#EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs | Tumgik (2025)

(TW: for Zombies) *GASP* A Friday post, that's right I'm part of @mcytblraufest on Tumblr, and this is the piece I made for my two writers to create upon!!! My writers are: @spacecadetacehere and Ao3.

This is their fic link:

or search memento mori on ao3 and find their name.

@lovebug5151

lovebug5151 on here, and Arya_Saphira on ao3.

Here's the link to their fic

or search Whispers and Rumors in a Yawning World on ao3 and their name.

They are both so amazing and I love their works. Definitely go check them out besides that enjoy the pieces in this amazing collab.

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oldish

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[New thread time heehee!!! To avoid clutter-]

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

Like the morning (and sleep-deprived) person that he is, he’s been up since 4 AM.

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Separate:

@sirensea14 @mintythecup @flutters-to-cuppers @cherry-sinclair @melody-starlight @momoartz02

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WRAAAAAA IM AUTISTIC ABT THIS GAME

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NOW FOR MY OC SEAWING CHILDREN FOR CANON CONTINIUM AUUUUUU. SEAWING ROYAL FAMILLYYYYYY

ELDEST IS OCEANNNNN HE IS AN ANIMUS!!!!!! HE WAS CARING FOR THE OTHER SIBLING EGG they thought was a boy AND GOT HIT BY WAVES (lost in pantala and captured by hivewings to become KILLER OF REBELLIONS). they got saved by SILKWING FACTION CREATED BY QUEEN MONARCH'S NIECE WHO DODGED baby jail. he gave THREE gifts to help the village grow

there is a brother in between BUT AFTER THAT UNAMED BROTHER IS um CELADON. he looks like orca BY ACCIDENT BUT ITS OKAY. he was one of the first to be hit with queen coral's ultimate parenting move COMPLETE NEGLECT because orca DIED and the next princess DIED. he became a summer palace architecture :0 archetic EXPLOLDES. oh yeah so his bro died in the war when gil and corlas had a lot of sons so they forgot he came back very grief stricken and coral went ok and? HE WANTS TO KILLLLLLL

this is aquamarine (INCORRECT BUZZER I RENAMED HER BROOK 10000000 YEARS AGO GET WITH THE PROGRAM BREMA PELODYYYYYY) she is a princess. SHE GOT LOST WITH OCEAN!!!!!!! she was trained to be a KILLER OF REBELLIONS. it failed :(. SHE FLED WITH HER brotherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr to DIADEM VILLAGER. she reunited with turt. SHE BECAME AMBASSADOR OF THE PYRRHIAS AND PANTALAS.

this is KEPPEL. he is NOT AN ANIMUS!!! he got along well with his father and they look similar except his saturation and brightness went up by 23478%. he trained to regain his mama's attention by presenting a good heir. INSTEAD HE MADE A BOY and ditched him :((((. he now looks over hunting. hes a burnt out lazy but smart guy.

tang

i thoguth for a second this was PRINCESS TORRENT (it is not). THIS IS SWORDIFSH MY OTHER SON. HE FOUGHT IN THE BIG WAR AT 6. then gill went nuh uh and pulled him out of the war. SMH LET HIM KILL. he became VERY ANGRY at his mother because he thought since they looked alike the most (at the time) she'd love him a ton. HE WAS WRONG. hes an accountant for Moray. SHCEMING.

THIS is Princess Torrent the daughter of TSUNAMI and riptide :D. you woulyou would not believe her eyesyou would not beliSHE IS AN ANIMUS GRAHHHHHH!!!! she just threw a coconut. BUT TOMORROW SHE RULES THE WORLDjk shes at jade mountin academer hehe

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WOOOOOOOO FUCK YEAH ITS FINALLY COLD AND SNOWY WOOOOOOOOO EYSYEYSYESYYAYAYAYAYYAYAY

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I'M ABOUT TO VIBRATE OFF THIS PLANE OF EXISTENCE RIGHT NOW!!!!!

OHMIGOSH!!!! 😭 /positive

I am so happy and have been screaming about this to everyone and anyone! (mostly my partner though). I just adore @jellyvibes710's AU and their art is so cool and I just- WOW!!!

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Immediately my thoughts went that moment in Scrubs.

That is the perfect sound effect for this sword.

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HAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII:333333

+ here's the link!

