainly one of them.

I just . . . this was what was worth jettisoning 40 years of Hank McCoy's personal history for? This cockamamie bullshit? This excuse for you to whip your dick out and pretend you're Larry Hama, when you can barely measure up to Chuck Austen?

Also, Jonathan Hickman, you're kind of on my shitlist for this, too. You may write a halfway decent comic book every now and then - and make no mistake, they're mostly halfway decent, I think he scrapes greatness with his ideas, but his execution is. Dry.

But that's better than his eye for talent, clearly.

I hate being negative. I feel guilty every time. I don't enjoy it. I hate to dwell. I hate to spiral. I hate to obsess over things.

But X-Force is just . . .

X-Force was, just shit. I will go to my grave telling anyone who'll listen that it's not worth reading.

"It'll read better in trades!" No, it won't.

"It has such a good team!" If you burn a pie made of good ingredients, you still have a burnt pie to eat.

"The art is so good!" And if you put sprinkles in a toilet bowl, it's still a toilet. It just looks prettier now.

Oh, and just in case anyone from Marvel ever reads this - they won't, they only hang around on Twitter so people can jerk off about the panels they write explicitly to be shared by the X-stans - I've pirated every comic I've read in the last 10 years. Every issue of X-Force? Pirated. All these caps? Pirated. Every time someone asks me where to read comics, what to read? Pirate links.

I didn't pay a dime for this series. I still feel like I got ripped off.

I almost can't believe it's over . . . what am I going to do with my life now that I don't have X-Force to complain about?

Oh, yeah. I can just read good comics. Nearly forgot about that.

But hey. That leads me to . . . I don't know, I guess, the end of an era.

Because Hank didn't get his memories back. Maybe he will in the future, but I don't have faith that there's anyone at Marvel that feels this strongly about Beast, so I doubt it. I need to write this down, anyway, for the catharsis. It'll help me say goodbye.

Rest in peace, Hank McCoy, 1985-2018.

You were the Beast I fell in love with. You were the man who taught me to be gentle when the world was unkind. You were the man who taught me that sometimes you don't have to love the body you're in, you just have to want to keep on going, because it can get better. There's always that chance. You were the man who led me to my boyfriend of 12 years, who I love more dearly than anything else on the planet. You were my friend when I didn't have many, and you've helped me make a lot of friends I quite appreciate. People I'm proud to know.

You're gone now. A lot of people aren't going to mourn you. They don't appreciate what was lost. But that's okay. I'll tell anyone who'll listen how brilliant you were. I'll try not to hold it against the version of you I'm left with, that he isn't you. He was you once. He could be like you again. Maybe better. I'd like that. I hope that's the case.

I'll keep writing you. I honestly don't think I could ever stop.

I'll try my best not to be sad that you're gone.

I'll try my best to instead be simply glad that you happened.

I'll give the past its due.

Which is all you can do, in the end, for the dead and for the past.

Well.

That, and live.

#outofmuffins #hank mccoy #wednesday spoilers #blood tw

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thisisnotthenerd · 1 year

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d20 finale thoughts.

for being the ‘horror season’, the intrepid heroes really go all in on the comedy in neverafter. i was laughing through the finale, in between some high stakes roles, npc and pc deaths, and wave after wave of enemies.

now that i think about it, this finale just shows how much the intrepid heroes have really tightened up their strategy as players, to the point that they can pull really crazy bits in the midst of battle and still hit a victory at the end of the day. for every ih season, they’ve had to step up the final battle to make it something that’s conceivably a challenge to the players

like in fhfy, they had some quips in the final battle, and a clutch beardsley roll to kick off the final ep, but it’s all battle focus. more individual attacks, and just trying to keep everyone alive pre-aguefort intervention. they had a few smaller enemies to deal with, but the primary issue was kalvaxus.

with tuc, it’s a similar scenario, but they have more options in terms of calling allies and a more complex environment. the individual appeals from the american dream, as well as the continuation of their fight with robert moses make this a more involved combat than fhfy. they were more confident coming in.

with acoc, the balance between troop mechanics and individual combat was the new challenge--the gimmick of the battlefield being the one they had previously fled from, as well as the task of getting rid of the leaders as well as the general troops added a new dimension to the ih final combats. edit: the intra-party tension added to this battle in particular; saccharina & ruby really defined the end of the campaign.

once they hit fhsy, battles became longer and carried out over more than just the two finale episodes. with theater of the mind, brennan could give them a longer sequence of individual and group combat. it starts with the nightmare forest individual fear scenes, layers on the need to rescue their attacking/trapped allies, as well as the continuity of the lore going on throughout the battle. i would say this style of battle, with multiple waves to exhaust the intrepid heroes, set a precedent for future combats.

with tuc II, the longer battle sequence continued, but more condensed. tony simos @ gramercy took 1 and a half episodes to get through, and so did null at the dragon’s hoard. again, each battle had layered mechanics e.g. having to stop the umbral engine overload and then having to birth the dragon. this style of battle aligns with what we saw in previous final combats, and has just the funniest instance of a divine intervention that i’ve seen.

