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hb-writes · 2 years ago

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Little Lady Blinder - Chapter 32

Between the Lines, 1919

Also available here on ff net or here on AO3.

Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content

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“Don’t even think about it."

Clara turned toward her brother, finally pulling her gaze from the family car as it plodded around the corner, Tommy and Grace disappearing along with it.

“Don’t think about what?” she asked, scuffing her feet as she stepped a bit closer.

John rolled his eyes, taking measure to be theatrical about it, before fixing his sister with a look. “Tom’s done his bit. He's cheered you all up,” he said. John would never admit that he was a bit hurt by the fact Tommy had managed to drop Clara off with a smile on her face—everything between the two of them seemingly fine now—and less than a minute after being left alone with John, the girl was already sulking again. He pressed his finger into the corner of Clara’s frowning mouth. “Don’t go getting all grumpy on me again.”

Clara huffed, slapping at John's hand and he snorted, lifting his eyes above his sister’s head as she started complaining.

“I’m not—”

“Well, hullo there, Lizzie,” John said, interrupting Clara to greet the woman. John pushed himself off the brick to stand up straight, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping a bit in front of Clara as he observed Lizzie approaching. “Looking extra lovely this morning. Got anything special there in that basket for me?”

Clara spun on her heels, coming face to face with a blushing Lizzie Stark.

Lizzie shrugged. “Just some special treats for the kids.”

John hummed, thinking but not saying the first few things that came to his mind—the first, that his little monsters didn't deserve any special treats and the second, that he wouldn't mind a special treat from Lizzie. John swallowed down both comments and set his hand on Clara’s shoulder instead, maneuvering her to stand in front of him. “You’ve met my sister.”

Lizzie nodded, offering another small smile, her face still flushed. Lizzie had been about to greet the girl properly, but John continued on without realizing he was interrupting anything. “Clara and I were just arguing about whether or not she looked grumpy.” John shifted his hand beneath Clara’s chin, smirking as he tilted her head back and leaned over to look down at her, going through the motions of giving Clara’s face a thorough examination.

Again, Clara tried to push her brother's hands away, unsuccessfully in her attempts to put a bit of distance between herself and John. The struggle went on only a few seconds, but Lizzie could've sworn it felt like ages while she stood there watching. If Clara hadn’t looked particularly grumpy before, she certainly did now with her arms folded over her chest and her face a bit red, a mix of anger and embarrassment coloring her features. Lizzie glanced away from the pair, down the lane, purposefully appearing to catch her gaze on a bit of movement in one of the houses near the corner.

John abandoned his attempts at handling his sister and glanced up at their guest. “What do you think, Lizzie? She look grumpy to you?”

“Oh, I—” Lizzie started, a bit flustered by the question. Her eyes darted from John to Clara and her face mirrored the girl’s for a second, a small frown passing over her lips. “I um…”

“I told her the grumpiness is hiding here and here,” John said, once again battling with Clara’s hands to point out the grumpy corner of her mouth and the stubborn little line between her brows.

“John!” Clara complained. “Stop it!”

"Fine." John snorted, holding his hands up in defense as he leaned back against the brick. “Fine. Maybe you’ll have better luck with her, Lizzie.”

He winked at Lizzie and then he leaned to the side, reaching out to open the front door. He stopped suddenly before stepping over the threshold and turned back to the girls, Clara nearly bumping into him since she’d been following behind so close.

“And if she gives you any trouble—” John spoke directly to Lizzie as he reached out toward Clara. “—here’s a little trick.” Clara caught John's arm as he reached out to tickle her beneath the chin, quickly swinging under it and bolting through the open door. Clara figured she could just dissolve herself into the chaos that was John’s children while her brother got on the road, avoiding him for the next few minutes, and ensuring that the children would eliminate any opportunity Lizzie might have to speak with her brother alone.

Clara made it up the first three steps before her brother's hand closed around her elbow. She tried to push him off, going so far as to lift her boot and sending it into his leg. “Oi! Enough. You take a seat,” he said, with a nod of his head toward the stairs.

Lizzie quickly excused herself at that, moving past them to drop her basket in the kitchen. John watched her go, waiting for the kitchen door to swing closed before turning back to his sister. John ran a hand over his face before he spoke.

“Promise me you’ll be nicer to Lizzie than you’re being to me, eh?”

“I’m not being—”

“A brat?” John scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me.” Clara was poised to protest, but John continued on. “And maybe you have every reason to be. Maybe where me and Tommy are concerned, you’ve got the right of it, but not with Lizzie and not with the kids. They don't deserve this, eh?”

John said the words though he didn't quite know what this even was, still a bit confused by the course of their morning and his sister's shifting mood. A wave of exhaustion came over him as he looked at her, feeling as though they'd already lived a whole day in the last few hours. He could see she felt the same, another wave of emotion building up in her as she sat on the steps in front of him.

A lump was forming in Clara's throat, a few tears suddenly spilling out of her eyes as she buried her face in her arms. “I wasn’t gonna—”

“Alright, alright,” John said, sitting beside her and interrupting when he heard the strain came through in her little voice.

Clara looked up at him and John frowned, reaching out to wipe away the stubborn tears. “And you still don’t want to just tell—” he started, raising his hands in defense as Clara shook her head and tried to shift away from him.

“How about a—” Clara smacked John’s hand away as he tried to fit it beneath her chin once again. He nearly got a smirk out of her before Clara closed back in on herself, crushing her arms around over her chest and backing against the wall, putting as much space between them as she could on the tiny third step of the staircase.

John sighed and pulled her into his chest with an arm, half certain she’d fight him on it and push out of his hold, but Clara seemed to thaw a little instead as he held her. Only a few seconds passed before she was stretching out her arms around him and holding him back just as tight.

“I’m not a brat,” she mumbled.

John snorted, shaking his head. “Yes, you are. But you know who else is?” he asked, waiting a beat before answering. “Tommy and Polly and Ada and Finn and Arthur…and your nieces and nephews, for sure.”

“And you,” Clara said.

“No, no,” John said, shaking his head. “The rest of you lot, maybe…”

Clara smiled this time, but the moment was short-lived as Finn smashed through the front door, his cheeks red and his breaths huffing from running through the streets. “Arthur says it’s time.”

John nodded, some type of urgency and excitement shifting in him as he guided Clara up from the steps and moved all three of them toward the kitchen.

Finn eyed Lizzie as he came through to the kitchen a moment later, meeting Clara’s eye quickly before John steered him out the back door, giving him instructions to tell Arthur he was on his way. Neither twin had gotten the chance to speak, but Clara knew they were both thinking the same thing—that Lizzie Stark being there was risky for them. And it was risky, but there wasn't much either of them could do about it, not now at least.

Clara and Lizzie watched in silence as John doubled back through the house to grab his hat. He stopped to kiss Lizzie on his way to the back door. Clara busied herself with studying her shoes, not looking up until John cleared his throat.

He stood at the threshold of the back door when Clara finally looked up. “You’ll be good, then, yeah?”

Clara nodded. “What about you and—?”

John rolled his eyes. “Don’t you go worrying about me,” he said, though it wasn’t quite possible. Clara knew she might be able to get lost in the chaos of John’s kids for a bit, but she’d not be able to really stop thinking about her brothers—worrying about them and their absence—until they were all back home in Small Heath.

“Just help keep my lot in line,” John said, lingering only long enough to get a nod out of his sister.

Just like that, Clara was alone in a quiet house with Lizzie Stark. As the silence stretched on, Clara started thinking to herself that today of all days must've been the first time in her memory that John’s kids were sleeping in. Of course, it was the only time that Clara had been banking on their help for a little chaos—a little distraction, a little something to do other than stand in the kitchen alone with this woman.

Clara toed around the kitchen looking for something that needed doing—anything, really—but the room was already spotless. Clara imagined John had tidied up on account of Lizzie, trying to make a good impression.

“Have you had breakfast?” Lizzie’s back faced Clara as she retrieved the bread and biscuits she had baked at home from her basket.

“I thought we could have something to eat and maybe some tea before the little ones wake?” Lizzie continued. “To fortify ourselves.”

Lizzie giggled and Clara allowed herself a smile at that, something in her loosened by the woman’s smile.

“Do you like tea?” Lizzie asked.

Clara nodded and Lizzie got to work on their tea and breakfast.

“They won’t misbehave with you this time." A few moments of silence had passed before Clara directed the words to Lizzie’s back while she settled the kettle on the stove. “They’re right terrors when they want to be, but—”

“They’re kids.” Lizzie shrugged. “Kids cause trouble sometimes.”

And adults, too, Lizzie thought to herself, but she wouldn’t get into that—not with a kid, even if Lizzie had already known all about the trouble caused by adults by the time she was Clara’s age and suspected the girl knew a fair bit as well. Lizzie figured she had to, having Peaky Blinders for brothers and all.

Lizzie sliced the bread loaf in silence, thinking of all of the things she’d learned about Clara Shelby over the years, but especially in recent months. Lizzie knew far more about the girl than just what John had told her. Far more than the things Tommy had told her about the girl, too. Lizzie suspected she knew more about Clara and Finn’s scrapping than either of the brothers knew, which was partially her own doing. Lizzie had had the opportunity to tell both John and Tommy, but she hadn’t told either.

Lizzie had decided quickly and without much debate that she would keep what she had seen to herself. And when Tommy had shown up at her doorstep not ten minutes after the kids cleared off the lane, she said nothing of what she’d seen of the Shelby twins. How could she? How could she tell Tommy without having to explain why they were there. And then if she told Tommy, John would be wondering why she hadn’t told him…and why Tommy had been at her doorstep. Lizzie’s secrets were somehow tied right up there with the twins’ secret. There was just no way Lizzie could see for explaining what the twins were doing there on her lane without the details of her dalliance with both Shelby men coming out.

Lizzie turned to watch Clara. The girl was clearly lost in a sea of thought as she stared out the back window. Lizzie couldn't blame her, really. John had told Lizzie all that had happened to the girl recently. The constant back and forth with Tommy, Clara being dragged off to the police station...it sounded awful, even if it was something John had laughed at, like it was a right of passage for a Shelby and he was proud of her for it, but based on the bits and pieces of Clara that had been described by her brothers, Lizzie didn't imagine she shared John's sentiments.

Tommy rarely spoke about her—he rarely spoke of anything, but when Lizzie prompted, saying she had seen him out here or there with the little girl, keeping herself from further commenting that the sight of him with the girl by his side was a softer version of Tommy than she was used to so that she didn’t risk him shutting down. After a note of quiet, Tommy would usually say something about her then. Just a few words, but they were enough that Lizzie felt she understood something about the youngest Shelby.

John spoke about his siblings often, loose with his words with or without liquor lubricating his memories. He told stories and he blew off steam, condemning and celebrating them all from one sentence to the next.

“First in line to Tommy’s throne,” John often joked. “Well, if she wasn’t a girl. Been that way since she was born.”

Lizzie had started to get the impression that John was a bit jealous, both of the way that Tommy doted on their sister and the way she reciprocated that care and attention. There was a part of John that wanted to be loved, wanted to be chosen. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, that part of John resonated with Lizzie, but whatever the brothers said, Lizzie got the impression that neither of them saw her quite right. They each knew her in their own way, but like anyone else, Clara was more than what she showed to any one of them.

Clara Shelby had always seemed so polite, a conglomerate of caution and wisdom that she wouldn't call exactly normal for a kid, but it was there, consistent whenever Lizzie read between the lines of a story delivered from one of the brothers or when she came across the girl in the streets. Almost like she was an adult, like they all believed because she was clever and well-mannered, she was mature, but Lizzie she was a kid. She seemed like a good kid, a thoughtful kid, but a kid all the same. That too, was a part of why Lizzie was keeping her secret. The other two boys had been fine, aside from a little blood. It was nothing to cause more trouble over.

“John says you’re good with your nieces and nephews,” Lizzie finally prompted, pulled from her thoughts by the steady whistle of the heated kettle.

Clara nodded as Lizzie pulled the kettle from the heat. “They listen to me,” she offered. “Well, sometimes…”

Lizzie nodded, noting that the girl was still skittish, unsure of the woman and the tension of the power differential that thrummed between them. Lizzie knew exactly where it came from. She had seen the look pass between the twins as John had put Finn out the back door—the uncertainty, the fear.

“Just so you know, I didn’t…I didn’t tell your brother what I saw the other day. I won’t tell—”

The kitchen door swung open before Lizzie could say anything more. Robbie launched himself into Clara’s arms, shouting out her name as he latched onto her. Clara knew that was the end of their silence, the end of Lizzie’s quiet assurances. The others would be up soon and there would be no more talk of secrets, no more time for worries about her and Finn being found out. That normally might have troubled Clara, but it seemed that bit of her worry was unwarranted, so long as Lizzie Stark kept her word, anyway.

Clara squeezed her nephew tight for a moment, realizing as she held him that he’d grown a bit. She hadn’t seen Robbie in some time—far too long considering they lived just down the lane, but Clara had been staying close to home, caught up in her own troubles.

“Did you say hello to Miss Stark?” Clara whispered as the boy loosened his hold, looking about the kitchen.

Robbie buried his face back against Clara’s dress without an answer.

“Oh, it’s just Lizzie,” Lizzie answered, stealing a glance at the two children.

Clara tried to shift her nephew around, tugging him from his spot, but he held his positioning.

“Are you hungry, Robbie?”

“Robert,” the boy quickly corrected, pulling himself from Clara’s side. “Robbie’s a baby’s name.”

“Robert it is, then,” Lizzie amended. “A very strong name. Would you like some breakfast, Mr. Robert Shelby?”

The boy nodded, a sly smile creeping onto his face at being called a mister, at being taken seriously by an adult.

“Maybe you’d like to help?” Lizzie suggested, reaching out for one of the kitchen chairs and pulling it over to the counter.

Robbie glanced toward his aunt as if asking permission. Clara nodded, guiding him forward with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Clara left the kitchen to go check on the other three and Robbie was already giggling as he and Lizzie leaned over the eggs, something very sweet and almost conspiratorial there in the way their heads bent toward one another, the whispers passing between them quiet enough that Clara couldn’t hear a word that was being said.

The moment had her thinking suddenly of Martha. Clara had always held a certain love for her sister-in-law, but she didn’t remember many playful moments where Martha was concerned. Her brother’s wife had been a smart and swift sort of woman. She had been a carer in all the most efficient ways. John had never had to lift a finger in the home while Martha was alive. Clara remembered her laughing and smiling when she was very young, being playful with her, but that was before the war…back when Clara was very young, the memories fragmented by time.

The Martha that Clara remembered best was the woman who’d raised four kids alone during a war, the woman who’d grown sick while she was still raising them alone. Clara remembered that woman as one who tolerated very little nonsense. Polly had once told Clara that doing it alone could change the type of mother you planned to be and Clara had to believe it was true. Martha had always been caring and efficient and kind, but there was a certain strictness in her during the war that didn’t seem to really be part of her—something foreign or imposed on her, incongruent with the core of her. Martha hadn’t had the time or energy for something like allowing the kids to help with breakfast.

She certainly hadn’t been baking cookies for the kids as a special treat…

Clara wondered what Martha would think of the way John let them run wild now…letting them live without structure, letting them lead things a bit. Clara didn’t imagine she’d like it, but Clara thought maybe she might understand.

As Clara came up the stairs, the door to Robbie and Joe’s bedroom was wide open, the room beyond empty aside from a bed with messy covers, so she proceeded to the girls’ room. The door was ajar, only just, and it was quiet—a quiet Clara wasn’t used to in her brother’s house, not when her nieces and nephews were awake, at least.

As she reached the door, Clara could discern that quiet was only made possible because the kids were whispering—Katie, Sarah, and Joe all speaking over each other though little more than an indiscernible hum reached Clara’s ears as she pushed the door open.