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New character. She's Lucky's girlfriend. She's a human dating a demon. Her name is Ruby

Extra

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SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE | part ii: stay with me

[masterlist | part i]

joel miller x f!reader

Rated E - 6.2k

Tags: mention of wounds/care, brief canon-divergence (spoilers for ep. 6 & 7), reader is mid/late 30s+, mentions of death, use of weapons, found family, angst, wounds, hurt/comfort, the start of feelings, competency kink(s)

He wakes up. And slowly, the cabin starts to feel alive again.

The long evening stretches into a longer night. You’re exhausted from the last 24 hours, the dull throb in your head that echoes against your ribs.

Not wanting to take anything for the ache, now knowing it could be needed. Stretched out on one of the old hickory chairs - watching through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

The girl - Ellie - stayed up as long as she could. Dozing now, curled up in the wooden chair that matches yours, at the foot of the couch.

He murmurs in his sleep. Knocked out from the pain and the medication, forehead hot with a fever as he fights off the infection.

Some of it senseless - rough mumbles as his eyes move under closed lids.

Sometimes names.

Breathed out, with the rise and fall of his chest.

Gasped, with a creak of the couch as he shifts. Hand twitching at it reaches out, searching for someone who isn’t there.

You can’t leave him. So, you let him take yours. His grip firm and strong even like this, as he settles.

The hours, slowly passing.

But, he makes it.

Through one night. And then another.

A slow routine starting.

Catching sleep in the morning, when Ellie takes over watch. Never imaging you’d be comfortable with strangers in your house - but you figure if they attacked you now, then there’d be a special place in hell waiting for them.

A routine of pain killers, the man’s eyes fluttering open when you wake him. How he frowns each time - looking for the face he knows, too incoherent to understand.

But he gulps down the water you offer. That sharp frown easing as he sleeps, where you brush the sweaty curls from his forehead, adjust the blankets when they get kicked off.

A small realization forming, during this time. You had thought they needed you, in those late-night hours. That he wouldn’t survive, without your help.

But you see the way he fights. How she’s the first thing he looks for. How she hasn’t left his side. A bond there, stronger than you’ve seen in a long time.

Maybe they didn’t need you at all.

Maybe you’re the respite. The soothing hand, the warm food, a safe place to rest - before they moved on. Like Aunt June and Danny had been for you - when your little group turned up on their doorstep all those years ago, battered and broken.

Even if they never ended up moving on.

Even if you’re still here.

It’s comforting, in a way. A means to finally pay back everything that was given to you, over the years.

You hope they’d be proud.

———

A little more time passes, and you find that it’s not so bad. Having more people around.

Ellie is funny.

A breath of fresh air, in your silent, stuffy cabin. Where everything is in its place because you’re the only one that moves it. Where there’s been no one but you and the ghosts of those before, haunting it’s halls for years.

Excited over the things you’ve taken for granted. Eyes shining over things like canned fruit cocktail and instant noodles. Innocently poking around everything you own, to a point where you just sigh and shake your head.

Seasoning conversations with the word “fuck”, peppered in expertly. Fuck this, fuck that, and a fuck yeah.

A side-eye thrown your way the first time, catching the small curl of your smile instead of a reprimand. You remember what it had been like, to be her age.

Not exactly in the same way - you can’t imagine that. Living through this hell, back then. But, just that sense of feeling grown up, wanting to be taken seriously.

The tenuous friendship formed in these first few days reminds you of your childhood.

Befriending a feral cat that slept beneath the porch - tempting it out with bits of food. Sitting on the stoop as she became used to you, until the shift of your stance no longer scared her away.

With Ellie, the food certainly helped. But what got her was the books.

Most of them were old - what you would think a middle-aged couple in the 80's would bring to a cabin.

Guides filled with local birds and flora. Collections of old, short stories. A stack of local maps, the pages well-worn and creased, everything lined up in the handmade wooden bookcase.

You've read them all. There were days in the winter where there was little else to do. A few scavenged, brought back by the others. But now it helps, as you pick the ones you think she'd like - setting them by the chair she's claimed.

The hours become a little more comfortable.

She reads, while you cycle through the small pastimes you have. Your own book you've been working through. Some projects - the beginning of a scarf, crocheted with salvaged bits of old sweaters, a moth-eaten afgan.

Passing the time while he sleeps and heals with the turning of pages, the slide of the yarn.

She had been interested in your work for a little while - an afternoon where you showed her how to yarn over, make a chain.

Her fingers clumsy as she miscounted, too eager for the end result.