in starstruck, they have talespire. they also have a lot of enemies, with their guns, trained on you. there were a few layers to this combat. again, the extension from a previous battle episode, the split between minis and ship combat, and of course, who could forget margaret encino, turning their enemies away with the power of emails and girlbossing her way into a campaign office. literally overwhelming odds that they managed to pull through including a 2 on the die from gnosis.

and now with neverafter, they had waves of powerful enemies, going from a siege to a tower defense from one episode to the next, the baba yaga, the ally persuasion mechanics, and the objective of holding concentration on bottle of ink that has hand(s), while either convincing or killing everyone else. the actual battle was not the hard part--as evidenced by the shenanigans they pulled off by the skin of their teeth. it was just the singular goal, and more rp than previous final combats. they also just crit. so much. no need for a beardsley crit when you’ve got siobhan one-shotting fairies and zac killing god and rolling an 18 that makes a new universe.

in short, as d20 has grown, so to have the intrepid heroes (+brennan). i’m excited to see where they go from here.

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natlacentral · 2 months

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Dallas Liu for Boys By Girls. More photos and interview behind the cut.

Photography ELIZABETH WEINBERG Fashion LUCA KINGSTON Interview CAT EVANS Grooming TAMMY YI for EXCLUSIVE ARTISTS using T3 MICRO Production TREVOR PERSON

The sky trickling in thick clouds yawns open, summoning rays of light to stream down into outstretched hands. Warm, welcoming. Palms rub together and friction sparks, filtering dark shadows into shimmering strands of energy. A glint of light swells into fiery radiance, and Dallas Liu is in the centre of it all, as both himself and as Zuko fromAvatar: The Last Airbender. He is setting his path aflame as he grows resilient and intrepid, and through it all, countering the dimmer parts of life with the brightest fire.

Filled with a charismatic and personable energy, Dallas leads each conversation with a contagious spark that you just can’t help but match. It could be the fact that Dallas and I have both been west coasters since adolescence, but there is a chilled, laid-back state right off the bat as he and I sit to chat. Born and raised in Los Angeles, Dallas started acting at a young age, and there is a fierce ambition and drive in him that is truly electrifying to encounter as his career begins to ignite. Having infinite support from his loved ones, Dallas has a steady head on his shoulders and a big heart that always makes space for others, but never forgets to leave room for himself as well.

Dallas instantly supplies the energy of a born leader, but he confesses his leadership skills have grown substantially over time, with the most growth happening during the filming of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Even though we’ve just met, a sense of pride for Dallas floods my system as he speaks about his role as Zuko, especially when his eyes light up as he admits Zuko was his favourite character growing up. What a childhood dream, indeed, for him to play the young firebender in the new live-action series! There is a cadence of sincerity and intellect from Dallas as he speaks of the close knit relationships created with the other cast members during filming. We talk about how Paul Sun-Hyung Lee, who plays Uncle Iroh in the series, took Dallas under his wing and allowed space for him to gain new skills and knowledge, both mentally and physically. Dallas speaks as though he has lived many different lives, leaping from one world to the other and always leading with intention and consideration.

Through sips of tea and banters about the weather, Dallas and I settle into a space that is cosy and comfortable as we set ablaze conversations around managing big transitions, representation in Hollywood, and the importance of forgiveness. Through it all, Dallas carries the duality of calm waters and kindled fire all at once - a gentle, warming spirit through and through. He is striking the match, igniting his own fire, and making home in an inferno of self-assurance and purpose.

Avatar: The Last Airbender releases February 22, 2024 on Netflix.

Dallas, hello! Looks like you might be in some chilly weather with that jacket on. [laughs] Yeah, I’m in L.A…It’s in the sixties…really not that cold, but it is for here!

Yeah, Los Angeles must be getting a slight cold front like a lot of other places in the states have! Right! For an L.A native like myself, this is when we wear our trench coats and what not. Everyone's standing outside with their scarves and coffees and hot lattes!

Well, it’s so great to get to chat with you! How has your day been today? Good, thank you! Just hanging out, and the trailer for Avatar: The Last Airbender dropped today, which is super sick. I'm feeling very excited about that! I’ve been calling everyone, seeing how they're feeling. I was just happy to finally have something out after so long. I think our teaser was released last year in November, so it's been a while, and now the show's coming out in a month exactly, so I'm just happy to finally be sharing it!

Yes! And the trailer is so great, I’m really excited. I grew up watching the animated series - I’m thrilled for the live action and to watch it now as an adult! Yeah, I think especially with the way the show is doing it where we're spreading it out, with the first season being the entirety of book one, will be really awesome! There’s just too much that goes on in that first season to really compact it into a three hour film.

For sure, I agree! Well, we’ll dig deeper into the show of course, but let me give you a warm welcome back to Boys By Girls! This is your second time sitting down with us for a conversation. Your first interview was in September 2021. How does it feel to think about the time that has passed since then? I can’t believe that much time has passed already. It’s so cool…and also frightening! It all feels like a movie in itself. It’s been a whole entire journey since the last time I talked with Boys by Girls. I had only just booked Avatar: The Last Airbender, and I hadn't even really started prepping for it at that point, because they hadn't sent us the script or anything like that. Now I'm getting to talk to you guys again and the show is coming out soon! I feel like not only have I been able to grow as an actor, but as a person as well. And I'm just excited to talk to you guys again!