“Lizzie and Robbie are making—”

The kids all jumped apart, startled by Clara’s sudden presence there. Clara recognized something in the air—a familiar tension tingling in her limbs—the tension of being caught doing something wrong, a bit of fear and defensiveness and secretiveness pushing and pulling in the space between them. Clara had experienced enough times to know. She was close enough in age to John’s kids that she and Finn were more used to being a part of it rather than being the one to set the tension into the air. Clara, Finn, and John’s kids all usually played together as something close to peers. John’s kids recognized Clara and Finn as having some slight, nearly insignificant bit of authority over them. They knew Clara and Finn were their aunt and uncle, but most often it didn’t matter.

They played and got up to trouble together. There weren’t many secrets between them.

“What are you doing?” Clara asked.

“Nothing,” Joe answered, the word coming out so quickly that Clara imagined that it would’ve been the answer regardless of the question. He’d stepped in front of the girls and shot a glance back at Katie now.

“Your dad said you have to be good for Lizzie today. Better not be—”

“We’re not doing nothing,” Joe interrupted.

“Just talking,” Sarah added, her tone a bit softer than her brother.

“What’s for breakfast?” Katie stepped around her brother, coming to stand by Clara at the door. “I’m starved.”

“C’mon, Katie,” Joe said as he moved across the room, pulling on Katie’s hand and taking her from the room.

When Clara turned back to the room, she watched as Sarah busied herself with pulling up the covers of her bed before moving on to the girls’ toys scattered across the floor, making the room a bit neater as she went. The girl was dallying. Sarah was usually quieter than the others—more sensible, Clara thought, more like their mother. And Clara thought of her differently than the others…thought now that they were alone, Sarah might say something more, but the girl stayed quiet and on the other side of the room.

“Are you coming?” Clara asked.

Sarah dropped the toys she was considering and nodded, passing by Clara without a word. As Sarah made her way down the stairs, Clara’s eyes swept over the room searching for some indication that the kids had been doing something more than just talking, but nothing was odd or out of place.

Clara was tempted to keep looking, but then she remembered that her being upstairs left Lizzie alone with the lot of them, a situation she didn’t imagine yielding anything positive.

The kids were yelling as Clara came down the stairs, their voices carrying over each other and conglomerating into one big indiscernible sound, just as their whispers had done upstairs just moments before.

Sarah and Joe were arguing over setting the table of all things and Clara’s voice got quickly lost among all the shouting while her niece and nephew tugged a stack of plates back and forth between them.

Clara made to step forward and separate them, difficult as it would be considering it was the two oldest ones fighting, but Lizzie beat her to it, grabbing the plates and setting them aside before pulling the two kids apart.

“Dad said no fighting,” Robbie said, still standing on the chair by the stove, watching over the food.

“Shut up, Robbie ,” Joe answered. “Quit being a baby.”

Sarah reached out and smacked her brother upside the head, an attack that he quickly returned, but it didn’t matter that they were fighting because the damage was already done, with Robbie’s tears already clear by the time he hopped off the chair and ran out of the room.

“I’ll see to him,” Sarah offered, but Lizzie shook her head.

“You three sit and eat,” she said. “And I hope not to hear a sound other than the sound of forks against plates.”

Joe laughed. “Or what?”

Lizzie’s mouth opened and closed, and Clara sensed she hadn’t been anticipating having to give such an answer. Lizzie had figured her sharp tone would've been enough, that the kids wouldn't be bold enough to argue.

“Or Aunt Polly’ll hear about it,” Clara answered as she took the stack of plates. “And if Aunt Polly hears about it, then—”

“Stop fighting! The eggs are getting cold!” Katie interrupted, already in her spot at the table, leaning across the space in front of her to scoop food into her mouth straight from the pan with her fork.

“You’ve got this?” Lizzie asked, waiting only for Clara’s nod before exiting the now silent room.

Clara was surprised that the threat of Aunt Polly was enough to bring John’s kids to behave themselves, but they all sat nearly silent at the table for the short minutes during which Lizzie was off with Robbie. None of the kids said anything when their younger brother came back into the room, his eyes still a bit red as he hopped up into his chair.

“Eat up,” Lizzie said, when she realized all except Katie and Robbie were simply pushing their food around their plates. Clara and Sarah were studying Robbie for their own reasons. Joe was glaring daggers at Lizzie, defying the woman though he was starved. “We’ve got loads to do for today.”

“Like what?” Sarah asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Robbie answered between bites, a conspiratorial grin shot towards Lizzie.

“Oh! I want to know! I want to know!” Katie answered as she shifted out of her seat and moved to Lizzie’s side, giggling when Lizzie leaned down and whispered in the little girl’s ear.

“And what about you three?” Lizzie asked, looking at Sarah, Joe, and Clara. Would you like to—"

“No, Lizzie!” Robbie answered. “It's a surprise."

“What do you think, Katie?” Lizzie asked, the conspiracy quickly growing to include Katie.

“Surprise,” she agreed, sliding back into her chair to resume eating her eggs, rather pleased with herself that she and Robbie and Lizzie were sharing a secret and for once, and that the two youngest had the upper hand. It was so rare that the two of them knew anything before their older brother and sister, or their aunt.

Clara didn't say anything though she didn't love being on the other end of a secret or being lumped in with the kids, especially not when Clara was meant to be helping Lizzie. Clara didn't like not knowing, but some nagging part of her said she could trust Lizzie, both with this and with hers and Finn's secret. And anyway, Katie and Robbie's smiles put her at ease. Surely, if those two were happy about it, Lizzie's plan for the day couldn't be too bad.

As Lizzie slid into the last seat at the table, the one just beside Robbie, Clara took a sip of her tea. Joseph was watching Lizzie, watching as she sat there smiling at Katie and Robbie, watching as she brought a piece of bread to her mouth.

"That was my mum's seat," Joseph said as he continued to stare at her.

Clara nearly choked on the hot liquid in her mouth. Lizzie's face colored at the boy's words, her cheeks full as she stopped chewing. Silence held over the table as each of them considered what the boy was saying...the meaning there between the lines.

Lizzie Stark was in his mum's seat, but Lizzie wasn't his mum...and Joseph Shelby didn't want her to be.

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Chapter 33

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby #lizzie stark #finn shelby #john shelby's kids #clara shelby #little lady blinder #shelby!sister #shelby sister

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lostdrarryfics · 1 year ago

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THE BIG FIND 2023: Day 8

The Big Find is a 10-day long Drarry fic-finding marathon to celebrate the blog’s anniversary. Below is the Day 8 compilation of lost fics, both old and new, that we’ve been unable to find. Our aim is to get as much attention to these lost fics as possible, to help people finally find their missing fics! Anyone can participate by reblogging, reading through each list, providing additional fic details, and informing us the title, author, or link of a fic, and their respective number in the comment section. Happy finding!

8.1 Draco really liked Harry but Harry kinda liked Ron I guess. Draco guessed it by saying “You love him (Ron), don’t you?” to Harry and he said yes (I’m sorry if it’s not right). It’s TopDraco and BottomHarry. Harry only called when he wanted sex with Draco. Draco kinda got fed up so he asked why is he like that. Draco decided whatever between them has to stop but Harry disagreed. Angst, a lot of angst and written in Draco’s POV and still on going last time I checked on AO3.

8.2 This fic is not about church I think, and I could not find it on ao3 by the ‘church’ tag definitely, however, I remember that Harry is surprised that Draco went to church and he’s told that it was a pureblood thing - to go to church on Sunday, etc - and Neville told him that he went to the same church with Malfoy when they were children and that is how they knew each other. It is on ao3, though I am not fully sure, probably it is a tumblr fic

8.3 I’m not sure if it was posted on AO3 or just on Tumblr. It was before drarrymicrofic prompts started so I’d guess somewhere from 2015-2019 (2016 or 2017 is best guess), but probably under 1k words (2k would be the max). Fic has MCD and drug use. Written from Harry’s POV (likely 3rd person) with minimal dialogue. After the war, Draco and Harry are both struggling to adjust, turn to drugs, and end up spending time together at clubs/hooking up to escape their thoughts. The drug that they’re into could be fairy dust or something magical, but I’m not too sure. Somehow, Harry starts to get better, starts feeling hopeful about life, is ready to fight his addiction, and is excited about his future that might even include Draco since he’s grown fond. Harry goes to a club one night, ready to talk to Draco about getting better, and makes eye contact with him on the dance floor. Draco falls to the ground and ends up dying of an overdose. There’s a line at the end about Harry seeing the light leaving Draco’s eyes as he hit the floor that always stuck with me because the fic is about falling into a dark place, starting to see the light, and having the light abruptly turned off.

8.4 fic that i read on ao3 around 2021, that i can’t seem to find for the life of me. Its a post hogwarts fic where draco and harry are married and their kids are James, Albus, Scorpius, and Lily. The plot is Lucius comes to live with them after Narcissa dies and he hasn’t really met the kids before but they were close with Narcissa, and it’s from the perspective of the kids per chapter.

8.5 Harry is like a magical painter/designer and paints a room for Teddy/Scorpius? All I really remember are that the paintings moved and included mythical creatures. I also I feel like it had bottom harry in it, but who knows. I believe it was on ao3 but was possibly on FF. I read it mostly likely 3-5 years ago but could be longer. I think it was multi-chaptered and definitely longer than a one shot. I think Harry had painted rooms for Rose and Hugo previously as well as a playroom for teddy and maybe even rooms for Luna and Rolf’s kids? And Draco’s kid really liked the paintings all his friends had and asked his dad to get him one. Mystical creatures in the paintings included dragons, unicorns, flying snitches, etc.

8.6 I can’t remember much about the extension or if it had a second part, but it’s not totally drarry. It’s a fic I read on AO3, Albus’ POV. The Potters have a room (maybe?) at home and there you could play a fantasy. Albus discovers that Harry had an affair with Draco when they were young.

8.7 Harry wants to bring Sirius back from the veil, and Draco is an Unspeakable so Harry goes to him for help, and they eventually succeed (and fall for each other), but Sirius comes back as a baby that they end up raising together alongside Teddy?

8.8 i remember it was about snape and petunia helping harry run away/being on the run and sort of adopting him? i dont remember if snape/petunia was actually romantic in it tho. it was on ao3 and i remember hearing ab it from the author in the notes of another drarry fic (i thought perhaps it was by shanastoryteller but i cant find anything about it so either not them or perhaps it was deleted) it would probably be a wip and i remember wanting to start it last year when there was like 2 chapters out.

8.9 looking for a drarry fanfic from way back, like 2002. I remember the one with the scene where there was a party under the house and they had spin the bottle but there was a line that connected between their lips and don’t go away until they kiss. All I can remember about it was the intro of draco showing up at Harry’s place because his dad was going to kill him. There was the party with the games improved by the twins. Some significant rings were exchanged that had jewels in them that could tell if they were still alive. Also they used to climb into a portrait above their beds and it took them to a secret room so they couldn’t be killed in their sleep. Aka private room for gay sex.

8.10 fic I read a long time ago. It was on AO3 I think. Basically Harry and Draco has this long standing arrangement where they would set up trap/escape rooms to challenge each other. I believe they set it up at Gringotts. They don’t actually know who each other are, they just go by an alias. Harry sets up a room using some kind of instant darkness powder, one of the Weasley wheezes and finally defeats Draco. I believe Harry is an Auror while Draco is an unspeakable. This was a case fic too, and they were somehow put together on an international intrigue case. To resolve one of their issues Harry brought out the instant darkness powder and that was how Draco finally recognize him as the other challenger.

8.11 been trying to find this fic i read so long ago. i’ve been searching for soo long. it’s one where harry and ginny go to a masked ball thing where everyone just plays out their fantasies and harry meets this guy who he does it with. and the guy happens to be draco. also ginny gets double penetrated

8.12 looking for a non-magic au fic where Harry is a thief and he spends a long time scouting out this rich house (with Draco and his family living there) he wants to steal from. One day, he climbs up the side pillar when he thinks the house is empty to enter through a balcony. He sees that Draco’s actually there (they don’t know each other) - he’s beautiful but he hasn’t left his room or touched someone in years. Harry keeps revisiting despite himself and gets Draco to open up to him. They date.

8.13 I can’t remember if it’s an 8th year fic or a rewrite of sorts. But Draco is at hogwarts and befriends the golden trio + luna + Ginny and for some reason I have this memory that in the midst of it all they decide they want to become animagi? And that at some point they come to the conclusion that they’re avatars (for lack of a better word, I guess heirs) for the original founders of hogwarts.

8.14 The magical world is getting itself known to the muggle world, which causes problems and then when a representatives meeting between both sides was held, Harry was surprised to find Draco representing the muggle side after getting exiled from the magical world. I forgot if Draco lost his magic or not. I remember it being a very long one-shot. And I think its quite an old fanfic around 2012-2017s.

#the big find 2023 #drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic search #drarry squad

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 1 year ago

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Breaking down the comics: Learning to Crawl (issue 35)

Moon Knight, Issue # 35: Second Wind

Written by Tony Isabella and drawn by Carl Potts

Hey look! The X-men are in this one! And the Fantastic Four! That’s a lot of cross-over. As I’ve stated before, a lot of times when you have a ‘features’ on the cover, it means the characters show up briefly to do a one liner, then leave. A ploy to try to draw in more readers and sell more issues. Let’s see how much they all feature in this!

And the plot summary? “Following last issue’s devastation, Moon Knight is at a crossroads on whether or not to continue his vigilante career. Guest-starring the X-Men and FF!”

Now, keep in mind that this is a new writer (One that was acclaimed and recently retired that came out of retirement to guest appear) right after Moench left Marvel. So we're getting the character intro that feels more geared towards the writer than the audience. ALSO this is a cross over ultra long issue so they are hoping to have NEW readers that are here for the X-men and that will get interested in Moon Knight and then start reading regularly.

So we're not only going to get over intros of the characters, but we're also going to get a heavily watered down edition of the characters because the new readers aren't here for lore, they're here for X-men.

We open at midnight in Manhattan.

"It's Midnight when the man born Marc Spector (but who has long since glided into other identities as easily as he now glides over the city) spots the quarry that has brought him out into the darkness.

Thus Marc Spector begins this in his identity as the costumed adventurer Moon Knight. When it ends he will know who he truly is...and why."

His prey is "The Fly", who focuses on robbing rich vacation homes while the owners are away.

After noting that The Fly recently went up against Spider-Man and lost, Moon Knight sneaks up on The Fly and immediately gets his ass kicked. He spends a lot of time on the ground.

He’s doing well.

OH. OH NO. I know this comic! (it may come as a surprise to some of you that I do not read the comics then write these analysis. I do a life reaction.) I knew this was coming but it had completely escaped me that THIS was how it happened. Oh. My. Khonshu. This is embarrassing.

As always, Frenchie is up above keeping an eye on things. When he spots "The Fly" getting away, he radios down to Moon Knight.

Worried for his friend, he climbs down from the chopper and finds Marc laid out on the roof, unable to move and barely able to speak.

I must say, the art and colors on this issue are spectacular.

Frenchie gets Marc to his chopper.

"Moon Knight glides from pain to oblivion to delirium in no discernible pattern. Once he curses himself through agonized tears for being so sloppy this time.

Once he wakes in madness to quote Keats. 'There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.'"

Side note: We've seen Marc, specifically Marc, quote classical literature before. Marc is shockingly well read and it makes me wonder why he hides how smart he is. In later issues he talks about his struggles in school, but Marc Spector really is very smart. (An idiot but smart).

John Keats is an English romantic poet. He is famously known for "Beauty in truth, truth in beauty".

Jean-Paul takes Marc to a private hospital that 'doesn't ask questions'.

He undergoes surgery, but his spinal damage is great. They tell Marlene that they've done what they can and the rest lays in subsequent therapy. "I'm afraid it's entirely possible that Steven Grant may never walk again."

We move to Paris where a young up and coming dancer is running for her life from some unseen danger.

Her assailant is a woman who accuses her of abandoning Russia and taking all her gifts with her. The attacker uses the wind as her power and sends the girl off into the sky to meet a terrible fate.