Turning what began as a rectangle - the start of a scarf, like yours - into something with wavy edges, each row shorter than the last. The frustration evident as she handed it back to you with a resigned shrug.

But you still weave in the ends, block it out next to some granny squares. With some fringe, it becomes a bookmark - her fingers playing with the ends as she reads.

It’s close to four days in, when things change. When he starts to be awake more often than he’s asleep.

"I think he's turned a corner." You tell her, after the bandages have been changed.

When it came to this - she learned everything you showed her quickly. A quick study, once shown. Resourceful, too - telling you how she had found the antibiotics in an old mall, one that you knew well. The very mall you were certain had been already cleared out - but today, you were happy to be wrong.

This time she takes the lead - peeling back the stained medical tape. Carefully checking the wound before replacing the gauze, fixing it back into place.

That long-held breath exhaled. A small nod, "He has to be. I don't know what I'd do-"

"He has turned a corner." You amend - the words firm, "He's lucky he had you."

"More like, we were lucky I found you."

There's a sullenness that tinges her words then, arms crossed over her knees.

It makes you frown, as you move from the chair. Lowering yourself down, until you're both on the same level, on the wooden floor.

She doesn't meet your eyes, fingers tugging at a loose string on the quilt, dangling off the couch.

You think you understand, a little.

The complexity of the situation - how hopeless she had probably been feeling. How much she had to do on her own, all while thinking she didn't do enough to help. Thinking she failed him.

"This was all you. You know that, right?" Your words are careful, your head ducking to make eye contact, "He wouldn't have made it without you."

Ellie's jaw grits, a quick look your way - before her eyes drop.

"He didn't start getting better until he got here."

You sigh, leaning back on your hands, "You just gave him the antibiotics. They just needed a little time to start working."

Her head turns, as she thinks about that.

"I helped ease some of the pain, but he's strong. He survived, because of you."

Eyes meeting yours. Narrowing, but in a way where you can tell that she’s inspecting you. Seeing if you’re lying.

You’re not. The smile you offer is small, as he starts to stir. Eyes cracking open - finding hers like they always did.

As her expression brightens. You’re not sure if it’s a mask - wanting to appear cheerful for him - or if she’s still at that age where emotions are fleeting, changing with the wind.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” She chirps, his forehead creasing with the name, her loud voice. He grunts an answer, glancing around the room.

Pausing, those dark eyes boring into yours. You hold the gaze, still curled on the ground next to the edge.

A small nod. Just a little jerk of his chin.

Your answering smile is equally small, before you push yourself back up. Heading over to stick another log into the fire, from the iron rack just off to the side.

There’s an understanding, after.

You were a threat, until you’re weren’t. Until they sniffed you out and you passed some unspoken test, somewhere between that first sleepless night, and now.

Their guards aren’t down. Not completely. Yours isn’t either. But there’s an ease to your steps, as you move around the space together. A sleep that comes a little more soundly at night.

Because, you’re not alone anymore.

———

She reads to him, sometimes. The books you pluck from the shelves and leave for her to find.

Keeping Joel company as he stays bedridden a little while longer.

He had tried to get up, on that fourth day. A wince that crumpled his face as he pushed himself up, Ellie’s scold of “what in the hell are you doing?” raining down as her arms braced on her hips.

The look of alarm on his face still makes you want to laugh, days later.

You’re cooking dinner as she reads another chapter - secretly pleased that she seems interested in one of the volumes you treasure. The pages dog-marked, the spine cracked, and cover faded.

Warming up canned pasta in the Dutch oven simmering over the fire, listening to her words as you stir.

“It was after tea-time; it was pouring with rain, and had been all day; his hood was dripping into his eyes, his cloak was full of water; the pony was tired and stumbled on stones; the others were too grumpy to talk.”

“Sounds familiar.” She adds as an aside - her words filling the space as her eyes peek his way every few lines, to see if he’s listening.

Tripping over the names of the dwarves and locations with the confidence only a teenager could have.

"And I'm sure the rain has got into the dry clothes and into the food-bags," thought Bilbo. "Fuck burgling and everything to do with it!”

“Ellie.”

A tired lid cracks open - he had been listening after all, “He didn’t say fuck.”

She sighs, eyes rolling as she slumps in her seat, “Well, he should be allowed to. After the way they barged in and messed all his shit up.”

You grin, from your crouch near the fire, “Mm. I agree with her on this one.”

