#goldie miller

[crayonverse]

some more stuf for my fnaf au heyyyy... some tidbits :3

goldie is the first initial investor for fazent! his face also looks like that. just normally.

wanda is the half-sister to beckalyan (shes shown in the post linked). wanda is loosly based off of the mother from bunny call and is the mother to Cindy (pigtail girl from fnaf4) and Fritz/Aaron (MCI kid)

randall and amelia run a rival business to fazent that is clown themed..... they have pretty ridiculous costumes n stuff

deedee is based off of deedee from ucn. shes a local prankster 2 fazent and likes to mess with them (also shes the younger sister to amelia and is 15!)

jasper is a fazent employee and is 18! they usually fill in for people when nobody else can wear the costumes (and if his legs feel good enough to stand for a while). jasper is. supposed 2 be skinny but im still learning sitting poses so like. pretend i guess (also i.,am aware. of how shitty the wheelchair looks too ill fix that as well)

jasper is also the older brother to sarah from to be beautiful!

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have Overboard 1987

[gatutor]

Goldie Hawn-Bruno Wintzell "La chica de Petrovka" (The girl from Petrovka) 1974,de Robert Ellis Miller.

[oonajaeadira]

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 4: Winter

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: Mature.

Warnings: Mentions of sex but nothing explicit. Canon-typical violence, bodily harm, death,  (blood, broken bones, knife wounds, shooting, blunt force) and PTSD.

Summary: Revenge comes calling and you work though it as a family.

A/N: Series set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although it does use some characters/elements from the second game.

I’m so sorry it’s taken this long to get to winter. This one was difficult for me to face writing for reasons that may be made clear. But it was very rewarding. <3

The air is thin and cold this morning, takes your breath and makes a show of it as you quickstep it down to the stables. The sun is just starting to make the frost sparkle and no doubt Goldie will be using up the rest of the firewood at the Roost today.

Good thing you have a Joel who’s ready to chop more.

Although he’s also a Joel that’s forgotten his tea, the “stuff with the things in it” that Willa gave him for the stiffness in his knees. With this cold he’s going to want it today on patrol and the last thing you think you can stand is the tug in your heart when he comes home complaining of the cold and the ache and you sitting warm and cozy with his thermos on the counter when you had the legs to trot it on out to him.

It’s a relief to round the corner and find the patrol party still at the stable gate, Tommy helping one of the teens with their rifle strap, and Joel waiting on horseback, weaving his gloved fingers together, packing them down at the valleys to get his hands all the way in.

He’d laid one of those hands on your cheek this morning. Gentle. First thing you saw when you opened your eyes. Like most mornings now. His thumb rounding the rim of your cheek so he could lean in and take a good long drink of a kiss.

He likes it that way…soft, slow. Likes to pull you in as close as he can, twist his forehead into your temple when he hits his peak, jaw clenched in agonized pleasure, kisses along your jawline when you find yours, his eyes half-lidded and watching you in a hazy awe. He’s quiet but thorough, completely  present like he can’t believe he’s got this little slice of warmth, sighs a hushed curse in your ear and calls you sweetheart in the same breath, and then sleeps like a baby the whole night through.

He doesn’t like to talk about the past much, but listening’s your specialty and it comes out in bits and pieces, stuck between the little he does say. You come to understand that he very rarely got to be very close with anyone while Sarah was growing up. There were the years when everything was a nightmare. Then there was Tess and she brought him out of that, thank goodness. But it took time. And there was also denial and survival and means to their ends. There might indeed have been strong love there. But you have the feeling he’s not had this–or anything like it–for a long, long time.

So if he wants it soft and slow, then who are you to deny him?

Maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising that it was him who pulled you in a little closer.

“What if you didn’t move in with Tommy and Maria this winter?” He’d lingered the morning after Christmas, leaning one shoulder against the frame of your bedroom door, savoring the show of you getting dressed for the day.

“And waste the fuel? Why? So we can cuddle up now and then without your brother down the hall? You keep me plenty warm, Joel Miller, but I’m not going to heat this whole house just for me and your more-than-casual visits. Everyone’s got a responsibility here to conserve in the winter. This is how I do my part. And besides,” you purred as he stepped in to button up your flannel for you, freeing up your fingers so they could run through his curls, “I know where you live and your bed’s good as mine.”

“You seem to like it there well enough.”

“I do.” His beard was growing in all but a patch on his jaw that was now your right to kiss.

“Well I was thinkin’ we just make it ours for the winter.”

His hands had circled your hips and his words had stopped your heart, but there was little for to say with his lips pressed against yours.