Back in Grant Mansion, we see one of the Moon Boys working on parallel bars to learn to walk again. The whole time, he curses himself for letting The Fly get away.

Now, for the past couple of issues, Moon Knight has been facing another internal conflict of if he is doing any good. The people he was supposed to help turned out to be th villains and the villains turned out to be guided by circumstances and then paid a terrible price.

"I'm not sure I should ever think about Moon Knight again... I mean, what if it's somebody else's life on the line next time I screw up?"

Marlene calls an end to today's therapy session and helps 'Steven' back to his wheelchair.

Samules, the butler, announces a guest and Gena busts in at full speed.

"Guests, Sammy? We're family. Right Lockley?"

"How's the kids, Gena?" (Jake is always such a sweetie).

She gives him a hug and I may tear up. I love Gena so much.

Crawley bursts in next.

Jake's friends have always been his support and his heart.

Jake is worried about the boys.

Gena is too. "This sure isn't the easiest city in the world to grow up in...Even for good kids."

They reflect on the gangs always recruiting new members.

They talk about how Lenny, from the Music box issue, is serving time despite being a good kid. They reflect on the gang that was poisoned and attacked Gena in her diner.

"Those are the reasons I'm thinking of leaving. My brother has a place in Houston. He needs a manager. Hard decision to make." Gena admits.

"Do what's best for you and the kids. But... If you can --stay. You've got family here too."

It's hard to let go of friends. Especially someone as important to their way of life and joy like Gena. Jake relies so heavily on his routine. He visits the diner for breakfast frequently and he goes there when things are stressful or he wants to get away from Steven's life and people.

Gena heads out, back to the diner. Crawley lingers to have a word.

Moon Knight used to pay Crawley for information. Crawley has always had a gambling problem and he admits that he's been in it again and is out of cash and overdue on the rent again.

"I...I was wondering if Moon Knight would be requiring my services soon."

I'm not sure who is fronting at this junction, but he's giving Steven vibes so I'll say Steven.

Steven admits that he doesn't know when he'll be up and able to walk again, much less Moon Knighting...

"I'm not sure Moon Knight will be back."

Marlene offers to put Crawley on a retainer and holds out some cash.

"Oh, no. I'm afraid I've gotten to enjoy working for a living again. Not to worry, my dear, I'll be fine."

Crawley refuses help and asks to be notified if his services are needed. He heads back to the diner.

Steven is angry. "He's my friend, Marlene, and for the first time I'm wondering if it hasn't been my needs as Moon Knight that have kept him down in the gutters--While I come home to THIS every morning.

Maybe it is time to retire as Moon Knight."

He heads into the room that houses his Khonshu statue.

"What do you say, Khonshu, Old boy? Is the wheelchair and the legs that won't work some sort of sign that my tour of duty as Moon Knight is over? Have I paid for the crimes of my past?

All the men I am... Can I put Mercenary Spector to rest? Can I stop driving Lockley's cab?

Can I finally be the man I want to be? I WANT to be Steven Grant, Marlene. He's a good man...The kind of man who could make you happy."

"That would be nice. Let's talk about it...Sometime."

"Right. Well, wheelchair or not, I've still got a life to lead. Let's get on with it."

Narration: And if Khonshu has any thoughts of his own to add...He keeps his own counsel.

So we are dealing with Steven primarily in the chair. It’s interesting that Steven is the one dealing with the PT and learning how to cope. We get glimpses of Jake, but mostly it’s Steven wondering what sort of life he is supposed to follow. The desire to just be Steven. To be a good man. To make Marlene happy.

Next we see Marlene and Steven going to a Ballet. Steven has sponsored the local ballet in an effort to be "just a good citizen doing what he can."

Steven goes to meet the star, Sergey Valberg. He's brought along the media to help promote the company and get more people to the Ballet.

As the media sets up, we catch a glimpse of the angry woman from before that sent the other dancer to space.

Sergey has agreed to let the media record his rehearsal. They watch in amazement as he dances when suddenly...

A gust of wind knocks all the security around and the woman enters the room. "Sergey... Your dance is over."

"Marlene... I think she's here to kill him! Try to cover me while I...I... Sit here like a helpless cripple." Steven is realizing he can't do anything.

Wind lady blows the chair over for his trouble.

Sergey recognizes her. He calls her Bora.

"I have heard...of a woman whose heart is as cold as the frigid winds she commands. I had hoped I heard wrong."

She had once rehearsed under Sergey, dreaming of being a great ballerina. Then she found out that she was a Mutant as she not only gained wind powers, but she also grew to over seven feet tall!

When she went to him for help, she found out that he had fled Russia to America.

Her dreams of being a ballerina were over.

"I awoke to find my long cherished goals thrust eternally beyond my reach, for what choreographer had ever conceived a ballet for a seven foot tall artist?!"

So naturally she decided to punish all those who defected from Russia.

She drops the temperature to below freezing as the winds swirl around them.... And Sergey starts to dance.

"If I die, It will be as I have lived--Honoring life through my dance!"

Steven is helpless to watch from outside of the rehearsal room as the temperature drops and the winds blow.

"The Bora is a cold, dry wind. It can reach speeds of 125 miles per hour and has been known to overturn trucks. He lets the gusts catch him in mid leap.

His dance has become a language now... His movements its alphabet. The opposition of arms and legs create words. His dance speaks to Steven Grant. It speaks of courage unconquerable."

Steven crawls to the glass and struggles to get to his feet.

"The temperature in the enclosed studio is now sixty degrees below zero. The sentences form more slowly. Indeed, there is only breath left...for one... final... statement."

Sergey takes a final leap.

"The dancer is dead... But not his dance."

The wind woman departs and Steven is left helpless.

He has realized a truth. He asks Marlene to take him home.

Love the imagery of Khonshu’s statue behind Marlene. “Inside the mansion there is a cold silence. It reminds Marlene of a tomb…in Egypt.”

"Because I have to be here. Because I'm needed." Steven sits in the wheelchair clutching at the Moon Knight cowl. "You know what's out there. It's a world in which the savages all too often rule our cities, our streets, our souls.

The Good citizens... The Grants, the Lockley's...They fight that tyranny as best they can. They aren't always enough."

Steven is starting to understand that as much as he wants to be the good person and the only person, he can't.

"Moon Knight is more than a good man. He's a force that transcends the brutality and the fear that are the savages' main weapons--Because he can use those weapons himself.

He's a savage on the side of the angels. A protector of innocents... A symbol of vengeance and hope. And, God willing, If he does his job well enough... He'll be the last savage."

It's an interesting understanding by Steven. Viewing Moon Knight a a necessary violence force. But does he see Moon Knight as his own person, as Marc Spector, or as all of them working together?

I know how Moench would portray Moon Knight, but with him out of the picture, how is Marvel going to let the character of Moon Knight advance?

Steven attempts to stand.

He fights through the pain.

For once, he’s not looking to Khonshu for support. Or a miracle.

"This is the truth learned. That being Moon Knight is not a curse... Nor a state of penance. It is simply who and what he was always meant to be."

So what is Moon Knight's first course of action?

He goes to see Professor Charles Xavier's school for gifted youngsters.

Alright. We are a little over halfway through the comic and we are finally bringing in the X-men.

He speaks with the Professor himself.

"The Russians have been unusually co-operative with the bare facts. She's fourteen, off her nut, and operating without their sanction. Not enough. I need to know how her powers work!"

Moon Knight notes that there are four more defectors in the ballet company and he bets she'll strike again on opening night.

Professor tells him how he thinks Bora's power works then asks if Moon Knight thinks one man can stop her.

"I don't know. I don't see where I have any choice but to try. Thank you for your help, professor."

Leaving, Professor X watches him go.

"He has doubts. His injury--His recent failure....The pain that yet wracks his body. They all work against him. And still he strives to overcome. The man's determination is both inspiring and frightening."

He calls in Colossus and Nightcrawler.

Mostly because you can’t have a comic that boasts about an X-man crossover without the x-men. And any time there’s a one off X-men crossover, they tend to just kinda throw Colossus and Nightcrawler at the situation back in the day. (Current day it’s more like wolverine or some random side characters that Marvel wants to promote at the time for a smaller comic).

Nightcrawler makes the argument that Mutants should deal with Mutants.

"I would agree...Normally... But Moon Knight is at a crossroad in his life. He must be given the chance to prove himself to himself. He is a powerful force for good.

Perhaps more powerful, in his own way, than we X-men. We will not interfere unless necessary."

Yet... They do all agree that a night at the Ballet might be nice.

Outside the school we find Frenchie chatting up Storm.

Opening night, the theater is packed! And what's this? The Thing!

He says his hello to Nightcrawler.

Nightcrawler admits that he's there as 'unofficial back-up'.

Ben laughs. "I guess that makes yours truly and pals the "Official Back-ups, then."

It would seem that Moon Knight knew he wasn't fully up to full strength so he called in a little extra help.

"The Fantastic four!" Kirk turns to his row and admits "I, too, came with 'Pals'!"

And there we see more of the X-men! I'm not a big X-men reader, so I only recognize two, maybe three of the ones there.

It's also interesting that Moon Knight would specifically ask for help from the fantastic four. He's only had run-ins with DareDevil, Ben, and the Hulk up to this point. Inviting Dare Devil to the ballet would be... a bit off. And the Hulk wouldn't exactly be good backup.

It's also hilarious that to this day, Ben still considers Moon Knight a friend and every single year will send him Hanukkah cards. In later issues, Moon Knight admits that there aren't a lot of Jewish heroes and that Ben needs to meet others besides himself, since he isn't exactly the most observant. But it's still touching how Ben said "This is my friend." and clung to him for so long.

We see Moon Knight himself up in a box seat overlooking the stage. (And this image really tickled me for POTO reasons. If you know, you know.)

"But if Kurt Wagner has gained new respect for the Moon's Knight of Vengeance, the object of that praise is himself still wrestling with doubts.

Bora has the power to level this theater. He was crippled by a glorified burglar. Memories of past failure assail him. The waiting is a battle in itself. And that he does not surrender to his doubts in those seemingly interminable minutes is a victory as great as any he has known."

Okay okay okay. Let's take a moment to appreciate the actual Ballet!

"Laurencia" - A story of love and tyranny.

A ballet by Chabukiani. As wiki informs me, "Created at a time when 'choreodrama' was considered in the Soviet Union the only acceptable form of contemporary ballet.'

Basically it stresses that dance was an ultimate form of expression and all movement should serve as a purpose.

So ballet at the time seemed to focus heavily on drama based plays.

The story the ballet is based on is one of a peasant revolution. Which, if you know the most basic of Russian history, this was a big deal for the Soviet Union.

Now, Chabukiani created his own form of choreographic language in Ballet where he focused heavily on the Male Dancer and created 'the heroic male dance'.

The play is pretty simple. Village awaits the return of some grand Commander with his army. Meanwhile a girl and her admirer are flirting. The commander returns and immediately desires the beautiful girl. She rejects him so he leaves with his army. The admirer asks the girl to marry him but she isn't sure and doesn't answer. The Commander returns and tries to have the girl. She rejects him again and this time he leaves promising revenge. The girl marries her admirer but the commander interrupts the wedding and arrests her groom. Pretty pissed off, she rallies the village and they storm the castle. They kill the commander and free the groom.

The original story was written in the 1600s and was based on a real story.

Back to the comic!

Bora interrupts just as the revolt against the evil Commander is taking place.

Winds batter around the ballerinas as Bora steps on stage.

"The winds of retribution have pursued you from the homeland you hae betrayed! They have decreed your punishment! And they have named Me Your executioner!"

The X-men and the Fantastic Four hold off, wanting to let Moon Knight take his chance to redeem himself to himself.

(It's also funny to watch a woman command the winds and have Storm be there like, "Oh she is not going to get away with this".)

Moon Knight leaps down onto the stage.

She immediately blasts him with wind. This gives the dancers time to make their escape as he fights against the wind storm.

Professor X had guessed that Bora's powers were psionic in nature. She was not generating the wind herself like Storm does, but she was opening a sort of portal to harness the winds from their original location.

Off stage, Marlene and Frenchie flip on the lights and buzzers, giving Bora a massive headache and thus she loses control of her wind.

The notion that Steven goes around building things ‘just in case Moon Knight needs them’ is hilarious.

The Fantastic Four do their thing and ensure that the audience and fleeing Ballerina are not injured in the wild winds.

You gotta love cross-over comics. The X-men could have ended this immediately. Much less the Fantastic. Both in the same building? Come on. But this isn’t their comic. They are guests in this comic so they gotta watch Moon Knight, a man without a single ounce of power who just finished recovering from massive spinal injury crawl across the stage. Look at him go. He’s used to being on the ground anyways.

We get to see the Various X-men like Kitty Pride and storm and Colossus do their thing to help people. We also see the Fantastic Four do their own thing.

Pretty pissed off, Bora now focuses fully on Moon Knight and he's getting blown around a bit.

"The temperature drops rapidly, a full degree per second. He cannot feel what he clutches in his hand. He does not stop. Ice daggers cut deep into his flesh. And still he does not stop."

Nightcrawler pops in just behind her, giving her a start. The momentary distraction is enough for Moon Knight to get to her and...

DID HE JUST CHLOROFORM HER?!

Yep. Sure did…

Well... It worked. She passes out.

Later, back at Grant Mansion Marlene and Steven talk.

"You're tired." "I am exhausted--and in excruciating pain--and feeling completely, totally wonderful!"

"No more doubts?"

"Lots. But I won't quit again. What we do is important."

"I can live with that."

And we end on Khonshu's statue gazing at Marlene and Steven embracing.

OKAY. Coming from the future and gazing upon the past, we know what is to come in the comics much much distance from when this one was written.

He does in fact quit again. He also ends up in a wheelchair again. What’s the difference? This time, it is Steven that handles it. In the future issue, it’s MARC that handles it. Another huge difference? In the future issue with Marc being left crippled, his friends have all left him and he suffers alone, angry, and in despair. This time, we see their friends rally around him. Steven is practical in how he confronts the problem, and Steven takes them through the rehab PT, he puts in the work, and he understands what it means to not be able to recover. He accepts potential failure and he makes peace with it.

Marc does not. In that future episode, Marc pushes himself over and over again and suffers in miserable agony as he fails and fails and fails. Steven accepts that he is a good man and he can live with himself if he can’t be Moon Knight. Marc cannot.

We also see the general use of ‘What WE do is important.’. He won’t quit again. He, being Steven Grant, acknowledges that he gave up too soon. He settled too soon and didn’t leave the others any say in the matter. He wrote off Jake and Marc and Moon Knight. Now he sees that he can’t do that. Moon Knight needs his place.

What I also love is that this was again another show of a battle against oneself. We see him struggling again with his own failures and dip into self depredation. They suffer with imposter syndrome and doubt and depression. He acknowledges that the doubt is still there. That they are still struggling, but that they now know that they need to keep pushing on and forward.

What I didn’t like about this issue? What happens to the girl? What happened to Bora after she is defeated? 14 years old and her dreams of ballet are gone and she is obviously not taking anything well. Do they just hand her over to the X-men to deal with? Also the main ballet dancer was killed! And the ballet just goes on? He was a pretty important figure it seems like! And the girl from earlier that was killed! I hate loose ends.

Overall, I really did enjoy this issue, even if it was a cross-over with loose ends. This is the last we see of special guest writer Tony Isabella. In the next issue, we get our first full one from Zelenetz!