Clearly outvoted, he rolls onto his side, facing the back of the couch. Pointedly ignoring her as she runs through a few more reasons why she’s right.

Giving up, her voice a stage-whisper - hand cupped around her mouth as if telling you a secret, “He’s just pissed because I compared him to Gandalf earlier. Old and cranky.”

Joel’s head turns, a glare hurled in her direction - her grin as she pulls the book up again. Your own teeth biting the inside of the cheek to hide your smile.

But from your angle, you don’t miss the way his face softens.

The small smile, as he settles back down.

———

It's not long before you all get a little antsy.

Despite the much-needed company that Ellie and Joel bring into your home, after years of solitude it almost tipped into too much at times. Your cabin feels too small for you all to occupy the same space for the entire day, with Joel taking up most of the seating.

Even if at one time, there were many more. But it's been ages since then.

You're certain they feel the same. Not used to idleness.

The twice-daily walks you take around the perimeter of the fence helps. When he is finally able to move a little, sitting up instead of laying down.

Able to roam around the kitchen, eventually wandering outdoors. There, the air is lung-achingly crisp. A sizable porch that looks across the hill, across the miles of trees, down to the old barn.

Once the danger is over - once he starts to heal - that is where you spend some of the afternoons. The thick wooden walls keeping some of the chill out.

Close to cozy after you spend an afternoon putting a small fire pit together, the golden glow keeping all of you warm as Ellie brushes down Callus.

Finding treasures as she pokes around the storage in the first and second floor. A lot of it is supplies, things to be used for repairs.

Planks of wood, a crate filled with tools. A few barrels of gas for the generator - just for emergencies. The walls are lined with the things you use most often when tending the small field just outside - shovels, a pitchfork, an axe.

It's in these rooms that she finds a treasure - disappearing over a crate, until all you can see are the soles of her boots. Coming back up with an "oof", and something clutched in her hand. Covered in cobwebs from where it's laid hidden on the dusty floor.

A small, monobloc bow. You must have set it down one afternoon, and forgot. Trading it for something louder, stronger.

"Woah, this is cool." Ellie tries to pull the string back, the dull 'thump' as her fingers slip.

Still taut, after all this time. You smile as you hold your hand out, the muscles in your arm flexing as you pull it back with a smooth, practiced movement.

"I thought I lost this." You let go, the satisfying 'twang' as it snaps back into place, "Did you see any arrows?"

She's already scrambling back over - coming back with two clutched in her hand. A determined shine in her eyes as she asks breathlessly, "Can I try it?"

You glance over your shoulder, at the man sitting in one of the camping chairs. Staring idly into the flicker of the fire - a hand pressed against his side.

Once he was up, he started refusing medication.

Saying he was just fine. You had protested at first. That he needed it, that it would speed things along.

"'ve had worse." He eventually told you. When it was just the two of you - as you were getting ready to go to bed yourself, “You should keep it. In case someone needs it more."

Wanting to save it for you, or the next person that came along and needed help.

"We'd better ask your-" You catch yourself - correcting, "Uh, ask Joel."

Her nose wrinkles, "He lets me shoot his gun. I don't need to ask him about this."

That makes you laugh, your voice lowering as your head turns back to face her, "Maybe. But I think he will hate me a little less if we just ask, anyways. You get me?"

"He doesn't hate you. He's just..." Her face twists as she thinks, a vague wave of her hand, "Grumpy. Took him months to talk to me, and I'm a goddamn delight."

You had half-meant it as a joke, but her sweet reassurance warms you. Teeth biting your tongue to hold back another laugh.

Finding it surprising to think about how nice that would be, if it was true.

If he truly didn't.

Not knowing why you want his approval so badly. But it's something you've been thinking about since that first meeting. You want him to see you. To notice you.

Years of that piece of you missing, suddenly pushing to the surface like the first buds of spring.

"You sure are. Let's just check, anyways.”

She’s already bounding off, bow in hand. You watch as she asks, the way his eyes flick over the weapon, then back your way.

“Suppose you can.” Joel allows - after a long moment, “Don’t think I’m in the right shape yet to show you, though.”

Ellie wilts, clearly hoping he would. After a moment of hesitation, you join them.

“Been a bit, but I could set a little something up. For practice.” You offer.

The appraising look he gave the bow flits your way, down to the two aluminum arrows in your grip. His tongue poking his cheek as he thinks it through, before he nods.

“Alright.”