We’re very excited to have you! And we’ve just transitioned into a new year. What would you say the biggest transition was that you went through in 2023? Well, this is kind of a very basic answer, but I think a lot of people in my generation are learning to not obsess over things out of our control. As long as you've done your part or done your best in that moment, the moment has passed now. So, you know, it’s about being able to accept that. What you've done is done. It's time to move on. All you can do is be proud that the moment existed and you were able to participate in it.

How do you do with transitions and change in general? Is there anything that helps with change and staying grounded? I am definitely someone that finds change challenging, but it's something that I enjoy as well. It means that something is happening in your life. It's proof that you are really here and living through it all. This kind of goes back to my last interview with Boys By Girls, but I can't stress enough how much my family and friends mean to me through all of this change. My family and I are so close. There's no way that they'd ever let me switch up on them or turn out to be this crazy person. And with my friends, during transitions, I think the ones who can stay will stay. The ones who can't, or choose to leave, were friends with me for the wrong reasons.

For sure. Our loved ones definitely keep us in check during transitions and change, as well. Yeah, I feel that! As you get older those numbers of friends will decrease, and you're going to naturally start looking for more friends that feel good to spend time with and keep you grounded. However, if there is this prior knowledge of your status or career, there's always a little scepticism that exists within you. Sometimes you're not really sure whether or not to fully form that friendship and trust them. But for me, luckily I have not only some of my high school friends, but people I’ve worked with. All of us working on Avatar: The Last Airbender, except for the adults, are kind of new to the industry. We're all sort of trying to figure out how to just be our best selves as actors, but also as people. All of us on the show are constantly keeping each other in check, which is really nice. That's such a precious thing.

That is really vital. I think in any career, having those sorts of connections is so important. That's always the best thing with co-workers. Like, there's no extreme character that you’ll sometimes see in these television shows and movies. We're all people. We’re all just normal people, right? We're on the same TikTok algorithm! [laughs] Yeah, that's when you know they're for life: getting on the same algorithm!

That’s true compatibility! And, on the subject of friendships, one of the biggest themes in Avatar: The Last Airbender is the importance of community and friendship. How was your experience with building a community and support system during the filming of the series? I'd have to say in the beginning it wasn't too difficult. I was calling my mom every day, calling my manager every day, and staying in touch. And, you know, sometimes when you're put in those specific environments with new people, you go through this struggle bonding with the other actors and actresses. We also went through a boot camp for martial arts training, and we worked on scripts for a little bit. So, I'd say in the beginning it wasn't too difficult for me to make those connections.

However, later on in the process, when we were about four or five months into shooting, that's when I really relied on Paul Sun-Hyung Lee, who plays Uncle Iroh, when I was on set. Then when I was off set, it was Ian Ousley, who plays Sokka. Him and I were actually roommates, so after months of shooting, we finally decided, yeah, let's move in together! Like, why not? Our characters rarely interact in the animated series, and when the main three were on set, I was at home, and then we'd just go back and forth. It was funny, he and I would always have some tea and just debrief the day after one of us would come home from work. It was totally like a real life couple activity!

So, you are playing Zuko in the new live-action series Avatar: The Last Airbender! What are you looking forward to most with the release of the series? For this release, I'd have to say [I'm most looking forward to] the relationship between Zuko and Uncle Iroh. When Zuko is on his own, he's kind of this crazy, mad, angry teenager, right? He's going through a lot and he's experienced a lot. But when he's with Uncle Iroh, he seems to be more in touch with his senses and his emotions a little bit better, although he is still quite lost identity wise and in what he actually wants for himself. But I think everyone has felt that way in some part of their life, especially in their teenage years. That'll be something a lot of people can relate to - that feeling of being angry with whatever you might think is the cause of your problems, although not necessarily being fully self aware.

In the teaser, you get to see Ozai and Young Zuko fighting in their Agni Kai. I'm really excited to see people watch me play the younger version of Zuko as well. I think that'll be a fun twist, because younger Zuko is obviously, as you know, way different from bald ponytail Zuko. [laughs] I'm stoked for that. And I'm stoked for people to see Uncle Iroh in general. Paul Sun-Hyung Lee is a super talented actor that helped me grow and become a leader on set, which was really big for me, because I didn't really understand the role of a series regular. Although they have this title of a regular character, and you know they're going to be in almost every episode, I didn't know what the role was when you're not on camera, and how your mood can affect the rest of the crew. So that was really, really valuable for me.

Zuko is portrayed as an “anti-hero” in Avatar: The Last Airbender, even though, in a lot of ways, he’s just a complex character going through his own coming-of-age and personal growth. What would you say are Zuko’s greatest internal struggles? Personally, I had to really understand Zuko. I had to know every single part of the series. Even going back and watching YouTube analysis videos of his character was so beneficial for me. You see in the animated series of the first season, he's kind of just a hothead all throughout. So what I wanted to make sure I did was give Zuko some sort of depth as a real person. Because, yes, we are living in this fantasy world - you have all these crazy animals and spirits that are involved. But at the end of the day, these characters are human beings. They eat, they sleep, and, as a plus, they can bend. And, sure, bending is the whole thing about Avatar, but I wanted to give a real performance of me, a human being, as Zuko. He's been my favourite character since I was young! I wanted to sort of dissect my childhood and my own personal relationships, even though they’re incredibly different from Zuko’s, to see if I could use any of those past memories to my advantage. Although not all of them were very useful. Imagine if I was like, yeah, I burned my face! [laughs] No, just kidding. But, yeah, I think trying to relate to Zuko is going to be hard for anyone just because the trauma that he experienced was so extreme. But I worked with what I had. I had a lot of source material and I had a few performances to look at. I used everything that I could at my disposal.