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comics #Analyzing the comics #Marc Spector #Steven Grant #Jake Lockley #marlene alraune #I enjoyed this one #Moon Knight is a drama king if I ever saw one though #Box 5 - you know if you know

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mikuni14 · 1 year ago

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Only Friends Ep 5

Sand and Ray This time the episode focused largely on them, their relationship went through a whole stage during this time, from the tentative hope for Something, to the devastating feeling that their relationship is falling apart before their eyes even though they both don't want it to. This ep shed some light on Sand, on being the child of a single parent, a mother who certainly struggled to provide for both of them. The way Sand works all the time and money is an issue in his life. The way he is cynical and disillusioned and has his feet firmly on the ground, while still having his dreams. And how Ray shakes up his life, how Sand gives himself a chance at love, and how it makes him upset that he may be the only one who feels it. Sand is such a good boy, as seen when he stops pouring alcohol into Ray's glass when he tells him about his mother. Ray is a good boy too, just a victim of circumstances. They really have a chance for a good relationship, for me they are the only ones in this series that can actually make it. I was really sad to see the despair in Ray's eyes when he told Sand that he could talk to him if he had any questions about him and their relationship. And when Sand turns his back on him. Sand is a bit unfair I think, because Ray has proven many times that he is invested in their relationship, he even went with him to fight debt collectors! 😭 Sand should talk to him and give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps things would have turned out differently if, to Boston's question: if you don't feel anything about Mew, why are you so upset, Ray would have replied: because what you say will threaten my relationship with Sand. Because maybe I'm wrong, but I think that for Ray the worst thing was that Sand witnessed this argument. I have the impression that Ray is trying and sincerely likes Sand and hopes for a relationship with him. But Ray, the unluckiest boy in the world, once again becomes a victim of circumstances and his feelings and Boston he's probably just his collateral damage.

Mew and Top Top, to me, was sort of detached throughout this episode, and his time with Mew made it seem like he was doing his chores in order to gain bed privileges. I don't know if there's anything less romantic than checking things off someone's list and proving your worth. Mew is still one of the funniest characters for me. Like the fact that he constantly emphasizes that sex is only penetration never fails to make me laugh (when he called Boston to say he wanted to do IT with Top, I wanted to shake him and say, you already did THAT with him ffs!). Mew has an entire ideology built around sex and his virginity, which is very funny because he's obviously just been waiting for the right guy and when he finds him, he wants to do it with him so badly that he ignores potential red flags (Top's reputation and how people constantly hit on him even when they're together, which Mew sees, also the drugs) and even finds excuses to do it with him. For example: because it keeps Top from taking drugs, or, wait for it, it's gonna be good (and also ruins Mew's entire carefully developed ideology and reputation), otherwise Top will get bored with him. 😄 My opinion about Mew remains the same, he's a pathetic, morally questionable, fake character. There's really nothing wrong with waiting for someone you just want to do it with, it's NORMAL. Why make a list, requirements, a trial period, when in the end he chooses, let's be honest, with his heart and 🍆? How is he different, morally better? from the other characters, how is he different from Boston, whom he looks down upon and would like him to change, since Boston also chooses whomever he wants in bed?🤷‍♀️

Nick and Boston Despite their flaws, I must admit that I like them the most. Nick with his determination, ruthlessness in reaching his goal, obsession, even though he is fully aware of what Ton is like, the things he is able to do for him, how far he is able to go for him… I don't know, but as a character Nick is very real and I understand him. The corruption of this toxic love on his otherwise good soul is so realistic. Same with Boston, who is a great character, I love him. Whatever he does, whatever he says, somehow it's always true, which is amazing. He manipulates people with the truth, not lies, confronts them with their own ideas about themselves and others, which understandably always ends in an interesting way, because people are attached to their ideas and do not want the truth about them to come to light. Boston in the final scene when he watches Sand and Ray like a hawk being lovey-dovey was my favorite Boston, it was like watching a loaded shotgun knowing it was about to fire 🤩

I'm curious about Boston in the trailer for the next episode. He looks genuinely upset that Ray probably knows about him and Top in the car (which Ray knows from Sand, which means maybe they finally talked to each other.. I hope). Did Ton want to keep it for himself because he feels something for Top and wants to have this moment for himself, or does he want to keep it because he wants to use it at a convenient moment?🤔

#only friends the series #only friends #bl drama #thai bl

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seradae · 1 year ago

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My Queen [FF] [monsterfucking] [naga] [alcohol mention]

I remember the first time I saw her; I don't think I'll ever forget it. I was sitting at a lesbian bar, somehow still fending off frat bros from the local university whom either didn't recognize or didn't respect the clear message being sent to them. She was sitting a few stools down and after the third guy approached, I saw she was watching and gave her the "seriously?" look. She gave back the expected eyeroll and then stopped to think for a moment, seeming to zone out. Then it happened.

For a moment, I saw her. The real her. Her face, her eyes, her hair, her blouse -- they all remained. But the stool was gone. Her legs were gone. She was taller, held up by what seemed to be a massive… snake tail. Snake body? I blinked and she was back to human. I pushed my drink away and asked the bartender for a coke, worried that one of the frat guys from earlier had slipped something into my drink. She noticed my distress and came to sit next to me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

I understood the words she said, but I couldn't understand what they meant. Entirely thrown off, the only thing I could think to say was, "what?"

"You didn't imagine it. I just pulled down my veil for a moment. I'm sorry that I scared you; if you'd like me to leave you alone, I totally understand," she seemed so confident and yet so sad. This wasn't the first time she'd been through this.

I took a sip of my drink and thanked the bartender, thinking carefully about my next words. "You leaving is the last thing I want."

----------

We were virtually inseparable after that night. We talked until the bar closed, then went to a 24 hour deli to continue, only parting once the sun began to rise. She had shed her veil entirely an hour or so into our conversation, letting me see the real her for the remainder of the night. We talked about her nature, the struggles she experienced connecting with humans, and those critical little things like our musical tastes and favorite food. When she got home, she texted me a 'thank you' for accepting and listening to her, which I rejected; I owed her thanks for opening my eyes to this whole hidden world.

Our first date was the next night. Well, it started that night, but we ended up spending the next three days together. The first time she kissed me -- really kissed me -- I felt the strong muscles of her lower body writhing against me and knew that I was done for; she could have me any way she wanted.

And that's how we ended up here. A human pet, collared and lovingly taken care of in a way I never considered possible. I had my own room in her house, but I never stayed there, choosing instead to sleep with my naga queen. She was so kind, so loving, so gentle, and so positively twisted in the bedroom, I couldn't resist her if I wanted to.

She never again used her human veil with me, but she did use her powers in more creative ways. One day, we had been in bed making out, just enjoying each other's bodies and minds. She slid her fingers into me and was kissing me passionately, the two halves of her tongue dancing around mine. She fucked me until I couldn't see straight, begging her to let me cum, but she kept saying, "not yet, my lovely pet." When I couldn't take any more, the world shimmered for a moment and she had a second set of arms. They didn't exist, but my body couldn't tell any different.

She pinned my wrists to the bed, towering over me and staring into my eyes. Another hand made its way to my throat, squeezing the sides gently and making me whimper, all the while continuing to fuck me hard and fast. "Cum for me, pet," she said sultrily and I obeyed immediately, the edges of my vision darkening as the bloodflow to my brain was cut off momentarily. I had never experienced an orgasm that forceful, like my body was trying to split itself in a million different directions at once. She released my throat but kept fucking me, every fiber of my being operating only at her direction. "Such a good little fucktoy for your queen, aren't you," she teased as she drew orgasm after orgasm from me.

When she finally let me stop, she held me close and kissed my forehead, cooing, "I love you, pet. You did such a wonderful job." I slept so well in her arms, safe and happy and fulfilled.

#txt #nsftumblr #domme posting #bd/sm relationship #wlw love #wlw #monsterfucking nsft #the real monster was the friend we made along the way #naga

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stray-kaz · 2 years ago

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Reparations: a Bucky Barnes x reader FF : Three

Guilt gnawed at Bucky’s insides. He was supposed to be concentrating, but he only thought of you instead. He had slept better than he had in years with you next to him, but when he had woken up to see you crying, deep, wracking sobs, his heart had sank.

A hand reached out and smacked his shoulder; he jerked and raised baleful eyebrows at Sam.

“What?” he snapped.

Sam waved a hand in front of his face.

“You went all spacey, bionic man” he said, arching one eyebrow back. “What’s up with you?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, considered whether or not it was worth the potential ribbing if he told Sam about waking up with you, and bit the bullet.

“You told You-Know-Who about my bad landing” he began, and was immediately cut off.

“‘You-Know-Who’“? Sam retorted, trying not to laugh. “Voldemort?”

He lost his control when Bucky’s dark eyebrows drew together in a frown of confusion.

“Who?”

“Harry Potter?”

He shook his head, agitated.

“Haven’t read it yet. You know who I mean” he muttered, glowering. “She came over to check on me and saw how tired I was. She made me go to bed...and she stayed with me.”

He did his best to ignore Sam’s rounded ‘o’ of surprise.

“I slept better than I have in years. But when I woke up, she was crying.”

Sam frowned then, hesitating.

“What?” Bucky asked. “What is it?”

“You know she hasn’t dated a man since her husband died” Sam said pointedly.

Bucky conceded the hit with a duck of his head.

“She was probably feeling guilty about sleeping over with you and maybe enjoying it. She misses her husband, she likes you, she’s probably confused” Sam explained. “After all, who wouldn’t be confused if they liked you?”

He danced away from Bucky’s half hearted punch and stepped back with a faint smile.

“Seriously, Buck. It’s her history. It’s not you. Now pay attention, will you?”

Bucky nodded, but he knew it was him. It was always him. Always the Winter Soldier.

“And where were you all last night?”

You glanced up as your bedroom door swung inward, admitting Natasha and Yelena without your say-so. You raised your eyebrows, attempting to stonewall.

“What do you mean? I was asleep all last night.”

Yelena pursed her lips and Natasha smirked, no holds barred.

“I asked where you were, not what you were doing” she retorted, just a little smug.

You felt your face heat up as you struggled to find an excuse.

“Don’t bother” Natasha interrupted your train of thought. “I am a master interrogator. Don’t try to lie to me.”

You sighed and nodded.

“I was at Bucky’s” you admitted.

The sisters’ eyebrows shot up and they both sat down hard on your bed.

“Details, please” Yelena instructed.

You shrugged, shaking your head at them.

“There aren’t any, really” you said honestly. “I went to check on him after Sam showed me the video of him jumping out of a plane sans parachute. He was exhausted. I told him he needed to sleep and I would stay with him, so I did. Only sleeping occurred.”

“One hundred percent truth?” Natasha asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“One hundred percent.”

“Well, that’s boring, but I’m glad you took a step in the right direction. Baby steps are still steps.”

“Tiny ones” Yelena muttered under her breath.

You rolled your eyes at her and she shrugged loosely in response.

“I only want to hear the exciting stuff, so sue me” she said flatly. “I have no love life. I’m too busy for that. I live vicariously through you and your odd little friend-mance with the White Wolf.”

“And you don’t think I’m too busy for that?”

She shook her head at you.

“You work admin.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“It’s a little more complicated than that” you mumbled.

“A little.”

Natasha reclined on your bed, watching the miniature squabble unfold. She wondered when Bucky would tell you his biggest secret to date, if he would tell you. If he would want to risk losing whatever was shyly budding between you and him for honesty’s sake.

“He must know what you feel for him by now” she said suddenly. “I mean, you went to him like a bat out of hell when you thought he might be hurt and then you took him to bed.”

She waved a dismissive hand at you when you looked like you were going to try protesting.

“Semantics” Natasha told you. “He’d have to be an idiot not to understand.”

“He’s an idiot” Yelena butted in. “A beautiful woman dragged him to bed and all he did with her was sleep. He’s dumb.”

“It’s not like I threw myself at him” you protested, already aware of just how weak an argument this was even as you were saying the words. “All I did was tell him he was perfect and then undressed in front of him. I wore his henley to sleep in.”

The two women stared at you, all eyebrows raised. As you replayed what you had just said out loud, you groaned and covered your face with your hands.

Yelena mouthed ‘wow’ at her sister and Natasha stood gracefully and made her way to you, wrapping her arms around your hunched shoulders.

“He is a man” she murmured into your hair. “And what’s more, he is a man from the 40′s. You have to beat him over the head with the truth before he gets it.”

You nodded and then jumped slightly when an unexpected hand clamped down on your shoulder and squeezed.

“James isn’t Jack” Yelena said quietly. “Bucky is flesh and blood. And vibranium, but that’s not important. What is is that he’s here and the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

You lifted your head to gape at her, and she shrugged, tossing her ponytail.

“What? It is true.”

Natasha waved her out and she closed the door behind her.

“Call Bucky” Natasha told you firmly.

“He’s away” you reminded her. “He’s working.”

She just reached behind you for the cell phone sitting on your desk and settled it in your hand.

“Call Bucky.”

She patted your shoulder and wandered back out of the room, leaving you to stare down at your phone’s black, blank screen.

You took a deep breath and called him.

He answered after the second ring, but he sounded breathless and irritable.

“Yeah, doll?”

“I need to talk to you, James. I have to see you.”

“Okay... But it’ll have to wait. I’m not actually in the country right now...”

He trailed off and you knew it was because he couldn’t tell you where he was.

“All right” you murmured into the phone. “Let me know when you’re home.”

You heard a heavy breath and closed your eyes, imagining the worst.

“Sure thing, doll. I’ll be seeing you.”

He hung up and the connection turned to fuzzy static. You turned and dropped the cell phone back onto your desk. Now all you could do was wait for him.

Tagging: @hoodedbirdie

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fanfiction #reparations #liss writes

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 2 years ago

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i need reassurance on this one, and tw for hallucinations, kinda intrusive thoughts(?) and loads of shitty things that kept on happening

I've been through a lot of shits in these past few months, and i swear to god it kept getting worser. I don't feel safe anymore in my own house, i had trouble sleeping, focus, and literally handling my own panic attack.

I just want all of these stuff to stop happening, my hallucinations even got worser day by day cause of those horrifying shits. I don't wanna see those stuff anymore, or went back to that place anymore, i don't want it and i'm sick of these feelings. It felt like those events were happening again even tho nothing happened in real life, obviously no one fucking feel it except for me cause i was the one who's experiencing it. Plus these voices that told me another horrifying shits? (like the possibility of any little things could ruin everything or even cause a literal apocalypse wtf) It's a literal living hell. I just wanted to live my life normally is it really hard to ask for?

I had friends who i dearly cared, for finally i had friends! But this? When i went back from uni i got...these??? Mostly it's about my grandma's sis, no one was/were willing to take care of her and she's so goddamn arrogant to other people, don't even get me started with her son he clearly didn't care for her anymore. BUT that's THEIR shits not my family's! Ofcourseeee we care about her but it's been fucking months and even my fam were so done at her and her son at this point, and because of her condition she'd have to get to the hospital like really often.

I had to rush her to the hospital when i was home alone and god that traumatized me so much, like ffs i'd rather be killed instead of living in that exact moment

I wanted to be angry but i couldn't and when i talked abt my feelings my mom only told me to accept all of this....

It's like i'm still processing and i couldn't do it because the pressure of "accepting" all of these so quickly...

i just want them to stop but obviously i can't control them, and yeah there are things that i couldn't control but this is too much. I wish i could but the hell can i do i'm just a kid.....

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry about what you've been going through. I can see that you're going through a lot right now and you're struggling. Please know that you're not alone.

It's okay to take your time processing your experiences, and no one should make you feel rushed, including your mom. It sounds dismissive and minimizing of her to tell you to just accept it, when it's very jarring and traumatizing. I wish your mom were more considerate about the fact that this was quite an upsetting experience for you, and understandably so.

It's okay to be angry. It's okay to feel however you need or want to feel about what happened. Part of processing what you went through is processing those emotions. Healing from trauma is done at your own pace. Please know that healing isn't linear, and so there may be some rough patches along the way, though it's still worth it.

I'm sorry that you experience hallucinations and flashbacks. These things can definitely be terrifying to go through. Please know that there are resources available to help you through these things. Here is a list of coping strategies for hallucinations, and here is a PDF on coping with flashbacks.

If your school has counseling services, it may help to reach out to them and talk about what you're experiencing and going through. As professionals they may be able to help you further.