Ellie’s excitement is palpable, as she helps you drag out two bales of straw. A crude target drawn on some paper you grab from the house, fixed under the strings.

Standing at your shoulder as you grip the bow in your hand. Showing her how to notch the arrow, fitting the shaft against the arrow rest.

Drawing the string back to your cheekbone, as you aim for the middle of the target.

“You’ll get better the more you use it. This one doesn’t have a sight. Have to get a feel where the arrow aims,” You explain, feeling the tension in the string. “Use the point of the arrow.”

Inhaling a slow breath, holding it in.

A release, exhaling as it fires. Soaring across the yard, hitting just shy of the dark mark in the middle.

Not bad. You still got it.

Ellie’s whoop startles you - a fondness settling, after.

“Holy shit, that was so cool!” She gushes, as you hand it over. Glancing back over her shoulder, “Don’t you think, Joel?”

You can’t help but to turn, to glance his way. Where he’s caught, watching. Clearing his throat as he gruffly answers - his eyes meeting yours, before sliding away.

“Yeah. Real cool.”

———

He follows a half-dozen steps behind her.

Could never stand being cooped up for too long. Staying still made you a target, and this past couple weeks had made his skin itch. When it wasn't throbbing, or burning up.

The cold air makes his lungs ache, but at least he's moving. She hadn't protested, when he had shrugged on his coat. The exercise would do him good, help get him strong enough so they could leave.

Get back on the road.

Ellie had been watching, her feet kicked up on the coffee table. A different book on her lap, the pictures bright, even from here.

"Doing anything fun?" She asked, looking hopeful.

"Just a walk."

Her eyes sliding to the wide window, the snow falling that looked closer to sleet. Slumping further into her seat with a flat, "Eh, pass."

He hadn't pressed. Be happier if she stayed where it was warm.

"Lock up after us, okay?"

The words had come automatically, from deep in his mind. Ones that had been dormant for years, over twenty now. A lump in his throat as he ignored the woman's quick glance his way, before he pushed the screen door open - not waiting for an answer.

Now, her fingers trail across the wire fence, snow falling from the wooden posts when her gloves pass over it. Walking the perimeter, as he's noticed that she does - every morning and as the sun sets.

A small frown forms, the crease deepening between his eyebrows. Watching her fingers, the way the pom-pom on her hat bounces with each step.

He doesn't take well to kindness.

Before Boston, kindness got you killed. A weakness.

In the QZ, it came with a price. A debt, and he never liked owing - only collecting.

He wonders what his is, here.

Set off-balance by the situation he finds himself in. Unsure of his footing with this woman. One who seems frozen in time.

Everything about her and this place seemed to stop when the world went to hell.

The same sort of eerie feeling when he passed through the gate that led to Bill and Frank's place - an uneasy normalcy to everything, that felt unnatural.

So strange, how that could be.

Not quite sure what he thinks of her. There’s a hidden strength that he hadn’t seen at first. Not just anyone could have survived out here for so long. The way she handles the rifle, the bow, clear that she hasn’t been idle all these years.

Her eyes find his often, flicking away when he looks back. Catching the smallest details.

It makes him wonder what she thinks of him.

Actual words, instead of the thoughts he sees written so clearly on her face - gone in a blink when she collects herself. Still remembering the fear when they first met, though she hasn't worn that expression again.

Her smile is kind, he does know that much.

It comes easily for Ellie, a fondness already in the soft curves.

Sometimes, it comes for him, too.

Flakes from above settle on her knitted hat, clinging to her hair, her eyelashes - when her face turns, making sure he's still behind her.

A gun slung across her back, each step easy.

His own rifle is firm in his grip, eyes sweeping back and forth. There's nothing so far but miles of trees - natural slopes and dips. The occasional small creek to cross, not liking the way his body feels like it's moving a few seconds behind.

Discomfort flitting across his features, as he steps across the gap. A moment of imbalance, before he's on solid ground again.

Her hand twitches, as if wanting to hold them out to him. Thinking better of it, as they curl into fists.

A gentle suggestion instead - a nod at his rifle, "Don't have to carry that, if you don't want. Been ages since I saw a soul out here, 'sides Ellie."

He frowns at that, unsure.

But she moves ahead, hands shoved in the pockets of her oversized coat. Slowly, the strap goes around his head, slinging it across his back.

He isn't so slow that he couldn't grab it, if needed.