What do you cherish the most about being a part of the Avatar: The Last Airbender world? Hmm, that’s a great question. Can I ask you to answer that question for yourself first? [laughs] I need time to think!

Oh gosh, turning the tables on me! It is definitely a difficult question, because there’s so much about the world that comes to mind. As a kid, it was the escapism for me that felt super important. Also, the whole idea of bending being this certain outward form of expression, like what art is for people, that was big for me to see as a kid. It’s why I love being an artist, and I think that carries through the series beautifully. Dang, those are some great answers. Now I don’t know what to say! [laughs] Just kidding. Yeah, I totally agree with that. I think for me, my favourite part about the whole entire series is probably the individual journeys each character goes on and the storytelling within that. The way that each character's journey sort of ties in together and brings them to that one final battle. And it’s not only just the physical battle, but it's mental for each of them as well. I'd have to say, also, I love how much the fantasy world really does relate to the real world. There's a lot of beautiful themes in the series.

That’s a really lovely answer! There are themes in Avatar: The Last Airbender that are a bit grittier, like conflict and war, disability, discrimination, and grief. How important do you find these topics to be to the series and plot? And also exposing these topics to younger generations through the series? I think it's so important, however I don't think it's the most important thing about the series. It's of course vital to give youth some sort of exposure to those grittier topics, because it does exist in the real world. It is, in a way, preparing them for these big world issues, right? Like, you're a kid, so typically you're kept in your house, taken care of by your parents, going to school. It's this simple life, but obviously as you get older, everything just becomes more complicated. It's tough to deal with all of that tragedy and evil that exists. However, what you see during those wars and the outcome of these amazing stories is that they're all good endings, so I guess that helps out the kids quite a bit. I mean, you don't really think about the genocide and violence in the series too, too much as a kid. You're like, ah, dang, they got wiped out. As an adult, you're like, oh my Lord! But, I guess because you're a kid, you don't really think too deep into it. So I think with every darker theme in the series, there's a lot of lighter themes to combat it. And, as a kid, you want to hold on to those light themes. It certainly balances out everything. I feel like the light certainly outweighs the darkness just because it is, at the end of the day, a kid series.

The nations in Avatar: The Last Airbender are influenced by East Asian and Inuit culture, which are respectfully showcased in the fantasy world. How do you think this series is providing a stage for representation, especially as a show that is revolutionising television for younger generations specifically? I think it's doing it in the best way possible, especially our live action series with Netflix. You see these Asian and Indigenous cultures, and it's something that everyone can relate to. You're seeing that representation in the faces, in the world building, in the costumes, but deep down at heart these are characters that everyone can relate to, or have met someone that they can relate to, that has a similar nature to all of these characters. I think that's where not only Asian and Indigenous cultures would like to move forward in Hollywood, but minorities in general would like to experience that well roundedness in the characters. I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's cool we get to play ethnic characters that aren’t just only ethnic characters, but real human beings, you know? Their ethnicity isn’t the only thing about them, and not the thing that is being solely focused on. Their ethnicity is not their story.

Especially being in America, although those ethnic stories are extremely important to our story in Hollywood, it's cool we get to play these roles that don't exist in the real world, but everyone, no matter what race you are, will relate to these people. I mean, that's the whole reason I fell in love with the animated series as a kid. For me, I knew these characters were similar to me culturally, but to get to see them just live out their life in a fantasy world where none of that stuff really matters, it's just the world that they exist in, I think is so cool.

Now for a fun (and thematic) question…what natural element would you say you resonate with the most? Hmm. This is so lame because I say the same answer every time, but it's so true. I'd have to say fire. I mean, it's a good one. And, yeah, that's just what people have said about my looks all my life. [laughs] No, no I’m joking about that! It's definitely the opposite. Definitely the opposite. But with fire, not only do I think it's the coolest, but I'm a Leo, I'm a fire sign. It just kind of all adds up.

In your previous conversation with Boys By Girls, you express your love of boba. I have to ask, what’s your go-to boba order? Ah, I think over the years it's gotten more and more simple, actually. Now I go to this place called Chicha San Chen. And boba is Taiwanese, but this place really emphasises that they're Taiwanese. For a boba shop, they're Michelin star rated or something like that. It's insane. If you're ever in LA, or I think the other location is in Vancouver, you’ve definitely got to give it a shot. It is so good. I usually always go with a black tea. At this place you can throw in cream or mousse, which is sometimes so nice with it. Then I like to get either fifty or seventy-five percent sugar, depending on the day. You can also order hot tea boba at this shop, and it's super good on chilly days… like this where it's 65 degrees [laughs] [It's for] when you're wearing your puffer jacket and beanie, and you're like, ooh, I need a little hot drink in my life. But then if I get iced, I always do less ice. Yeah, that's the order. Black milk tea, or jasmine milk tea, of course, is great as well.