So mornings often started as they did today, waking to find Joel beside you, roused because you can feel him watching you with that little half smile that reveals the crack in his weary heart where the light shines through. Who needs spring to come with sunshine like that to turn to? Now there are family breakfasts with Ellie and cozy days knitting in the company of Maria and Riley and then warm nights with Joel on one of those pillowtopped mattresses that were all the rage before the outbreak…the ones that are great when you have a stiff back, but even better because the springs don’t squeak…

“Aw dammit,” Joel says when he sees you nearing the stables with the thermos, “Knew I forgot something.”

“Two somethings,” you say pointing to his bare head and passing your hat up to him in the saddle. “Your ears are already bright red. Here. Take my hat.”

“This’s Ellie’s.”

“Huh. Guess I just grabbed one on my way out. Oops. Be a man. Wear a pompom.”

He pulls it down over his ears and smiles. “Matches my scarf.”

You’d had a small batch of deep red wool you’d managed to squeak a hat and scarf out of and gifting the hat to Ellie around Christmas, but the scarf went to Joel. He may not want anyone to think of him as sentimental, but it was worth your while to make it easy on him by giving him something that was also practical. Even if he had his jacket zipped up all the way, it was always there, tucked around his neck; he may leave his ears to the elements but he never went anywhere without that scarf.

The line of horses start making their way toward the Jackson gates and you squeeze Joel’s shin before stepping out of the way, letting him and his horse follow the group. He simply lets a gloved finger glance your cheek as he passes by.

All the way out here on this side of the apocalypse and humans still have a million variations on saying “I love having you around and I’d like to keep it that way.”

________

“Ellie’s more than welcome around here if you and Joel don’t want to leave her home alone.”

Maria’s lightly bouncing a wet-faced and blubbering Riley on her lap, trying to tempt him with a frozen carrot for his teething. He has tommy’s curls and they sproing with every boing.

“Nah, she wants to come out. We’ll be dividing the ewes and driving part of the flock into the old town for the rest  of the overwinter and she wants to see how it's done. Should see it, if she thinks she’ll be entering the rotation at any point. Speaking of,” you grunt, leaning down to gather your knitting basket and gather your things, “I promised I’d meet her after school. She’s gotten into collecting cassette tapes and the commissary says she’s hit her quota on goods this week. Gonna give up a couple credits so she can discover the wonders of Joan Jett and the Beastie Boys.”

“That’s throwing gas on the fire. She pick those out herself?”

“Nope. My points, my choice. And I say that girl needs to fight for her right to party and put another dime in the jukebox, baby.”

Maria rolls her eyes, chuckles, goes light on the sarcasm. “You’re the coolest auntie.”

“Don’t I know it,” you laugh, tying up your boots.

“Joel’s gonna just love that.”

Leaning in to bop a quick kiss to Riley’s head, you give Maria a crazed grin. “So much.”

Ten minutes later, Ellie has her doubts, holding up a cassette at the commissary. “But there’s a dinosaur on this one! How can it not be great?”

“Listen, missy. I’m not saying Dinosaur Jr. doesn’t have a place in music history, but I’m telling you that you’re likely to be disappointed. Trust me. Just this once.”

Ellie makes a face but you glance past it, distracted by what you see through the window behind her. Following your focus, she turns to look too. “Who’re they?”

All of the patrol horses coming back in have two people on them–a member of the party, and a stranger. And all the strangers can’t be more than teenagers.

“Dunno, but it looks like you’re about to get some new classmates. I’ll sign these out. You go ahead and make a good first impression.”

“You’re just sending me out there because you know if they’re infected, I can’t catch it.”

“If they were infected, they wouldn’t be on those horses or inside those gates. I’m sending you out there because you have a way of reading people. Go.”

Something in that puts a gasp in her throat and a sparkle in her eye and her ponytail whips behind her as she goes, striving to live up to the compliment.

But really, you just want half a minute to take a good look at the kids without Ellie asking questions. They’re all scrawny and filthy. Backpacks. Been traveling and living rough for a while now. Where’d they come from? What’s their story? Not an adult among them. How have they survived? You’d swear something feels off, but that’s the world now. Can’t be too careful. Everything seems off all the time. 

Question is, off by how much?

You find Joel in the group; he’s the only one riding with a kid in front of him rather than hanging on behind. And once he gets down off the horse and reaches up to help his passenger down, you can see why.

She’s pregnant.

Shit. She’s what, fifteen? Sixteen?

Shit.