"You don't get Infected out here?" His voice is a rasp, hoarse from disuse.

Her head shakes as it turns, "Not here. Only see them if I go out."

A moment, his thoughts flickering back. To words he half-remembers, in that dark basement, "You said it wasn't safe. That you wouldn't have come."

She stops then, and he almost crashes into her. A hand steading himself on the wire fence, her face tilted up to his, but eyes not meeting.

"That was by you, not here."

"What was there?"

There's a beat, before she starts walking again. Her voice carrying over the wind, "The Infected aren't the only monsters out here. But both will sink their teeth into you, just the same."

He inhales a sharp breath - had heard about things like that. Desperate people, desperate measures. It sickens him, an uncomfortable roll of his stomach as she continues.

“It's damn lucky Ellie came this way, I'll just say that. That we all made it out of there without catching any notice was a miracle."

The thought about them touching a single hair on Ellie's head fills him with fury. Half-tempted to hunt them down himself, just to ensure it could never happen.

Injury be damned.

His voice low, deadly level, "They don't come this way?"

"No." Hers is equally firm, "Nobody comes this way, not if they know better. There's an old campground not too far from here. Rumor is that it's a nest of Infected, there. Completely overrun."

His steps stall at that, making him a further pace behind. She catches it, and her eyes roll, "It's just a rumor. People around here are superstitious."

He doesn't like her tone, her easy disregard. She hadn't seen the massacre at KC. The horror of all those bodies spilling from the ground, rushing faster than you could blink.

"How do you know?" The words have more bite than he means, enough that she's glancing back again.

She smiles at him then, the first he's seen since they left. Already so different than the first meeting in the basement, when that tone would have had her frozen to the spot.

"Because it's my rumor." The smile pulls a little wider, "There is a camp, sure. But the outbreak happened in September. Camp was over. Been there myself, it's empty."

A shrug, arms crossing over her chest, "Been telling it for the last ten years. Have had it told back to me by people I don't even know for the last three.”

At that, she starts moving along the trail again, "No one is coming out here."

He can't help the small smile that comes, just the slightest curve of his lips.

The gap between them closes, just a little.

———

Hmm, not here.

The large wooden chest closes - solid as you use it to sit on. To think.

Taking a moment, while you poke around the guest room - where she had started sleeping, now that Joel was awake. Looking for the old leather quiver, the extra arrows. Certain that they had to around here somewhere, since you haven't been able to find them in the usual places.

Ellie had been practicing. She's getting good - going out moat afternoons to fire at the bales. You've replaced the targets a few times already - finding some sturdy cardboard - moving them around the yard for variety.

But it was hard, chasing after the only two arrows she had.

You look up from your seat at the end of the bed, to find her standing in front of the closet.

Touching the shirts inside, always coming back to one to the far right side. Dark green plaid, patterned with charcoal and white stripes.

Startling, when you come up behind her - shoving the shirt back into place, "I don't think it's in here.”

"I'll have to check the attic." You answer. Pausing for a moment - before asking, "Did you like that shirt?"

Her cheeks pinken, "It's cool."

You smile, tugging it off the hanger. A memory from years ago surfaces - time spent together in front of the roaring fire.

The sleeves rolled up over strong forearms, your fingers sliding over the buttons. It's been well-loved - but in a way that makes the flannel soft and warm.

It makes you wonder if it still smells like smoke. Like them. If it clings to the memories like you do.

She takes it, holding it limply in her hands. Unsure what to do with it.

You help her, "You can have it, if you want. It could use a good home."

Make it seem like she's doing you a favor.

Her eyes dart down, uncertain - but the wanting wins out. Her zip-up jacket is shed, flung on the bed as she pulls it on over her long-sleeve tee.

It runs big, and she lets you roll the cuffs up to her wrists - the shirt hanging down around her thighs.

"Very 90s chic." You tell her, and she smiles as if she knows what that means. Maybe it's just the approval in your tone, and the unexpected gift.

Ellie parades out to the living room, where Joel was working - sorting through their gear.

"Check it out!" You can hear her laugh from here, the joy in her tone, "We match! Bet you just love that."

The last two words are drawn out, long and teasing.

You can't help but smile - picturing his face, and the grumble that follows.

Certain that he’s hiding his own small smile, as well.

——-

The dust makes you sneeze, the ladder wiggling beneath your feet. It's been ages since you've been up here. Never had a reason too - most everything had been tucked up here for a reason.