If you could manifest this new year in one word, what would that word be? I would have to say “forgiveness.” I pray for forgiveness because I think especially after coming out of COVID, people are trying to figure themselves out, and everyone needs forgiveness. Whether it's a person that has done you wrong or someone that you may have done wrong, knowing that maybe either one of you had a part in it and simply giving them that forgiveness and closure could go a very long way. Whether they're aware of whatever happened or not, I think to get that off of your own chest, or for them to get it off of theirs, is a small gesture that really can go a very long way. I think forgiveness can impact everyone very, very deeply.

That’s a stunning perspective and way to move into this new year! Thank you for the lovely chat, Dallas, it’s been such a pleasure. And I’m so excited to watch the show when it comes out! Thank you, I appreciate it so much. This has been super fun!

#dallas liu #boys by girls #interview #photoshoot #natla #paul sun hyung lee #ian ousley #article #zuko

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saltygilmores · 2 months

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Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls: Season 3/Ep 7: They Shoot Gilmores Don't They (Henceforth known as Dance Marathon Episode)

Original Air Date: Nov 12th 2002 This is tied with Lorelai Graduation's Day as my favorite episode, so let us begin.

"Charity". All proceeds go into Taylor Doose's pocket. We'll be getting into that shortly (again).

Heh heh. Lorelai tells a ridiculous story about how she didn't win the trophy at the previous DM. Luke declines her invitation to be her dance partner.

Thank you Luke.

THANK YOU LUKE. Allow me to put this into further perspective. *clears throat* *gets up on Bridge Rage soapbox* SO ABOUT THAT BRIDGE...

From the season 7 episode Knit, People, Knit, original air date 11/26/2006. Dance Marathon aired in November 2002. If fundraising had already been ongoing for 8 years by 2002, that means bridge repair began in 1994 and was ongoing in 2006. Therefore, one can deduce it will take a minimum of 12 years for Taylor Doose to replace a few planks of wood on a tiny bridge. Despite there being visible evidence that said bridge is still not repaired after 12 years, Luke is the only person who ever dares to question this. I'm not sure if the last plank of wood was finally paid for in KPK, I can only stick around in Seasons 6 & 7 for a few minutes at a time or I start to break out in hives and no intrepid scientist has invented a Later Seasons Gilmore Girls Vaccine yet. I get my screengrabs and get the hell out. Taylor: We're not raising money to restore the bridge. Luke: We're not? Taylor: No, we have that money, our Tennesee Williams Lookalike Contest put us over the top. This is for a tarp to cover the bridge. We can't start repair on the bridge now at the start of snow and rain season. The work will be ruined and we'll be back at square one. We need a tarp! Luke: Taylor you are asking me to donate free coffee to hundreds of people so you can raise money for a tarp! You know what, this episode is about a dance marathon and Shane Campbell's untimely demise, not political corruption in small town america and Taylor Doose's obsession with a Broken Bridge and how he's funneling town funds into his offshore bank account so he can use the money to take vacations to Maui and then tell the IRS they're just "business trips" for the Small Town Grocery Store Owners Convention. Carry on.

Lorelai managed to snag a dance partner named Stanley Appleman but she quickly loses him after his wife sees a picture of Lorelai and Mrs.A deems Lorelai too sexy to dance with her husband.

Now when has a Gilmore ever slept with someone else's husband? Where would she get such a crazy idea? Pshaw.

I was about to blast past whatever Newspaper Nonsense was about to take place next but then I noticed the background of this shot. Madelyn and Louise my slutty queens! Since Shane's demise is imminnent, going forth they will carry the slutty torch in her honor.

Jamie is about as tittilating as mayonaise on toast. Jamie will henceforth be named Mayonaise. Jaym-onaise?

Rory is right there, Paris. She’s right there. Urrgh. Why must we pretend Paris Geller is straight? Mayonaise was too busy with dullard business at Princeton for the last 3 months to contact Paris, but now he has some free time so he thought’d he come hang around at a high school with a bunch of minors.

Paris Geller's fragile remnants of heterosexuality are shaking in their boots looking at this face. I’m trying to forget that it only gets worse from here and Paris' next love interest is Asher Fleming 🤢You know what it’s fine it’s fine Jaymonaise can stick around it’s fine

SECURITY!

I thought about this weird and clunky "go find a pirate to sit on" long and hard until I think I figured out what the hell she's trying to say.: "Pirates sometimes have hooks for hands, so if you sit on a pirate's hand maybe the hook will go up your ass." That is WILD. She can't say "let go of my fucking hand you knob" on The WB, so "find a pirate to sit on" it is. Paris would say "Let go of my fucking hand you knob" on my gritty unrated realistic Gilmore Girls spinoff with a lot of swearing called The Hollow. And then immediately turn to Rory and make out with her.

Paris is hesitant to go on another date with Mayonaise, so Rory plays wingman and declares that Paris is free to go on a date, Mayonaise says we're going on a date, then Mayonaise steals her books and runs away with them, leaving Paris bewildered with the smell of "only vague consent" lingering in the air.