I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #tw death

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themomsandthecity · 7 months ago

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Jesse Sullivan and Francesca Farago Talk "Surreal" Pregnancy Journey

When Jesse Sullivan and Francesca Farago announced their pregnancy on March 31, Trans Day of Visibility, their videos on social media were met with an outpouring of support: "Congrats to you both! Thanks for sharing this journey," one user wrote. "You are going to make the best parents ever," another commented. Of course, they got questions too - about how they would raise their future kids within a queer family, what their IVF journey was like, and how Arlo, Sullivan's 15-year-old, is feeling about becoming an older sibling. But the good news kept pouring in. On April 7, the couple revealed they were expecting not one child, but twins. They both readily admit they'd been hoping they'd have twins, if only so that they don't have to fight over which one of them gets to hold the baby. "We already do it with our cat and our dog, so if we only had one baby, it would be bad," Sullivan jokes. "Once I was seeing the heartbeats on the scan, it felt so real." We caught up with Sullivan and Farago a couple weeks after their announcement, and they were both giddy as they talked about expanding their family. They were still a bit in disbelief, too, given that they went through a failed embryo transfer last year. As Farago put it, despite all of the planning, hormone shots, and everything else that has gone into making this pregnancy a reality, "the fact that it's happening feels surreal." Keep reading to find out what Farago has been craving during her pregnancy, how Sullivan deals with the "hate" he gets online as a trans man, and why it's so important for them both to be open about their relationship and their journey of growing their family. On How Pregnancy Is Going Francesca Farago: All the first trimester stuff - nausea, feeling tired - it all started hitting me this week. I'm feeling a little under the weather, to be expected obviously, and because there are two in there, I definitely feel a little bit worse than I'd feel if there were just one. It's a little bit of a struggle to do day-to-day things, but everyone tells me that when you get into your second trimester, all of that goes away. So I'm excited for that. I'm hiding it with makeup. Jesse Sullivan: I basically have been like a little caretaker. I make her all her meals, and she's craving very specific things. So anytime she's craving something, I try to surprise her. I'll add a little apple with caramel, and she gets all excited. I take care of the animals, and I've been taking care of the house. Kind of doing everything I can to make her days easier, because she's been going through so much. Not only the twins, but because this was IVF, she's on all these hormones and it's been extra hard on her body. So the least I can do is sort of be like full-blown Mr. Maid. FF: I'm craving healthy foods, and my favorite thing right now is cinnamon raisin toast with vegan cream cheese and berries on top. JS: Or a bagel with vegan cream cheese and cucumber. FF: I'm big on cucumbers right now. I could live off cucumbers. I don't know what it is. I think maybe the freshness. On What's Been Most Surprising Since Starting Their IVF Journey JS: Although we intentionally did this and put so much blood, sweat, and tears into making this happen, once it happened and once I was seeing the heartbeats on the scan, it felt so real. And it sounds so weird, because obviously I knew this was going to happen. But it hits you really hard. And it's like, we're bringing human beings into this world together. FF: I remember the other day, I was thinking like, "Oh my god, we're actually going to have two babies? Who's letting us do this?" I feel like a teen adult. My mom started having kids when she was young, but I'm like, we're ready, but also who let us do this? It's crazy that it's actually happening. JS: I think that's a normal thing when you're pregnant or at any stage, you get hit with the reality really hard. It happened to… https://www.popsugar.com/family/jesse-sullivan-francesca-farago-twins-interview-49355599?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

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11271976-07142023 · 7 months ago

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A bit over 9 months, Kurtis.

I still don’t believe it.

04/14. I will admit …… I forgot. That is Sparky’s birthday. I feel like apologizing. But I won’t, bc I feel you wouldn’t want me to. I think you would much rather I laugh🥺 vs being sad every 14th. I am sad every day bc you’re not here. He knows it. I speak to him abt you often. You’d like him. I think you’d like him for me. I had negative thoughts in my head tonight abt him. Bc my mind drifted, n I broke my own heart. N I know it’s only bc of the dumb shit I’ve been through these past years. I don’t want it to ruin him n I. — you might be w his wife somewhere. Same place maybe ? I dunno how it works. Him n I both agree that for whatever reason, we need each other ? There’s a lot of synchronicities. Coincidences. Etc. it’s scary weird. Also, idk where Fish is. Idek how he went missing. I need your help, Kurtis. Idk what to do. Idk how to feel. Idk where he’s at. Idk if he’s okay. Idk anything. I need help. Also, you’re not here to bail me out of situations that are caused by my depression. Depression then just being irresponsible tbh. I’ll figure it out. I know you believe in me. I’m tired. N he’s sleeping on the phone, how you n I used to do♥️. I wish you could’ve met him. He’s hooking up so many speakers! Everywhere. He’s always had his living room ones but he just added more noise outdoor ones n he wants to do ffs kitchen next n his workshop n every room, basically. He wants my opinion on it all n I wish I had your expertise. He’s getting his house ready for me, he says. The treatment is doing good so far, so that makes us happy. He has energy and can do things and he can eat more foods he likes, like steak! That’s a big thing. Everything you told me abt ppl like him is so true lol the Costco thing the dog thing the stock thing the this n that thing etc etc lolll I never not think abt you. I love you, Kurtis. I miss you more than you could ever know. Thank you for truly loving me. I see so much more now. All you wanted was me. .. I uh, I have a lot to heal from, but I am happy. Even w the struggles I have rn. He aids in my happiness. It’s mutual. Mutual is a great feeling. So is reassurance. He knows I’ve been through so much hurt. And he doesn’t like it. He said he wants to protect my heart. He wants to protect all of me. I’m tired. See me in dream world, yes?

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 1 year ago

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I am so sorry that it’s taken me THIS DAMN LONG to get around to screaming about this installment, I have been the busiest bee and finding time to completely and accurately express my feelings about it has been difficult BUT! I’ve been thinking about Joel and the sheeps (and a lot more) since you posted it, so please know that this story has joined the pantheon of AUs that live rent free in my head.

And now for all the reasons why that is true:

Ellie and Reader’s reactions to Reader seeing Ellie’s bite scars was really well done. It shows how easily she could have slipped in front of someone she didn’t know or trust, someone who wouldn’t be such a critical and calculating thinker as Reader. The only real danger in Jackson is complacency and becoming too comfortable with safety and forgetting what the world is like outside the walls. Not that Ellie is likely to forget that anytime soon, but had this been with someone other than Reader it could have gone really badly.

But here it just serves to build trust between them. Ellie asking questions and Reader opening up and answering them so transparently says a lot about her character - she's been through tough times, has seen her fair share of hardships both before and after the outbreak, knows about loss, knows about making hard choices... but also knows that it's worth it to keep going because good can come after bad. That's a huge deal, especially for someone like Ellie who struggles with her survivor guilt. Reader is just a really good person and a great influence for her.

Reader putting together that the story of what happened at the hospital and how it doesn't add up with what she knows of medicine and what she's seen of Joel... perfect. She knows something went down and her first instinct isn't anger or contempt or "how could he ruin this chance?!" because she's had run ins with the FFs before so she knows how they operate. She's no friend to those weirdos so she's definitely a friend to Ellie. (And me.)

HER SISTER'S NAME WAS ELLIE. WOW. I got a chill. There's so much power and memory in a name - in hearing it or saying it. Meeting a new person with the same name as someone you knew or loved or got hurt by is always slightly jarring because it's almost impossible not to think of that other person when you hear or say it. But it sounds like Reader has mostly warm, happy memories of her sister, despite how heartbreakingly her life ended. And now she's going to get the chance to make really good warm memories with someone else with that name and I love that for both of them.

Ellie trying to set Joel up with someone will never not be gold to me. Tell 'em, kid. Let that man get all up Reader's ass. It *would* be good for both of them. *smirky face emoji*

A honeybee hive!!!! BRB lemme get my suit I'll take care of it!! (as somewhat of a hobby beekeeper, I love this inclusion.)

OH THE CHEMICAL BURN! IT WAS READER'S IDEA! WHAT A GREAT FUCKING WAY TO USE THAT BIT OF CANON! I just love her she's got a lot of nerve to suggest burning the bite off Ellie's arm without running it by Joel and that makes me love her even more. Yeah she knows Joel is likely not going to be super thrilled but she also knows it's really Ellie's call. It's her arm and her life that's at risk if someone saw the bite. Let grumpypants be pissed, this is about the kid.

Ellie to the rescue when Reader thinks Joel just doesn't like her. No, silly, he can't hear you. That explains so much. I can see the lightbulb going off in Reader's head as she goes through every interaction with him like well shit wouldn't you know it i been chatting up his deaf ear.

Bear can have Missy. I hate her.

Willa though, she's my girl.

BAHAHAHA Joel marching up to Reader's door ready to go apeshit about Ellie's arm only to go all tongue tied when she shows up in a towel. Again, gold.

Tommy and Ellie's relationship makes me so happy. He's the fun uncle and she's the wild niece and they are perfect.

Joel saying he will burn everything to the ground if Reader "hurts" Ellie ever again... sir, yes sir. *shivers in attraction*

Inviting him out to the Roost again and apologizing and stressing that she only had Ellie's best interests (like, you know, survival, the ability to live as normally as possible, the ability to wear a goddamn t-shirt) at heart is a good move. Giving him the callsign Grey Fox is a baller move. *sunglasses smiley face emoji*

she says she needs a home. i'm fine.

I truly love your Ellie. You're nailing her voice. Calling Reader the catch of the day after she hooked her own toe - classic Ellie Livingston.

Oh. Joel's coming with supplies. Okay. Okay. Cool cool cool cool. Act normal.... and OMG HE'S BRINGING HIS GUITAR *hyperventilates*

Joel throwing "ya know we don't have a lot of these antibiotics lying around" line back at Reader is peak grumpy yet concerned Joel Miller.

RECORD SCRATCH!!!! JOEL MILLER'S WRISTS ARE BARE?! NO WATCH?! HE TOOK IT OFF???????? WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!!?!?!?! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! wow wow wow wow wow wow wow that's a big move. That's a big comfort move. That's SUPER surprising. I'm... not sure what to do with this information. *wide-eyed emoji*

Joel Miller sleeping in the sunshine in the middle of a clusterfluff of sheep is a balm to my soul. Thank you for providing that which I did not know I needed so desperately.

I'm so sorry it took me 18 years to finally scream about this chapter. As you can see I had A LOT of things to say and I wanted to make sure I was able to say them all because this story is so wonderful and deserving of all the screams. I love the world you're building and the characters you've brought to life and the way they interact with the characters we already know and love. Your version of Jackson is so fleshed out and alive and the Roost is its own entity and I am just so very excited to see what happens next for this bunch.

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 2: Summer

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Hunting and skinning squirrels. Chemical burns to skin. Piercing injury. Joel being a dick in a moment of self-preservation. Ellie's still a swear-mouth. Everybody makes some mistakes.

Summary: You solve a problem for Ellie and Joel really doesn't take it well.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

Listen. I know those warnings up there seem like a bit much, but I promise you all of that is in passing, in service to the plot, and not described in detail. (With the exception Ellie's cussing. That will persist indefinitely.) This is stupid fluffy.

Your gut reaction is to fetch your gun and point it at Ellie’s head.

But the girl is calm.

And the bites are healed.

“Wanna shoot me, don’t you,” she challenges with a mismatched set of cocky mouth and world weary eyes. “This one happened before I met Joel. And this one the day after. This is why he took me to the Fireflies. He told me not to tell anyone. That’s why I freaked out.”

Earlier in the day you’d gone looking for Ellie, hoping to show her the honeybee hive you’d discovered at the edge of the meadow. She’d been bathing in the stream, stripped down to nothing. She’d shrieked when she saw you coming near and you’d laughed and kept your eyes averted, understanding the self-consciousness of teenagers, about to tell her to come and find you when she was done.

And then she roared.

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! GO!”

It had been a punch to the heart if not a slap to the face, which you were certain by her tone you would have received had you been close enough.

Saying nothing, and simply obeying her wish, you’d turned and gone back to the Roost. Ellie stayed away so long that her hair was completely dry and her nose was sunburned when she finally joined you.

Every footfall had been an apology on the ladder. And every slow creak along the porch was following an olive branch to the broken down sofa you perched on to keep watch over the north meadow.

Taking a reticent seat beside you, she’d rolled up her sleeve. “I’m sorry I yelled. I didn’t want you to see it. It’s kind of a life and death thing.”

“Obviously,” you answer, shellshocked. “Reaction warranted.” Dropping her arm to her lap and reaching up to pull down her cuff, you stop her, holding out a waiting hand. “Can I?”

Suddenly doe-eyed and struck by your acceptance, she nods and lays her forearm in your palm.

There’s instinctual revulsion at first, but it melts to wonder as you get a closer look at the scars. There’s nothing of skin breakage, no mycelium running underneath, nothing reaching for you through holes as there would be if you were having one of your nightmares.

Immunity. Statistically speaking, it had to exist, but she’s the first you’ve ever seen or heard of.

“I wondered why you’d choose to wear long sleeves in this heat. I see now. Joel was smart to tell you to keep it covered. This’ll get you killed faster than infection, that’s for sure.” The tendons in her arm flex involuntarily when you run your fingers over the marks. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to tickle.” She relaxes as you release her. This time she doesn’t move to cover the skin. “Out in the open with Joel, I can imagine why you were bit the second time. How’d you come by it the first time?”

“Messing around with a friend where I wasn’t supposed to.”

Ah. By the pull at her brow and the same laws of statistics, you’d hazard to guess that friend didn’t make it. Probably another kid like her. Tragic.

“I see. And that’s why you were being smuggled. That’s why they wanted you. Well, what did the Fireflies make of you?”

She clearly catches the way you slather contempt onto the name of the terrorist organization, but answers your question. “They wanted to make a cure from my blood. They had me on the operating table but raiders attacked the hospital and killed everyone while I was under. So I guess we missed our chance.”

A quiet minute passes as you watch her tracing her thumb over the scar, lost in thought, brow twisted, recounting the ordeal of that day. Something doesn’t sit right with her about it.

And neither does it sit right with you.

Doctors don’t put a person on an operating table just to draw blood.

And you’ve heard stories of what Joel’s capable of.

You’ve witnessed just how protective he is over this little girl.

Her reverie dissolves when you lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “While I’m sorry they never got the chance to find the possibilities, I understand enough about research medicine to know that the likelihood of their finding a cure from just one person is almost impossible. So while they might have been able to study your blood, they most likely wouldn’t be able to get enough of it or keep it stable long enough to find any answers.”

“How do you know that?”

Over the next hour as the sun sinks in the sky and she soaks up your history, you tell her about your sister. How you and her and Maria were a tight-knit team growing up, how in love with Maria she was, how you were certain they were going to get married one day.

Then you tell her how Maria went off to law school and your sister got sick, that the cancer was rare and the treatment was long and expensive, so your parents had opted for research to fray some costs and keep the ranch.

In the end, there were no answers, not without more donors of her ilk.

Your parents took a loan against the ranch, knowing full well they would lose it, but everyone agreed it was worth it for whatever time it would buy her.

And then Jakarta fell. And the world went to hell.

A few of the elderly residents of the Jackson basin came to hole up on the ranch and most of Willa’s family and tribal branch moved over from their land to form a protective new family group. It worked for a few years. It was safe. It was a thriving little commune.

And then the Fireflies came.

“There were Fireflies out here too?”

“Oh yeah, they were in every QZ, spreading their lies and chaos through the telegram towers, recruiting poor young suckers wherever they took root and getting them all killed. You tangled with them and I’d say you’re lucky you’re alive.”

Ellie frowns down at her arm again. “What did they do when they came here?”

Another story then. Now you explain with a little less nostalgia how the Fireflies came to use your ranch as a base. Trucks coming and going at all hours. Gunshots in the night. Catching the attention of roving packs of raiders. People got hurt. People died.

There was one day when two Fireflies went out foraging mushrooms with old Ms. Celia. They brought her body back on a makeshift sled. Just keeled over, they said.

Funny how the same thing happened the week before with old Ms. Margie. What a coincidence that it was happening when the food supplies were running low.