Either because it was taking up space. Or because it was too hard to bear. Boxes filled with treasures that aren't yours, from another life.

The floors creaking beneath your feet, as you finally step into the cramped space. A dim light filtering from the tiny square window in the back, the roof slanting so you have to crouch as you check the edges.

Sorting quickly through the piles of stuff that they thought they might have needed, but never used. Skipping over the cans of old paint, some old tools.

Eventually finding a crate that you had thrown a threadbare blanket over. A piece, clicking into place, when you see it. Where you had brought their weapons - unloading them before tucking them away. It had felt like looting, to take them.

Even if you could have used them, it felt wrong.

The yellow and red feathers of the arrows peek out from where the blanket pools on the floor. You scoop them up - 10 in all - along with the quiver they spill out of.

"Found them!" You call down, as Ellie's face peers up through the square scuttle hole. Kneeling on the dusty floor to lower it down to her, before wiping your hands on your jeans.

Taking another look - certain you won't be up here again for a long time. Hesitating, when there's a glint off the flashlight you borrowed. Moving a side table, an old chair aside, to get to it.

A frame, the edges carved and painted with gold. The photo inside is one you remember from when you first arrived. It used to hang above the fireplace - a painting of the mountains, capped with snow. Pockets of pines clustered together.

You measure it with your hands, and after a moment - you take it. Lifting it with two hands as you drag it towards the exit of the attic, glancing down.

Unsure how you're going to get it down there. Maybe if Ellie can grab the end - keep it steady until you can get a good grip on the ladder.

You call for her - but you get someone else instead.

He hovers at the base of the ladder, peering up like she did. Hair slicked back from the shower, grey-streaked - already starting to curl again at the temples. The sight has you clutching onto the frame a little more tightly.

Silently beckoning to you, with a curl of two fingers.

You have to kneel to lower the picture, carefully fitting it through the opening - waiting for him to take it. He grasps it with one hand, easily lowering it to the ground, as you climb down.

His other hand extends, the briefest touch at your hip when the ladder wobbles. You instinctively seek him out for balance, his hand firm and strong as your fingers wrap around - pressing into his palm.

Close enough now to smell the woodsy scent of the shampoo he used, clinging to his skin. Trying not to think about him in the shower, your shower, just moments before.

Your boots finally hitting the ground as his hand releases yours, fingers flexing.

The frame still in his other hand, making no effort to give it back.

"You redecorating?"

That makes you laugh as you fold the ladder up, closing the entrance to the attic again.

Starting to walk into the kitchen, his steps heavy behind yours. You pat the dinner table and he sets the frame there, as your head tilts towards the taped-up window.

You've spent time cleaning the floors, the sink beneath. But hadn't had the time to figure out how to fix the window that shattered.

Today seemed as good a day as any.

"Not exactly." Your eyes slide unconsciously to Ellie, pulling her boots on by the cabin door - the strap of the quiver around her shoulder, "Need to replace this window, figured I could use the glass in this."

Her eyes lift then, a look of guilt crossing her features.

"Ain't the right kind of glass." Joel muses, his voice flat as his thumb presses down against the edge of the frame.

His tone, the words, make you bristle. An embarrassment at not knowing, just thinking glass was glass.

Hand resting on your hips as you answer, "Well, it's better than a hole."

He glances up from where he leans on the table. Pose mirroring yours when he sees the flat press of your lips.

Words coming slowly, "Just don't want you gettin' cold. Glass ain’t as thick as it should be."

A pause, as he considers - as yourcheeks heat, "But sure… it'll do."

"You oughta help her out, Joel." Ellie is pushing to her feet now - her voice turning proud as she glances his way, "He used to be a contractor."

Saying the title like it was something precious, something important. His expression turning into one you've come to recognize as embarrassment - when she pokes fun or brags about him.

It feels right - this little reveal. Explains a bit more about him. A lot can happen in twenty years, but you’ve watch the way he looks at things, examining them.

Even down to his frame. Broad shoulders - strong in a way that only hard labor can bring, muscles layered under the softness that comes with age.

A prickle runs from your neck down to your belly at this thought, and you tear your eyes away.

Watching as she opens the door, his call following her into the cold, "Don't go too far, okay? Stick close to the barn."

Her acknowledgment coming as the door bangs shut, leaving the two of you alone. Your arms fold instead, a small sigh as the defensive thoughts thaw. As he looks at you, hands shoving into his pockets.