Dean's one brain cell is either deep in thought or he's about to soil his diaper. I'm very sorry. I'm glad someone in the Gilmore household decided Dean doesn't deserve a plate to eat from. He can eat his pizza on a napkin on top of a limp throw pillow balanced on one knee like the animal he is. What's with this show and wooden bowls full of walnuts?

According to Lane, Dean is deathly allergic to walnuts. *scooches bowl closer to the couch*

Can you even ask any other kind of question?

Can we go back to doing this, as well as going back to feeding him walnut-laced cookies? D: When did you hang up on me? R: When we first met. D:You should have said something. R: But you would have known that I was calling and therefore I liked you. D: But I liked you too! R:I know that now. D: You could have known that then... Hey, can you two shut the god damn hell up? Both of you stay the hell away from phones and answering machines for the next 15 years. Thanks.

Better declare your love quickly before he gets sucked up by the Male Gilmore Girls Character California Wormhole.

Good boy. #CaptionsFail

Dean came prepared with a pillow shield so Lorelai can't grope for his junk.

You're just a boy, you know nothing. But I'll make you a man, Dean. Just toss that pillow aside.

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peterpparkrr · 2 years

Text

Pinned (pt. 4)

Series: Pinned

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Summary: Anthony invites our intrepid seamstress to the theater.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: some mild references to period typical sexism and classism

A/N: me 🤝 anthony: playing fast and loose with courtship expectations. Anyways, I was in a silly goofy mood and wrote this behemoth of a chapter! Yay progress! (Catch the Little Women (1994) reference)

prev. part // next part

“Lord Bridgerton,” You greeted the man who was making his way up the street to you with equal parts exasperation and amusement.

“You ought to be careful, coming to this part of town in broad daylight, what if someone sees you?” You tease him as he comes up to where you’re hanging your laundry on one of the lines that’s set up going between one of your windows and the window across the way.

“Well, it would not be proper to visit at night,” Anthony teases as he leans forward conspiratorially.

You shake your head at him but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face.

You ought to be concerned about your neighbors, and the gossip you are surely incurring as Anthony looks every part the nobleman thanks to his fine new jacket as he stands in the middle of Lambeth. You find yourself deeply pleased to see that he is wearing the vest that you made and sold to him to visit you, even if it makes him stick out even more than a man who carries himself like a Lord would do in your neighborhood.

But you can’t find it in yourself to admonish the man for his timing, or for his dress, not with the nervous smile on his face as he fiddles with the ring on his pinky finger.

“This is hardly the most scandalous place I could be, my brother galavants with artists all times of day, and this hardly seems like a den of iniquity,” Anthony points out as he glances around at the fairly quiet street, which is nearly deserted here in the middle of the afternoon, save for a few of the wives down the way who are doing their own washing, and very intently trying not to be obvious as they watch this entire interaction unfold.

“How did you know I’d be home today?” You ask as you drop the pair of cotton drawers in your hands back into your laundry basket as casually as you can manage.

“I discreetly inquired as to your work schedule,” He admits as he glances down. “I wanted to come and ask if you’d like to attend the theater with me on Friday night, and I didn’t want to have to do it while you were at work.”

“And I assume whomever you asked for my hours also let slip that I would not be working Friday night?” You ask with a knowing smile. “So that I’d have no excuse to turn you down.”

“I am a very thorough man,” Anthony replies with a smirk.

“I have nothing to wear to the theater,” You start to protest. As your mind already starts to think of all the things that can go wrong, and all the reasons that this would be a horrible idea.

“I will take care of that,” Anthony replies with a wave of his hand.

“It would be terribly public,” You add.

“Courting does tend to be public,” He responds.

“People will talk, it won't take long for people to discover who I am, I am no actor,” You say, shaking your head. It would be easy for any man who shops in the store to recognize you. And the notoriety for you would be career-ruining, forget the scandal that Anthony would bring upon his own family. “It’ll be a scandal. Neither one of us wants that.”

“My family has a box, but I was thinking we could sit somewhere less… visible,” Anthony offers.

“I would prefer that,” You say with a nod. Shocking yourself with your easy acceptance.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Anthony says. Please that he doesn’t have to strong-arm you into agreeing to go with him.

“Oh, that’s not…” You reply quickly, trailing off your refusal. “I will meet you there.”

Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but the look in your eye assured him that we would not be able to make you budge.

“And I’ll find something of my own to wear,” You add.

“Meet me at the back entrance to The Lyceum at 7:30,” Anthony tells you.

“I look forward to it,” You reply with a nod. “Now go away, before the neighbors have any more to gossip about,” You add as you shoo at him with a damp kitchen towel, causing him to chuckle before he turns to make his way back the way he came.

“Mrs. Haymow said a man came to speak to you this afternoon.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. It’s always facts with your brother. John is a pragmatist above all else. And a succinct speaker thanks to his political inclinations.

He needs to make his points clearly and quickly to get anywhere with the movement.

“Mrs. Haymow has nothing better to do than to stick her nose in other people’s business,” You reply with a huff as you drop John’s plate down in front of him, it clattering loudly against the wood as you move to grab your own plate from the small counter.