But the last blow came when the ranch was attacked by raiders a third time. There was a plan in place to create a distraction, draw their attention away from the ranch. The Fireflies knew your sister was sick and designated she do the job. They put a gun to your head when you protested.

It’s okay, she’d said, I don’t have much left to lose. If I’m going out, at least the people I love will be safe.

It was a shit plan.

A lot of people died that day. Most of them were raiders, thanks to Willa and her tribe. Some of them were Fireflies thanks to you and your shotgun.

“So did you win?”

“No. The barriers were still broken. And the ranch was burned to the ground.”

The evening sky is a mix of purples and gold now, the flocks of birds swooping over the meadow are starting to vie for their meal of mosquitos and gnats with an increasing number of bats. Ellie watches one in particular as it swoops up and over the roof of the Roost.

“What about your parents?”

“They burned with the ranch.”

She nods solemnly, without horror, the attitude of a child that’s seen too much.

“And your sister died too then?”

"She got away at first. Found her in the woods a week later with a bite like yours, but she was long gone by then. One of Willa’s brothers did the shooting.”

Another quiet nod. “What was your sister’s name?” she asks as an evening bird calls.

It was bound to come up.

“Eleanor. We called her Ell. Ellie, when she was little.” When you can see the unearned guilt building in her face you bump her shoulder playfully. “It was almost twenty years ago. I hold onto the good memories. She was sweet and kind to everyone she met, never backsassed our parents, never disobeyed. So basically nothing like you at all.” You laugh when she shoots you an annoyed look. “Not that she was an angel though! She had her fire; you didn’t want to get on her bad side. And she was whip smart. That’s where the two of you meet I think.”

“Sounds like you lost everything at once.”

“I did,” a fact you aknowledge as you stretch and get up, heading back into the cabin to light the lantern. “But Willa helped me through. And then Jackson got its walls up and Maria found her way home and I had family again.” Once the lantern flickers to life, you grab your bag and start pawing through it. “You keep going for family.”

“That’s what Joel says.”

“Huh. You know what? I believe you. Here,” pulling a tank top out of your pack you toss it at her and it smacks her in the face. “While you’re out here you can wear that and not die of heat stroke in those knit tops. But when you’re out in the sun, put something over your shoulders or use the tsuga paste. Your skin hasn’t seen sun in a while and the last thing I need to do is bring you back cooked like a Christmas goose and have Joel all up in my ass about it.”

“That actually sounds like a good thing for both of you, if you ask me.”

“Watch it.”

“What? I didn’t say anything! Look at the time! We should be spinning wool! How I love spinning wool. Whoopee!”

“Like I said. Nothing like my sister. You little shit.”

________

“Meadowlark to patrol.”

“This is patrol.”

“Starling and I are on the southeast side of the meadow near the chokecherry copse and we’ve found a honeybee hive. I’m going to tie red flags to the surrounding trees. You wanna put the word out that some of these cherries are ready to go and get someone suited out here to scope out this hive?”

“This will make four hives now.”

“I know. We’re getting lucky this year.”

“Will do, Meadowlark. We’ll radio in before we cross borders.”

“Copy. Out.”

On the way back to the Roost you and Ellie stop to greet a group of sheep lazing in the grass, sitting down and sharing cherries with them from a basket between the two of you.

“They can eat these?” she asks.

“Sure. They can pretty much eat whatever we do. Chokecherries are fine. Just don’t give ‘em the leaves or stems. Those are poisonous.”

This means taking the time to pull cherries away from the branches until there’s a handful to feed the sheep. Normally you’d be fending them off during this, they’d be insistent and impatient, but the heat of the day has them lazy and languid.

It’s also working on Ellie as she yawns, stretching her white arms plastered in pine and sunflower paste for protection, her scar marring her otherwise unburned forearm.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” you hand her another branch to start shucking. “Willa does tattoos. She could cover that for you.”

Ellie hesitates. “Maybe.”

“What. You don’t want a tattoo? I thought you might like that. It would be pretty badass. We could cover it with a starling or something….”

“I guess.” You wait for her excuse. It’s a decent one. “I just…It would mean Willa would know too. Joel told me not to tell anyone. I don’t think I should.”

“I understand. That’s kinda why I suggested Willa. The woman’s a vault.” But Ellie’s fingers stop picking berries, as if she doesn’t know what to do or what to say. “Oh. I see. You don’t want Joel to know you told anyone. Even me.”

She nods.

She changes the subject then–something about him wanting to keep her safe, even teaching her to use a shotgun to protect herself–but your mind keeps working on the problem.

It’s only when you make it back to the ladder at the Roost, one foot frozen on the bottom rung, that you find the answer.

“What’s wrong?” she asks from behind you.

Under the posts of the Roost is a load of firewood. And under that wood….

“Ellie…if there was another way to get rid of your scar, would you?”

“What. You gonna give me some kinda bird tattoo yourself? Is it gonna look like a blob or–”

“I mean, do you want it gone at all?”

She pulls herself out of her slouched position to her full height. “I mean…yeah…I think a tattoo is actually a great idea I just…”

“What if Willa didn’t have to know? What if she thought she was covering up something else?” Pulling a few armfulls of wood away from the side of the pile, you uncover a wide plank of wood, once a handsome cedar coffee table top, now a sunken excuse for a forest cellar door. Prying the wood out of its depression, you reveal an earthen pit housing a couple of shovels, a couple pairs of oilskin mittens, and a covered earthen pot.

“This,” you point to the pot, “is lye. We keep it out here in case one of the sheep dies from infection or illness. It’s important to bury the sheep to keep it away from the flock. But even if you bury a carcass, bear and coyotes will come sniffing around and dig it up. We discourage that with this. Lye breaks down organic matter. That’s why we have gloves in here. It burns skin.”

Ellie frowns into the pit, understanding slowly dawning until she asks with a gasp, “Does it hurt?”

“Hells yes it does. It’s a burn, Ellie. It hurts like a son of a bitch, there’s no way I’d lie about that. But it will twist the features of that scar. You’ll never have to dodge suspicion again.”

“Mother. Fucker,” her whisper shakes, but she eyes the pot in steady fascination.

“You know what?” You throw the tabletop back down over the hole, “I saw a whole lot of squirrels around those chokecherries and they’re actually good eating if you get a few of them and throw ‘em in a pot with some potatoes and onion and garlic…. Too bad their skins are too small to be useful. But we can’t just leave ‘em lying around, you know. So if you and I were to go out and get a few and make a stew, and say I was to show you how the lye works with the leavings… well, something might happen.” The girl looks you dead in the eye, her jaw dropping open a little in disbelief. “What do you say? You wanna go out and do some target practice? Get some squirrel for dinner?”

A switch flips in Ellie’s spine and her eyes spark cold and bright, two supernovas in a smiling galaxy.

“Fuck yes. I’ll get the rifle.”

________

“Good shot!” you cheer as a third squirrel drops from a branch and you share a high five. “Wonder who taught you that! Damn, girl! Three for three. Tonight, we feast.”

“So, when are we doing this?” Ellie smiles as you walk back to the Roost, the barrel of the rifle slung over one shoulder, a string of fuzzy dinner swinging from the other.

“Tomorrow morning. Willa will be coming in at noon and that should give us some time to get a good burn in before she arrives. It should be fine, but if anything goes wrong, she can help and that makes me feel better about it. Ellie…. You sure you trust me with this?”

“I can’t die from it, right?”

“No, but you might want to. It’s sure as hell not gonna be pleasant.”

“Lady, I spent half a year walking across the country with Joel. I’m a master at dealing with unpleasant.” By now the sheep are familiar with the sound of Ellie’s laughter and a few perk up on your way past to follow you lazily back to the Roost. “But, like, I don’t understand why we have to go through all this with the squirrels. Don’t get me wrong, I like the target practice and all…”

You take the squirrels from her and set up a makeshift butcher’s block on a stump left waist high specifically for this purpose. “I don’t want to lie to Joel when he freaks out about you getting hurt. We had squirrels. We disposed of the leavings. You got burned with the lye. Truth truth truth.”

“You think he’ll be mad at you?”

“Oh, I’m already counting that into the equation. I know you seem to think he’s fond of me, but not all the evidence leads up to that. You know how to clean a squirrel?”

“Sure do,” she grins as she trades the rifle for your boot knife and, taking the first rodent in hand, she works it skillfully, tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth, skinning the critter in one go. “Thanks, little buddy. You were cute, but you’ll be gooooooood eating.”

“You’re a hell of a kid.”

“Yeah, well, guess who taught me this?” she says as she morbidly slices through another one, making dramatic death noises as she goes. “Why do you think he doesn’t like you? Joel’s stupid about you. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Jesus, Ellie.” With a sigh and a shake of the head, you indulge her question and your own immature angst. “Well, for starters, I can tell he doesn’t think much of some of my conversation.”

“What do you mean?” Another skin lands at her feet.

“He just…doesn’t answer questions sometimes. Ignores comments. Doesn’t like to join in on the joke.”

“This is a big one,” she grunts, tugging at the final squirrel. “What side are you standing on when he ignores you?”

“Huh?”

“Where are you standing when you talk to Joel? He’s deaf in his right ear.”

You blink.

And suddenly a hell of a lot of things make a hell of a lot of sense.

That one time you complimented his shirt and he said nothing, you were on his right.

That one time you poked fun at his scowl. On his right.

You cracked that joke, offered a piece of pie, told him everything would be alright.

Right. Right. Right.

“I…didn’t know that,” you stammer stupidly, flinching when Ellie hands your knife back and heads for the ladder.

“Yeah, that was obvious. I’m gonna go get a bowl.” You’re still in shock as she starts climbing. “Don’t expect him to get down on one knee when he asks you to marry him; he’s got shitty knees too. He’s happy to complain about it if you ask him. Make sure it’s in his left ear.”

________

“Okay, look at me, Ellie. Breathe.”

She nods, her eyes burning with determination over the shirt you’ve tied around her nose and mouth to protect her from inhaling the mix.

As you sit in the grass a few meters from the stream with her arm resting in your mittened hands, you lay the lye-laden cloth over the scar and enclose it with pressure.

Her breath comes heavily. Bravely. Then you hear it change as the lye begins to work.

“Shit. It itches,” she hisses. “Shit. Shit shit fuck fuck ow it’s getting worse–”

“You want me to stop?”

“No shit fuck I can do this I got this shiiiiiiiiiit!”

“I won’t let you go too long but you let me know if you need–”

“I’m fine! FUCK!”

It’s when she screams that you know it’s enough and releasing her, you order, drill sergeant style, “Go! Go! Go! Fifteen minutes! Don’t look at it!”

Ellie bolts into the ice cold stream, sneakers and all, gasping as the water washes the cloth away from her. “Shit. I thought it would feel better. It doesn’t!”

“Does it feel worse?”

“No, it just fucking burns!”

A sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good. Just… just let it rinse. Do you feel woozy at all?”

She just shakes her head, looking down through the water. “It’s getting red. And puffy.”

“No broken skin?”

“No.”

“Good. It’ll probably blister up some.”

Ellie might not be feeling woozy, but you sure are. Was it a reckless idea? Probably. Will it actually work? Hopefully. Do you feel bad that she’s gonna be in pain for a while? Fuck yes. But then you remember when she put on your tank top and just … laid in the grass and smiled. Even if she never wore short sleeves again, at least nobody was going to make a fast decision with a gun to her skull.

You really should have checked with Joel though. No matter what Ellie wants, you know full well it wasn’t your call to make.

Another problem for another day.

“Everything okay down there?” Willa’s black braids glint in the sun as she walks down from the Roost.

“Ellie had a run in with the lye,” you call back.

“Yeah, I see you were composting. I filled in the hole.” She hardly even stops when she reaches you, simply pulls off her boots and heads straight into the water. “Let’s see. Oh yeah. That’s a burn alright.”

As Willa inspects Ellie’s submerged arm, the girl looks up and smiles at you, giving you a wet thumbs up. “Hurts like a motherfucker!"

“I’ll bet,” the woman hums dryly. “That’s going to swell up and scar pretty bad. Why don’t you sit and let the water do its work. Meadowlark and I will go pack your things and I’ll grab the gauze in the first aid kit.”

Willa doesn’t ask questions as you pack up, just the regular routine of information trade off. You tell her that you’ve marked a few sheep with blue dye to keep an eye on for injuries or dehydration. And she lets you know what’s going on in town, including the fact that there’s gonna be a wedding with a reception at the food hall over the weekend.

“Really? Who?”

“Bear and Missy Tippet.”

“Your uncle??? Willa, I can stay; don’t you wanna be there?”

She laughs. “Hell no I do not. You know exactly how I feel about Missy Tippet; same as you. I’d rather be out here. Perfect timing. They’ve been keeping each other warm on and off for years now. Maybe this will finally keep her on. As much as I hate to picture that,” she shivers.

Willa’s such an even-keeled soul and it’s not just anyone she’ll shit talk in front of. “Well, your secret’s safe with me. If it is a secret that is.”

“What’s a secret?” Ellie interrupts as she pulls herself up to the balcony from the ladder with one hand.

Willa takes a little time to show her the correct way to bandage the burn–not too tight–while you pack the horses, as well as instructing you where to find her stash of willow bark if Ellie needs it for the pain.

But something tells you that Eliie’s gonna tough it out. Though she holds her arm gingerly as she rides, fisting the reigns in her left hand, the girl grins all the way back to Jackson like she’s just pulled off the heist of the century.

________

Jackson is busy when you ride through the gates midday, folks passing by on their way to visit, deliver, build. Purpose in Jackson is taken seriously, as is leisure, and both are on display as you pass by the rustic main drag, in many different ways frozen in time–log storefronts and Mickey Mouse tshirts, leather-saddled livestock and Japanese fans.

You spot Joel waiting at the stables before he sees you, distracted by none other than Missy Tippet. Getting herself married or not, the stunning woman is a glutton for attention and a class A flirt, and she’s not the only one in town whose head turned the minute Joel took up residence.

Not that you can blame her, with him in that tight grey tshirt, busting a carpenter’s arms out of its sleeves and contouring it with sweat…. By the dust on his face, he’s been working today. Probably took a break to wait for–

“Ellie. Hey! You decided to come home.”

“Yup,” she says, throwing him the reins to distract him while she gingerly dismounts. “I shot three squirrels!”

You avoid Joel’s questioning glance as you slide down from your own mare and lead her into a stall. “Go on, you two, I’ll stable up. Nice to see you, Cinnamon Roll.”

But they’re already on their way, an engaged chattering, laughing questions and energetic answers…and your teasing goes unheard. Ah. Wrong ear, you realize.

Missy smirks; condescends.“Cinnamon roll, huh? Good try, I guess.”

You don’t rise to her bait. “Just giving him sass. He’s obviously not a fan. You gonna help me with these saddles or keep slobbering all over the men that aren’t your fiancee what come on by?”

Okay. Maybe a little rising.

________

It’s your ritual, first thing back from the meadow. The Roost holds a special place in your heart, but the one thing it can’t deliver is a shower. Great gods of earth and sky, let there be thanks that warm water’s still a thing, even in summer.

You’re still dripping, one head tilted to the side as you drain the last of the water out one ear, when there’s a knock at the front door downstairs.

Well, let’s see. There aren’t that many people who know you’re back yet and Ellie’s come home with a bandage on her arm. It’s easy to guess who’s knocking. Okay. Let’s get this over with.

When you answer the door wrapped in nothing but a towel, it obviously wasn’t what Joel was expecting, and if he walked over here with any ire, it instantly freezes and shatters like a bubble on the tundra when he takes in all the skin on display.

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t invite you in for snacks at the moment.”

Deflated, he simply rams his hands in his pockets, squinting. “You wanna tell me about Ellie’s arm?”