"Don't know why she's pressing me to help," His voice is low, "Seems like you've been gettin' along just fine here."

You bite back a smile - knowing exactly why she offered. A form of repentance for breaking it in the first place - offering him up to do the work for her. Your eyes slide away, as you sigh.

Coming back, your arms slowly uncrossing, "I actually don't know what I'm doing. Not for something like this."

A small shrug, as you start to pick open the fasteners on the back, "Was just going to wing it."

His voice comes then, slowly and softly.

"I could show you."

The offer is genuine, this time. A rare moment where you meet each others eyes. The soft brown of his, ones that you've looked often in silent admiration.

Your nod is small, like the smile you let through.

"I'd love that."

He helps you peel back the tape, the air outside driftingin the opening - chilling the room. Taking down the bits of cardboard, examining the damage.

"How did this happen?"

"Oh, you know." You hedge, shrugging. Not wanting to explain, if Ellie hadn't already, "It happens."

His eyes flick sideways at you, but he doesn't press.

You help him tug the remaining shards of glass free from the frame. One splintering and jabbing the tip of a finger - a small hiss as you press it between your lips without thought.

As his eyes follow - snagging, lingering, for a long moment - before he's nudging you out of the way with his hip.

"Let me handle this part."

Watching as he finishes cleaning the frame, until it's ready for the glass.

Somewhere along the way - you find that he's the one doing all the work. Listening as he explains each step, as you make a batch of instant coffee for the two of you. His black, yours with a tiny bit of maple syrup - harvested from the ridge behind the cabin.

Taking the glass out of the picture frame, measuring it against the window. Marking a mark of the size, scoring it with a utility knife that he fishes out of the pocket of his heavy coat.

It's impressive, watching him work. Especially with what little tools you have - making his own putty with things found in storage. His thumb smoothing down the compound on the last edge, a quick glance your way that you miss.

"What did you do? Before." He asks - his interest catching you off guard.

Your hands wrap around the mug, "I, uh... didn't get a chance to be anything. I was still in college, when everything happened."

There's a low hum of sympathy. A quick lean out the window to check on Ellie when you don’t continue - before he's sitting down in one of the chairs. The frame left to dry, before he fits it back into place.

A knee bumping against yours as his legs adjust under the table, long legs spreading wide.

Fingers tracing the edge of the frame now, a stilted silence settling. Unsure if you are in the mood to delve into then. Thinking about what you could ask him instead, if that's what you're doing now.

Getting to know each other.

"You been traveling with Ellie long?" You wind up asking.

He gives you a long look, under the curls that have sprung free. A hand scratching the scruff of his beard - the dark hair flecked with grey - his eyes not leaving yours.

"Couple months. Since summer, best I can guess."

You nod - that was what she had told you, on that first journey to find him.

"You got a ways more to go?"

There’s nothing intentionally prying about your questioning. It just feels strange not to know anything about the people staying with you - little opportunity or an opening to ask before now.

Ellie offers some, but she nearly as wary as he is. More prone to narrate what’s going on, questions about the books she reads.

“Think so. Heading to Utah, once things clear up.”

His wound, and the weather.

Winter was harsh in Colorado - with the heavy snow, it was near impossible not to get lost in the dense lines of trees. Assuming you didn’t freeze to death, first.

“Is it hard? Traveling with someone so young, I mean.” You can’t help but think about them. Wondering what life would have been like, if you had gotten home in time, “Just, the responsibility and all…”

It’s a selfish question. You don’t even know what you want his answer to be. The pause stretches longer then, and you're sure you've pushed too far.

"I'm sorry. You don't-" You start, but then he's answering.

“It is.” Eyes tracing the wood grain of the table, “But it’s not my first time. Lookin’ after someone her age."

Falling silent for good, after that.

The realization aches. Pieces fitting together - things he's said, almost on instinct. Old words from another time. How he looks out for Ellie - a softness under the gruff exterior.

You reach for him - moving slowly. Giving him time to pull his hand back, to retreat.

But it stays in place, a twitch of his fingers as they open - making room. Letting yours curve around them, like before.

You give them a squeeze, just a soft acknowledgment.

After a moment, he squeezes back.

Thanks for reading! 💖 would love to know what you thought!

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MY DAD GOT ME THE BOOK OF BILL WHO CHEERED :D

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ooc. new proposal dropped. blue iris instead of blue feather? y/y?

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can my ear stop screaming in my ear

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