It’s been the two of you for a long, long time. And after your parents died John took it upon himself to raise you. And it hadn’t been easy, but you had both been incredibly lucky.

And you’d always be grateful for all John did for you, but you would not let him dictate your life, or but into things that are not his concern.

“She said he was a very well-dressed man, that he looked like a gentleman,” John continues, ignoring your comment entirely.

When you don’t respond John finally looks up from his paper, his eyes boring into yours from across the tiny side table you ate your meals.

“Why did a gentleman come to speak to you?” He asks.

“I- he tracked down my address from someone at work, I don’t know,” You tell him. Always sprinkle in a sliver of truth when you lie. That had been one of the first lessons you’d learned once you were out on your own. “I sent him on his way as quickly as I could, did Mrs. Haymow tell you that?” You ask pointedly as you stab your fork into a potato.

“I just… I don’t want you getting mixed up with one of ‘em,” John replies. “That lot are bad news, always have been for folks like us.”

“I’m a big girl,” You tell him with a shake of your head. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, but I also know men like that will fill your head with all sorts of lies to get what they want,” He replies, glancing at you with a patronizing paternal look in his eyes that requires everything in your power to keep yourself from rolling your eyes at him.

“I know,” You reply quietly as you look down at your plate, before John nods and you both eat your food in silence.

The Lyceum is one of the most beautiful theaters in London. The stately Roman Columns in front of the theater were imposing and gave the entire building a delightfully fitting gravitas.

In another life, you might have been an actress (if you’d been blessed with even a lick of talent, of course). But you always liked to daydream about sewing costumes for the theater when you walked through the West End.

It was a fanciful dream filled with glamor and frivolity, but just possible enough that it didn’t leave you hopeless in your current life.

And walking down the West End tonight you felt like there was an entirely new life to daydream.

The life of a Lady.

You’d spent the rest of the week working on the dress.

Even if you didn’t necessarily feel like a lady, you certainly looked the part.

Your hair stood expertly pinned into one of the styles you’d seen making the rounds in the Ladies' magazines you’d seen some of the other seamstresses passing around. You had been practicing all week to get your hair to cooperate, and tonight you’d finally managed to obtain the look you’d been going for (after an hour of contemplating tearing all of your hair out).

And you’d put hours into hand beading the neckline of your dress. Adding puffs to the sleeves and just enough ruching that you looked elegant and nouveau without tipping toward gaudy.

The fabric wasn’t new, you’d had to scrape together a nice gossamer you’d bought secondhand from a modiste (who had decided it was already out of style for her customers), a simple dress you’d already owned, and some cast-offs that Margery who worked down the street from you as a seamstress had been able to snatch without her mistress noticing.

But by God, it looked like it had come straight from one of the French modistes on Bond Street.

You were terribly pleased with yourself.

The street was packed with fellow theater-goers in their own finery, and no one gave you a second glance or questioned your presence as you made your way through the crowd. You were already smiling as you walked around the corner of the Lyceum when you saw Anthony waiting outside a side door.

“Miss,” He greets you as he bows slightly once you’re standing in front of him.

“My Lord,” You reply, dropping into your own curtsy as you try not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Anthony Bridgerton looked like he was born to attend the theater. Or any of these events for the aristocracy. A waistcoat and tails were surely invented with him in mind, and you were not ashamed to admit that he made a dashing and unbelievable handsome image as he stood before you.

“This is…” Anthony starts to say before he trails off.

“Strange?” You offer with a wry smile.

“I was going to say it’s nice,” Anthony says.

“Oh.”

You didn’t know what to do, or to say. You had no clue how proper ladies behaved, or what exactly you were supposed to do in the presence of a gentleman within the confines of propriety.

“I’ve never had to pretend to be a lady before,” You quip as you tug at the shall you have draped over your elbows, the scrap of fabric you’d had left over from your dress.

“You are a lady-“ Anthony replies, already beginning to protest.

“No,” You reply, laughing slightly. “I am not.”

And you’ve never minded before. Unlike some of the other seamstresses or tailors in your acquaintance, you’d never felt a need to dream of a life in the upper echelons of society. You’d never understood their jealousy towards the people who bought the clothes you made. The way they yearned for a life they could never have.

And you weren’t fanciful, you weren’t foolish enough to believe that Anthony would offer that life to you. That he could offer it to you. But you did find yourself wishing he’d spotted you from across a ballroom instead of across the shop floor. That there could have been a semblance of a fair shot for the two of you.

But you pushed those thoughts out of your head. It wouldn’t do you any good to ruminate on the could have, should have, would haves of life.

You were determined to enjoy your evening.

“I’m sorry we can’t watch from the audience with everyone else, I feel like I’m depriving you of the proper experience,” You tell him.

You’re not ashamed of yourself, but you can’t fully put out of your mind the inkling of fear that Anthony will be disappointed once he comes to truly know you. And see the fully unpolished person that you are.

“I don’t care as long as I’m with you,” He tells you gently, taking your hand in his own hand and squeezing it.

“But are you absolutely certain you don’t want to sit in a box? It seems a terrible waste to hide you, especially when you look as lovely as you do tonight,” He adds.