“I had planned on it at a time when I wasn’t wet and naked, but sure.” When he throws his hands up in defeat and turns to leave, you stop him, catching at his sleeve and stretching the fabric so it snaps back against his arm. “Hey. Wait. Yes. I was going to tell you.” As you cross your arms over the towel and lean on the door frame, he does much the same on the other side, averting his eyes and trying not to fidget. And failing. “It happened this morning. She shot some squirrels and we dressed ‘em for dinner last night and buried the bones and pelts. Gotta lye ‘em or animals come digging. I thought she could handle it. Looks like we both got burned, so to speak.” His face is stony. Unamused. You continue. “Willa looked at it this morning, we got it a good rinse. I’m gonna go by her place later and grab some willow bark and show Ellie how to compress.” He shakes his head at his boots. “Hey. She’ll be fine, Joel.”

“I don’t want her getting hurt out there.”

“And I do? It’s a chemical burn, not a clicker bite. She’ll learn from it. Kids can’t be put in glass cages.” It’s here that you pretend not to see the flash in his eye at the mention of bites, meanwhile noticing a bad scrape on his forearm. Seeing your opening, you reach out to draw a finger over it. “Jesus, Joel. Look at this. This. See? We all have occupational hazards. Come on.”

With a sigh you turn and pad into the kitchen to your first aid drawer, taking a chance that pays off--you’re surprised to hear him actually following. It takes a minute to dress the wound and you’re not ginger about it–water, apple cider vinegar, gauze. It’s a quiet minute though, one you thought you could power through, and maybe you could have, if you were in anything more than a towel…or couldn’t hear him breathing…or feel it on your skin. Trying to play it cool and get a vibe check on him, you look up only to catch his eye shifting away from your bare shoulder back to your work on his arm.

It’s time to break the silence, but you don’t feel the need to be on the defense anymore.

“We don’t have a lot of antibiotics just sitting around, you know. Don’t let this stuff fester, okay, cinnamon roll? You and that daredevil kid are a matching pair, you know that?”

He only grunts, half rolling his eyes at you, jaw set, voice at a soft compromise. “Yeah, well, I don’t want her going back out there until she’s healed up. Limited use of both arms is a good path to more accidents.”

“Fair. You win. Summer’s pretty slow anyway. I could use the quiet.” Laying it on thick, you tie up the ends of the gauze before releasing him back into the wilds. “Warm sun, buzz of bees. Sweet smell of grass and lupines. Meadow’s a good place for afternoon naps. Easier to do without an apprentice yapping my ear off.”

He nods thoughtfully at this--your words showing their effect--and slowly turns and heads for the door.

And you smile knowingly as you watch him go.

“You know,” you call out just before he closes the door behind him, “door’s open at the Roost. You can always come out there with her if you’re so concerned. That is, if you don’t mind sleeping on a broke-down sofa on the porch.”

Without looking back, he pauses briefly in the patch of summer glare. Then he silently steps out and pulls the door shut, leaving only the click of the latch and the sunlight through the leaded glass.

Well. That certainly could have gone much worse.

________

At least you’re wearing more clothes when it finally does go worse.

“What happened here, squirt?” Tommy taps his fork on Ellie’s bandage at family dinner.

And Ellie answers with a light jab to his arm. “Ow, you dick! That hurts!”

“Ellie–” a scold in stereo from both you and Joel.

As her teacher, the admonishment was instinctual. But in current context, it may have been a breach of place. The table goes silent as Joel’s head snaps in your direction and everyone else’s eyes bounce between you two, utterly amused. There’s a moment when you’re afraid he might just continue to glare, but then he cracks half a smile, shakes his head, and goes back to shoveling a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.

It’s a reaction that lets you know Joel’s forgiven you, back to allowing you to be a rearing force in Ellie’s life.

“Meadowlark let me do some target practice and I shot some squirrels for dinner. Had to bury the skin and bones with lye and I got burned. Oops.”

“Oh my god,” Maria chews. “Are you okay?”

Ellie gives her a precocious smile and follows it with sarcastic condescension. “Yes, I’m going to live. As long as some people let it heal and stop hitting me with sharp things because they think they’re funny and they’re not.”

Tommy sticks his tongue out at Ellie and Maria laughs at them both before getting up to go fetch another jar of pickles from the pantry, holding her growing belly and waving off her husband's attempts to help.

“Rabbit’s better eating,” Tommy points out, returning to the subject at hand.

Ellie pops a stringbean into her mouth, clearly in a good mood. “But their hides are useful. Don’t have to bury them.”

The moment after she says this is like a lightning flash, and your reaction matches hers as you both freeze, realizing what she’s just accidentally said.

“Squirrels are faster, smaller, better target practice,” you say, clearing your throat, trying to act casual.

Tommy shrugs and nods, agreeing, oblivious, going to town on his ear of corn.

But Joel’s gone still, staring you down across the table, then casts a glance at Ellie…and her arm.

Shit.

Tommy and Maria are blissfully unaware of Joel’s turn for the quiet during the rest of the meal, not that he’d been very talkative to begin with. But the hesitant glances and shy smiles are gone now, replaced with a restrained patience and a few calculating glances.

It’s Maria’s turn to wash and Tommy’s to dry and yours to clear the table. But with every trip into the kitchen, you glance through the window over the sink into the yard where Joel and Ellie are having a spirited conversation under the tree at the far end.

'Spirited conversation' might be too polite a term. More like a one-sided lecture. Soon enough you have the table wiped down and you’re making a bee-line out the back door while Tommy and Maria argue about the best technique for drying a glass.

“That is not okay,” Joel hisses, trying to keep his voice low, giving Ellie’s shoulder a rough shake. “What if something went wrong? Huh? You could have burned down to the bone!”

“Joel, Joel, hey,” you whisper as you come to complete the triad. “Don’t. She confided in me. It was my idea.”

Nostrils flaring, lips pressed together, head wagging, he glares. “Of all the reckless, stupid….”

“I wanted to!” Ellie pleads, and you shut her down.

“That’s true, but Joel’s right and I knew it. I shouldn’t have–”

“If you tell anyone–” he warns, his eyes going full retribution against you--a hot coil ready to spring--and it petrifies you, takes you by the heart and squeezes.

“She won’t! Joel!”

“She’d better not.”

It’s a tense moment, one that surprises you. Scares you. In the months you’ve known him, Joel’s been a quiet and withdrawn creature, opening up in increments as you’ve done your best to build your trust, taming him slowly week after week, hoping for nothing more than having him someday eating out of your palm, pushing his cheek into your hand for gentle reassurance…

But in one fell swoop you’re back at the starting line–beyond the starting line. The papa bear in him is showing, bearing its teeth, and you’ve spent too much time among sheep, forgetting the valuable lesson that wild animals can never truly be tamed.

“I will burn this place to the ground if you ever hurt another hair on her head.” The quiet threat is feral and stinging and steals your breath before it’s over.

The things he’s capable of...those things are here and now and he could do them all to you before you had the chance to run.

The way he looks at you pulls the heat from the earth.

Before you can break from your paralysis, they’re gone, Joel pushing Ellie out of the yard toward home.

The stars are coming out. If there are crickets, you don’t hear them. Every sense seems to have shifted into neutral. Except breathing. That comes back with a hunger.

“Joel and Ellie take off?” Tommy calls from the window.

“Yeahhhh,” you call back without turning. “Tired. The heat. Think I might head home too.”

“Take a jar of these pickles. We have too many and Maria can't stomach them right now. I’ve got pickles coming out my damn ears.”

“Okay. Thanks, T. Pickles. Will do."

________

The following few days are...confusing. You should go out and grab some supplies on the main street, but actually fear running into Joel or Ellie. It’s stupid, and it makes you angry; it’s not that you’re afraid of him, it’s just…

You’re disappointed in yourself. Because everything’s upset now. Sure, you wanted to get close to them, but you overstepped, put Ellie in danger, made Joel feel unsafe. Everyone should feel safe in Jackson. Everyone should feel safe in the meadow. And you took that away from him.

Joel.

Why him? What about him do you need to have so badly? Why do you feel the need to fix him? To give him that safety?

Because Joel and Ellie so badly need a home. And you have an excess of home within you.

And little else.

You’ve never been lonely before. Why now?

Something about them….just fits.

Or so you thought. Or may have thought. Before you ruined it.

It’s better to just sit home and knit. Winter will be here soon enough and people need sweaters, dammit. You have a job to do.

But you can’t stay hidden away forever, especially not when there’s a wedding in the community.

________

“Bear, Missy, you’ve said your vows in front of all of us here tonight. We are all witness to your commitment. All in agreement, say aye!”

“AYE!”

“And those of you who want to spoil this good time, say nay!”

Bear’s brother pipes up from the side of the mess hall. “Nay!”

“Shut up, you asshole,” Bear laughs.

“Perfection is tempting devils!” his brother teases.

“Let ‘em come,” Bear shouts. “I’ll tear ‘em all down for my lady love, the prettiest girl in Jackson!” There’s applause and laughter as he kisses his new bride and the mood shifts as he roars, “Drinking and dancing!!!”

“Ugh. Good thing Willa isn’t here to see this. She’d be so annoyed.” Maria yells in your ear over the din as you huddle around your favorite table at the back of the hall. “I thought Missy would never settle down.”

“Bear must earn his name in the sack,” you crack back at her, and she clinks her glass against yours in agreement.

Tommy and Joel sit across the table from you, facing away toward the front. But when Tommy turns to join in the conversation, Joel remains facing out to the crowd, watching as tables are pushed to the side to make a dance floor, quietly pulling sips from a frothy cider.

He’s still pissed at you.

“Where’s Ellie?” you ask Tommy, not even attempting to address the wall of Joel-shaped ice.

“Over beyond, with the other big kids.”

You don’t turn to look, but Joel does after hearing the comment, before turning back to watch the crowd.

A band strikes up. Friends stop by and chat. Some of Tommy and Joel’s work friends come and take over the table–the boys all getting loud and rowdy–so you and Maria escape to the edge of the dance floor, beverages in hand, dancing–but not really–in place.

“What’s going on?” Maria finally asks over the music and the general glee.

“Hmm?”

“You two keep watching each other, but you’re not talking. What’s going on.”

You can’t keep from glancing over at the table…again. You weren’t aware of him taking any interest in you though.

“We had an argument the other day. I think I fucked things up.”

She pulls a face, comically surprised. “I would have guessed the other way around, but okay. You push him too hard or something?”

“Something like that.”

Glancing back over her shoulder at Joel and then back at you, Maria gives you her lawyer face. “He’ll come around. Tommy says he’s the last person to apologize for anything and if he does, you know it means a big deal. But if you’re willing to extend the olive branch first, that can go a long way.”

“Well, maybe not tonight,” you sigh, stealing a glance, watching as he drains his glass. “He’s had a few.”

But you can’t even convince yourself, handing your drink to Maria as Joel sets down his glass, slaps the table and pushes himself up, leaning forward to wish his buddies a good night. You follow him out of the mess hall like some lovestruck teenager strung out on a last hope.

“Joel. Joel!” Catching up with him halfway down the block, the light and noise from the party still follows as you get out in front of him. “Joel, stop. I have to apologize to you. Please let me.”

Though he’s backlit, you can still make out his tired glare. “Don’t. It’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is. Ellie’s important to you. You're her guardian. It wasn’t my call to make. I’m sorry.”

He waits a moment before throwing you an irritated prompt. “But?”

“But? I don’t know. She was hot in that long sleeve shirt and she showed me her arm–I can’t imagine what she went through. I just felt for her. But I did have a gut reaction when she showed me, Joel. Anyone would, but most wouldn’t hesitate for long. And those bites could get her killed. All I wanted was for her to be free from that. To be a kid. I’d say I wasn’t thinking, but...I was, Joel. Fuck was I thinking. I was thinking about her just being a kid and not getting killed.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, I guess. Except… I really don’t want you to punish her for my decision. She loves it out there. She thrives. And if you don’t trust me, my offer stands. Come with us. See for yourself.”

A huffed laugh. “Yeah? Do I get a callsign then?”

Your fatal flaw is jumping to the joke and the playful tease too soon, as you do now, anticipating his forgiveness. “Of course you do, grey fox.”

And that’s when he reaches out, pulls you close with strong hands.

Which would be exhilarating, if it wasn’t too close. And if his breath didn’t smell of cider.

“Why don’t you just take what you want,” he growls, quietly, coldly, jaw set, lips hardly moving.

It’s not fear that pings up your spine–now that you’ve had a taste of his anger and gotten over the initial shock from the other night, you know Joel won’t hurt you, not here, not as part of your found family, he knows better–

It’s bitter disappointment.

“What?”

His grip tightens, digs in. “It’s obvious what you want. Just go ahead. We’re both fucking lonely enough and I’m too old for games.”

He’s right here with you in the dark, his breath on your lips, your fingers twisting into the shoulders of his tshirt…but it’s wrong. It’s so wrong. And it’s hurting.

So you slowly push off his chest.

And the light from the mess hall hits your face again; something there causes his shoulders to drop, causes him to let you go.

A cheer rises up from the celebration that you’ve left behind, that you don’t feel like returning to, but neither can you be alone right now, so it’s likely your only choice.

“I’m not playing games, Joel. I never was. I like you. A lot. Both you and Ellie. I just didn’t want to spook you. But...I also don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. So…maybe I read you wrong. Or maybe we need different things.”

“What do you need?” It almost falls out of him, uncontrolled, unemotional, a gathering of facts.

And your answer comes the same way, surprising you as you’re sure his own question surprised himself.

“A home.”

It’s a quiet night, perfectly warm. You’re sure if you went home right now, the fireflies–the good kind–would be out in the back yard.

Instead, you give him a shellshocked nod–of finality, of punctuation–and follow your feet back toward the light, toward happiness and love that you can’t share at the moment. And you don’t look back.

________

When you don’t show up for family dinner that week, Maria comes knocking the next day.

Knocks, yes, but does not wait for an answer. In sisterly fashion, she makes straight for your wool room and sits calmly on the edge on the daybed there, staring at you as you mend a hole in a sweater.

“Missed you at our table last night.”

“I know.”

It doesn’t matter how hard she stares, you continue to avoid it and concentrate on the work in your hands.

“That was an invitation for you to explain.”

“I’m aware.”

“Girl–”

“I’m not getting along with Joel right now. Ellie has…this thing on her arm that she doesn’t want anyone to know about. You notice how she would wear long sleeves even in the heat? I felt bad for her. So I… suggested…the lye.”

This doesn't faze her. “It was on purpose. And Joel found out. I see.” Leaning back into the pillows with a pregnant grunt, she swings her feet up onto the daybed. “Is hiding helping? You know we all know where you live, right?”

“Are you really putting your muddy shoes on my quilt?”

“So you’re just going to avoid him.”

You squint at the binding. “I’m gonna have to raid the commissary for some better glasses. My eyesight’s getting out of hand.”

“You’re going to avoid us. Me and Tommy and Ellie.”

Letting out a huge sigh, you concede to her tenacity because she won’t stop until she gets what she wants. “For now.” When her tongue clicks, you finally look up. “Listen. I apologized and he’s still mad. I agree with you that he’ll get over it, but he hasn’t yet, and that means I haven’t either. And I’m not as good at turning on my bitch face as that one is.”

“So we shouldn’t expect you next week either.”

“Nope,” you pout, tackling the sweater again with focused frustration. “I traded with Goldie. Going out a week early.”

“You’re running away.”

“I’m stressed out and I need to not be here, yes!” You admit, throwing down the knitting. “What is the big deal? I don’t have to get along with everyone in Jackson! You don’t!”

You understand that flat look from her, known it since you were kids. She’s counting to 10, giving you the chance to calm down so one of you can speak the truth and speak it calmly.

“But you want to get along with Joel.”

Of course she was going to say that. Because it’s what you’re thinking and not wanting to say out loud and she can read you like a book.

“Yeah. I really do. You know I do.”

“Okay,” she says, pushing herself up with effort and crossing the room to kiss her fingers and press–nay, slap–them to your forehead before heading out. “Go on and go to your happy place. Go calm down in your little clubhouse. I was just worried about you is all. Brought you leftovers. They’re on the counter.”