“I’ve never been to the theater, I’d much rather watch the show than be the spectacle,” You admit.

“Then it’s a good thing I got us the best seats in the house,” Anthony replies.

Anthony offers you his arm and you know enough to intertwine your arm with his as he opens the door for you and leads you into the backstage of the theater.

You make your way silently past workers moving sets and candelabras and rigging lights. You watch actors in elaborate costumes muttering to themselves or having hushed conversations with each other all while you watch on in awe.

You suddenly remember who you’re with and quickly shut your open mouth as you glance over at Anthony sheepishly only to see him watching you with a pleased smile.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never seen such beautiful clothing up close,” You tell him quietly.

“Of course, would you like to see it even closer?” He asks as he’s already beginning to pull you towards an actor.

“Oh heavens, no,” You protest quickly as you pull him back before you find yourself being introduced to some highfalutin Shakespearean actor. “I can’t-I don’t-”

“It’s alright, we don’t have to,” Anthony replies. “Maybe next time though,” He teases as he pulls you back along the edge of the backstage.

“So where are these best seats in the house?” You ask as you glance around. You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, but after refusing to sit in the audience you seemed to have forgotten that there aren’t exactly other seating options.

“Follow me,” He says as he leads you towards the edge of the stage.

“William,” He greets a young boy. “Are we alright to go up?” He asks.

“Of course, sir,” the boy replies with a nod.

“Watch your step,” Anthony says as he offers you a hand to help you step up onto the ladder leading up to the catwalk. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“This isn’t my first time on a ladder, Lord Bridgerton,” You reply as you grab a fistful of your skirt before beginning your climb. Unaware of the fact that your now exposed shins are directly in front of Anthony’s eye line, or the effect that they are having on him.

“So how does a Viscount befriend a stagehand?” You ask once the two of you are sitting on the small bench along the catwalk, a blanket already draped across the seats when you reach the top of the ladder, a detail that did not escape your notice.

“It’s a long story,” Anthony replies as he rubs at his ear.

“Does it have anything to do with the opera singer who used to be your mistress?” You ask teasingly. “I can read, you know, and there is nothing seamstresses love more than reading the gossip sheets about our customers.”

“So you’d read about me,” Anthony replies, waggling his eyebrows at you in a ridiculous manner.

“You have chosen a very interesting part of my response to latch on to, Lord Bridgerton,” You reply with a scoff.

“You don’t need to worry about upsetting me,” You add. “I wouldn’t expect you to have never touched a woman before, that hardly seems fair.”

“The play’s about to start,” Anthony shushes you with a grin as he gestures towards the stage.

The moment the music begins and candlelight illuminates the stage your attention is immediately focused on the stage in front of you. Even from the side perspective of the stage, it’s not difficult for the production to become your sole concentration with the actor’s convictions having you completely riveted.

Thank God it’s Shakespeare and not an opera, the Old English is tricky enough for you to distinguish let alone a different language. You would have been completely lost.

“Is he truly mad? Or is he just pretending to be?” You whisper as you lean over to Anthony in the middle of the performance.

“He is pretending for the others, but that is a point that scholars often debate,” Anthony replies as he turns to you, your own gaze still completely focused on the actors.

You’re invested. And even though you harumph quietly to yourself when Ophelia drowns herself you find yourself deeply emotionally invested in the story.

Your every reaction is written all over your face, and you wince when you ought to, groan quietly when things don’t go the right way, and even gasp quietly when you realize how the story is going to end. Anthony finds himself watching you more than the play. Maybe because he’s already seen Hamlet and knows how it ends, but mostly because you and your face are far more compelling.

It’s easy for Anthony to see that you wear your heart on your sleeve. You're so open, and your emotions play over your face even just at watching the fictional story that is unfolding before you. He understands why you're guarded. Why you feel like you need to protect yourself, but also sees what he had never quite been able to put a finger on before. The reason he had found you so captivating in the first place.

Your every move, your every word, you are unafraid to be yourself. His world is chalked full of people telling him how to behave, with expectations of who he is before they even meet him. Every young lady his mother has foisted upon him is so completely terrified of being a person because they’re all worried that suitors like him won’t like them if they are themselves.

You do not have that problem. You are unapologetic and unflinching in the face of a world that will do anything in its power to crush that down inside of you. You’re a bloody miracle and Anthony has no idea how you’ve made it this far in life.

And he’s also desperate to ensure that you remain so. And terrified of what might happen to you if he does not protect you with everything he has.

In the end, you're clapping just as loudly as the audience as you stand to your feet. Anthony stands beside you, applauding as well, though not nearly as excitedly.

“I would very much like to kiss you,” Anthony whispers in your ear. His warm breath tickles the exposed skin at your hairline.

“You can,” You reply in your own hushed tone as your head turns to look at him.

Your eyes meet his as you grant him permission and suddenly his hand is coming up to the side of your neck as he presses his lips to yours.

You know this is a terrible idea. That nothing good can come from this thing with Lord Bridgerton. That one way or another you’re going to get hurt. That the damage is only reaching deeper and deeper the more time you spend with this man. This man has everything he needs to ruin you.

But with his lips on yours, it’s hard to feel like this is anything other than right.

Like you’re meant for each other.

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