“Thanks. You’re too good to me. As always. Love you.”

“I know. As always. Love you too.”

________

At the end of the week you’re up early, your pack and rations slung over your back, pistol on one hip, making your way to the stables while the town’s still quiet, before anyone can notice you going. Your boots crunch on the dirt road in lieu of the birdsong from those lazy bitches not even up yet, the dawnlight casting Jackson in blues and blacks, like a new-world mid-era Picasso.

The problem is, you know all of these blues and blacks, all these shapes and shadows. There’s a new one this morning, something leaning up against the stable door.

And it’s shaped like a fourteen year old girl with a couple of bags.

As you approach, Ellie tips away from the wall, standing upright, waiting until you come to a stop in front of her.

“Joel said I could go with you.”

“It’s a week early.”

“Yep.”

It’s too early in the morning for exasperated sighs, but here you are. “Maria or Tommy?”

“Tommy.”

“Figures. Big fucking mouth.”

“Yep.”

She waits patiently for it to sink in.

Once it does, you pull the walkie off your belt.

“Meadowlark to Chickadee. ETA 30, towing a Starling in behind me.”

________

“So what did you say to him to get him to change his mind?” Ellie takes your fishing rod so you can pull off your boots and roll up your pants.

“Me? I figured it was you said something.” Wading out into the stream at this little ripple point is harder than it looks. The rocks are sharper here, full of crannys that are equally as good for fish to hide in as they are to turn an ankle. It doesn’t help that the setting sun is throwing shadows that make it harder to determine what’s what. “I haven’t talked to him in weeks. Not since Bear’s wedding. Keep that line taut.”

“According to Maria, you haven’t talked to anyone lately.”

“I had knitting to do,” a dismissal as you follow the line out into the current. “There are hardly any weeds out here; what did this dang hook snag on? A rock?”

“Well, he finally admitted that masking the scar was a good thing. I told him I want to get a tattoo over it. He said no.”

You laugh, tugging at the line, teetering on a flatter stone. “Of course he did. But that’s a good thing. Tattoo’s a permanent mark. Good to have an excuse to think long and hard about what you’d want. Willa’s great with nature stuff. She could probably do you a bird or a tree or something.”

“I was thinking maybe the moon. Or like, a machete.”

“Of course you were. Oh, oh... hang on, I think I’ve found it.” Reaching down under one of the rocks, you follow the fishing line, but it doesn’t seem to have an end. “Well, where the hell?”

“Uhhhhh,” Ellie points to the water at your feet. “I think it found you.”

A fine red ribbon of blood floats away on the current and you follow it upstream to your foot. More specifically, the inner part of your big toe. “Well shit. Did I just catch my own damn self?”

“Catch of the day!” Ellie laughs. “I bet you fry up real tough. Does it hurt?”

“Didn’t even feel it, water’s too cold. Get your knife and cut the line so I don’t get all tangled.”

Once you’re back on shore and take stock, it’s obvious some tools are needed. “Run and get me the wire cutting pliers, the vinegar jug, and the first aid kit, will you?”

Ellie’s off like a shot on youthful legs, making short work of the errand while you keep your foot in the stream and tend to her line. But once she’s back and opens the kit, her face twists into a frown. “Aren’t there supposed to be bandages in here?”

“What?” Snipping the hook in two you slide it out the easy way as Ellie watches in morbid fascination. “There’s not?”

“Nope. Plenty of cleanser and some needle and thread, but no bandages.”

“Shit. I suppose we never restocked it after Willa set you up. Well, I’ll just have to bleed into my sock for the time being and find something up at the Roost.” Ellie moves to help you, but you hold a hand up and go for the walkie. “Hey. Meadowlark to Goldie.”

The walkie comes to life, garbled, full of noise.

“Goldie? Meadowlark to Goldfinch.”

A couple of seconds pass. “Sorry, Goldfinch here. Was in the tavern and there’s an arm wrestling competition in there. Lots of yelling.”

“Really? Who’s winning?”

“Right now it’s Bear. What’s up?”

“Oh, I never restocked the first aid kit after Ellie’s mishap and we’re needing clean bandages. Can you send some along on patrol tomorrow?”

“Sure. Everything alright out there?”

“Yeah, I just stepped on a fishhook.”

“Well, why the hell did you do that?”

“You know, the usual. Shits and giggles.”

“You do you. Don’t ever change. I’ll send some supplies along.”

“Thanks. Put a wager down on Bear for me. Meadowlark out.”

“Will do. Goldfinch gone.”

“Alright, kid,” you groan, hanging onto her shoulder and pulling yourself up, “Bring in your line and let’s take what we got and get a supper going.”

________

The next day, you drop a few old carrots over the balcony railing. “Ellie! Take these with you! You’ll tame that skittish one sooner or later; keep trying!”

The girl scoops up the veggies and trudges out through the pasture, heavy not with the task of doing the rounds by herself but due to the heat. At least she can wear short sleeves now, even if the bandage gets questions. But you suspect she enjoys the clout and attention she gets out of the burn.

Thank goodness she’s here. Your injury gets angry when you walk. So Ellie's tasked with the rounds and taking stock while you elevate the foot and get caught up on some spinning.

Not that there’s any hurry to do so. As you lean on your arms against the balcony railing a little breeze kicks up. Content for the moment, you let it bring you a little coolness, a little movement, the rising and falling music of this year’s batch of cicadas. The meadow's pretty this summer, all purples and reds, festooned with lupine and Indian paintbrush and the air at the Roost smelling like the pines that grow around it.

“Patrol to Meadowlark.”

Damn. You left the walkie on the table inside. Guess the decision’s been made for you to get your ass moving. That’ll be a delivery coming in and you hobble on over to answer.

"Patrol here. You there, Meadowlark?"

“Sorry. Meadowlark here.”

“Sending Joel Miller in with supplies at the north gate.”

That’s…not what you expected. But…wow. Really? Has your heart stopped, or is it just going really fast?

“Put him on the walkie.”

Who cares what you’re heart’s doing, your face is gonna cramp from the smile.

“Hey. It’s me,” he answers, gentle, penitent.

“Me who.”

“Joel.”

So he's olive branching first. Well, he'll have to earn it.

“Yeah, about that, we have procedures around here. Callsign or bust, sir.”

You can almost hear his eyes rolling, but it sounds like he’s up for the challenge.

“Seriously.”

“Sure.”

“Jesus. This is…Grey Fox. Coming in at the north gate. Happy?”

“I will be. Meadowlark out.”

Tottering gingerly back out to the balcony, you land heavily on the old green broke-down sofa. There’s no need to bring the rifle. Even if he was being pursued by a pack of raging clickers, Joel is certain to carry a gun, and certain to use it confidently.

A few slow minutes tick by in the sun and a cicada buzzes in from nowhere to attach itself to one of the balcony supports. The big bug breathes for a minute, its iridescent wings still twitching with the effort of hoisting that bulky little body.

And then, in your eyeline just past the cicada, there’s movement.

Joel coming out of the north woods.

He’s on foot. Green plaid and jeans wading through the flowered fields. With his shirtsleeves rolled up on purpose to let those brown arms and big hands of his swing. With not just the one, but two rifles on his back? Isn’t that a bit overkill?

Wait. One of them’s not a rifle. It’s…a guitar.

Well. Someone’s planned to make himself at home.

Your smile earns more real estate.

Good.

Soon he’s close enough for you to make out his grey curls shifting in the breeze. Then he disappears under the Roost, only to transform into the sound of heavy footfalls on the ladder.

Propping your chin on your forearms crossed over the back of the sofa, you watch through the front windows as he steps into the room and takes it in with a carpenter’s eye. He stops in silent appreciation, gaze scrolling the woodwork, the joints, posts, slope of the peak. The woodstove catches his notice and he taps the tile beneath it with his boot, his interest trailing up the pipe, squinting at the trap around the exhaust. His bottom lip pushes up in approval and he nods, surveying the windows now…and stops when he sees you.

“Hey there, Cinnamon Roll. Welcome to the Roost.”

A half-hidden smile. Without a word, he untangles himself out of his gear, digging through his knapsack and retrieving a box before coming out onto the balcony and making his way over to you. Swiping a hand through the air, he motions for you to move your knee so he can sit beside you, then pulls your foot up into his lap and takes a look over your makeshift bandage–the sleeve of an old blouse–before starting to unwrap it.

It hurts. But you let him.

“Where’s Ellie?”

“She’s making the rounds. Just left before you came in.”

He grunts an acknowledgement, focusing on your toe, moving it so he can assess the wound a little better. A little wince; he can tell it hurts. Grabbing a tiny bottle of cleansing agent and a fresh bandage, he gets to work.

“Just so you know,” he grumbles, “we don’t have a lot of antibiotics just sitting around. You shouldn’t let this stuff fester.”

He must see your smirk from the corner of his eye. He matches it with his own.

“You using my words against me now, Dr. Miller?”

“Not at all. Just passing on some valuable knowledge that was gifted to me.”

He works quietly, carefully wrapping the toe, then your foot, splinting it in a way that should make it easier to walk on. Obviously not the first time he’s cared for a wound. He must have seen a lot out there in his wilder days.

“This one was truly an accident. For real this time,” you attest.

But his smile burns off to the stone underneath.

His sincerity precedes him. “I’m sorry.”

An apology. From Joel Miller. For what? Not trusting you? Keeping Ellie away? Speaking to you the way he did? You assume it’s all of the above. But it isn’t necessary to ask for clarification; you only want to put the missteps behind you and get on with leaning on each other.

“You’re staying, right?”

He nods once to you, then to the sofa. “This where I’m sleeping?”

“I mean, if you want one of our beds, that’s fine, you’ll just have to fight us for it. In which case, you might as well give up now.”

“No, it’s okay. It’ll be like sleeping under the stars.” He stares out at the mountains over the meadow, watching the shadow of a cloud roll over it, your foot warm between his hands, a thumb absently rubbing at the bandage. “This is nice out here. Quiet. I’m not used to it. But it’s good.”

“Yeah, I’ll admit I do better with some wide open spaces. And fewer people to share it with.”

Two lines form above the bridge of his nose. “Ellie told me about your ranch. Your family. I’m sorry to hear it.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth being sorry.”

He's got you there. “Everyone’s lost something. Someone. Several someones. The whole world’s a little sorry. But I appreciate it. It means we’re all in it together, those of us left." You make a study of him, his solemn nod, the way the sun glints off his watch. “I’m glad you took me up on my invitation, Joel. It’ll be nice having you here, being out here together.”

And then he turns to you, making his own study of you, as if watching your clouds roll away too.

“I agree.”

________

“Now, the E7 is the same as the E, you just pick up that third finger. Good. Now let’s do a three-four, E7, A, E.”

As the sun starts to set, your eyes have had enough of the spindle for one day and you’re cleaning up while Joel and Ellie muck around with his guitar out on the balcony. She’s a quick study, even if some of the chords are more difficult than others for her small hands, and it’s obvious he’s been working with her on it for a while.

Using a walking stick that Joel made from a pine branch–stripping the bark and wrapping one end with duct tape for a sliverless handle–you put together a little plate of berries and cheese, sling a thermos full of sun tea under your arm, and head out to the balcony.

“That's it. Thumb, wrist, wrist,” Joel coaches Ellie in a waltz strum as you hand off the treats to him and take a spot at the railing for one last survey of the meadow before the twilight goes. “That’s good. Keep that up, just like that. Hey there, songbird,” he drawls at you, “you know any Hank Williams?”

Rather than turn to him with a smile, you give it to the meadow, but let him hear it in your voice. “Do I? My dad grew up in Montana in the 50s and 60s. What do you think I was raised on?”

“Well go on then. You should know this one.”

Now that you’re truly listening and realize the chords he’s been working her through, you certainly do.

Ellie must have told him how you like to sing out here. So you do.

“Hear that lonesome whippoorwill, He sounds too blue to fly. The midnight train is whining low, I'm so lonesome I could cry.”

Joel encourages Ellie to keep going, and to add a B7 in at the end. “Go on,” he prompts to you when you turn around, smiling blithely as his two girls make him a pretty song to listen to.

“I've never seen a night so long When time goes crawling by. The moon just went behind the clouds To hide its face and cry.

“Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die? That means he's lost the will to live; I'm so lonesome I could cry.”

“The next verse is the last one, so play her out on some single rising notes and hit the final chord.”

Ellie bites her bottom lip and nods, taking the cue, but she doesn’t need to look at her hands anymore as she’s getting the hang of it, and instead smiles as you take on her favorite subject.

“The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky, And as I wonder where you are… I'm so lonesome I could cry.”

Her outro could use a little work, but it suffices and you give her due applause. “How are those fingers doing?”

She takes stock of her hands. “Look. Calluses.”

“You’ve got some work to do before you can call those welts calluses,” Joel teases.

“Well, I think she’s earned a treat. I didn’t bring those out here for you to hoard ‘em.”

Ellie balances the guitar against the arm rest and Joel hands over the plate, stealing a cherry and popping it into his mouth. Bringing her feet up, Ellie rests the plate on her knees and settles against Joel’s shoulder, smiling, content, proud of her progress, eating her reward and watching the night come on.

It’s such an intimate father-daughter scene that you’re about to go indoors and let them enjoy the view together. But then Joel moves his foot slightly as if to block your path. Catches your eye. Drapes his free arm over the back of the sofa and glances pointedly at his free shoulder, then back at you with a jerk of his head as if to say, You too, get in here, this one’s yours.

You do not have to be told twice.

Settling in with a long sigh, you don’t pay much attention as Ellie starts recounting everything she knows and doesn’t know about the first moon landing. You’re more interested in the way your cheek fits into Joel’s shoulder, and how his arm lays heavy and warm over yours, how his chest rumbles when he answers Ellie’s questions and laughs at her sass. How the shadows spill over the butte and pull through everything until they are everything.

And you notice how the moonlight reflects off the plate in Ellie’s hand, off the tuning keys of the guitar…and yet…it’s missing in one place it should be.

Joel’s wrists are bare.

Joel is laughing. And his wrists are bare.

________

Picking up his watch where it’s been living on the little table all week, you pack it into Joel’s knapsack on the last morning before heading out.

“Goldie’ll be here soon. You see Joel come back from the rounds yet?”

Ellie shakes her head as she’s packing her bag. “Nope. Went out an hour or two ago. You want me to go get him?”

Taking his bag and your own to the balcony, you throw them over the side to the forest floor below. “I’ll go. Been on my ass all week. I could use the walk.” You hand her the walkie on the way out, trusting her to take the incoming hail.

Fastest way to find someone on rounds is to walk the opposite direction, so you head south to the stream.

You don’t have to go far.

A group of sheep have gathered in the grass halfway between the Roost and the water, lazing peacefully as if gathered for a little tea party, and you can guess what they’re all discussing.

There, in the middle of their protective huddle, is the man you’ve been waiting for all this time; shoes off, one arm slung above his head, asleep in the sun and the warm, fragrant grass, as if he grabbed your description of the meadow and ran with it, needing the nap of a lifetime.

At first you keep your distance, not wanting to startle him. But then you realize that it might take more than your approach and a couple soft bleats from a lamb to wake him.

Especially with his good ear turned to the ground like that.

Safe. Warm. Content.

Goldie will be coming soon, but you’ll be able to see her from here. No need to wake him yet.

There’s time enough to just sit and shade his face from the sun, watch the steady rise and fall of his hand on his belly, and whisper a little prayer of thanks to the earth and wind and sky–hell, even to the sheep–that Joel and Ellie found their way to Jackson.

And that you found your way to them.

Good. Everyone's got a good reason to keep going then.

________

Lyrics from "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" by Hank Williams

PREVIOUS: SPRING

NEXT: AUTUMN (coming soon)

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(artwork by @stealyourblorbos)

#leave off your wandering #loyw #oonajaeadira #joel miller #ellie williams #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #tlou fic #joel miller tlou #fic rec fic rec fic rec!

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