“There’s a house up near mine has good plumbing turned on.” Tommy’s speaking over his shoulder to the small group and leading his horse to the stable door as you come out of the commissary. “We’ll get you all washed up and fed. There’s at least two beds there and some other furniture fit to sleep on if it makes you comfortable to stay together. Give me a minute to put Lady away here and we’ll walk on up together. Joel? A word?”

Handing off the pregnant girl’s backpack to her, Joel takes the reins of his horse and follows his brother inside, leaving the newcomers to look around them and take in the town.

All but one. A girl with hair that’s neither light brown or dark blonde, somewhere in between. Your mother would have called it dirty dishwater blonde and you always thought that was rude. But your mother also would have said the girl had a hatchet of a face with a strong jaw like that. And it’s that girl whose head whips around the second she heard Joel’s name, quickly scanning the patrol to ascertain who belonged to it, and stands watching the stable door in thought long after the Miller brothers were gone.

Was Joel her father’s name? Her brother’s? Is it hers or close to hers? Is she a Jo or Joelle?

“Abby. Hey,” a boy calls and she turns. “Mel should get a bed and we can share. Manny and Nora can share too…if you’re okay with taking a couch.”

“Fine,” Abby says. Her eyes and mouth all unmoving lines.

“Hey. Welcome to Jackson. I’m Ellie.” Your starling jams her hands in her pockets as all the new eyes turn her way. “It looks like you’ve been wandering. Where you coming from?”

The boy who spoke before blinks and opens his mouth to say something, hesitates. You’d take him for the leader up until the moment Abby speaks for him.

“West of here. QZ. Seattle.”

“Oh. Cool,” says Ellie with a bounce to her nod. Easy. Instantly welcoming. “I came out of Boston.”

Seattle QZ. The same one your dead husband and his sister came from. Not a good place. Warring factions and nothing but oppression and disease, last you heard. Good that they got out. They’re gonna need to be de-loused. 

But Seattle’s also much harder than most zones to break free of. You’ve been told the Western Liberation Front makes FEDRA look like a bucket of clowns.

“Seattle?” Now it’s your turn to pull focus from the group. “We’ve had refugees from there before. You really get out of there in one group like this? With no grown ups?”

Abby rips her eyes away from Ellie. “It’s a long story,” she says, shutting the questioning down.

There’s a moment that hangs between you and that stinks faintly of threat, but is mostly just the smell of feral kids. Tension breaks as the men emerge from the stable.

“We all ready?” Tommy says, making his way down the road and waving a hand for them to follow. “New home’s this way.”

Ellie starts to fall in with the group and you pull her back in close, speak low. “Go with them if you want, but keep your distance.”

“What? Why?”

“These are your first refugees. You’ll learn that they sometimes bring things with ‘em.”

Her face screws into a question mark. “What things?”

“Fleas. Lice. Viruses. Just give ‘em some space for a while.”

After the quickest flash of disgust, Ellie’s tried and true compassion kicks in and she gives an understanding nod as she turns to go, tape cassettes clattering in her jacket pocket.

You keep watching her even as you speak to the owner of the hand snaking around your waist. “Where’d you find them?”

“Up at the old crossing. They were under attack.”

“Jesus.”

“Nope. Infected.”

“Been a while since we’ve seen any of those stumble through here.”

“Infected? Or the kids.”

Turning to him in exasperation you look him over. “Both. And the same goes for you as for Ellie, Foxy. Let’s take you home and wash that scarf and hat. Run a fine-toothed comb through that hair just to make sure.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says, stopping when he catches your zero-temperature glare. If it’s something else you love about Joel, he recognizes when something’s important to you and answers a lady with composure and respect. “Yes, ma’am.”

____

“You couldn’t have found her some Cash or Fleetwood Mac or something?”Joel grumbles into the fireplace as he places another log on the coal bed and moves the poker around like he’s doing something.

Ellie sits on a blanket near the fire, reading a comic book, headphones on, Joan Jett’s grinding guitar bleeding out into the otherwise quiet living room. With his face turned to the fire and Ellie facing away from you, she most likely can’t hear the conversation that’s happening around her if you keep your voices low.

“You’re just jealous that she asked me to pick something out instead of you,” you smile on the couch, picking up your feet and swinging them into his lap as he sits down beside you. “80’s rock is good for her spiky little soul.”

“80’s means trouble,” he counters, considering her as his hands absently squeeze and rub at your feet.

You go back to your book. Seemingly anyway. It’s easy to steal observing glances from where you are. The thoughtful concern he has for Ellie. You can see him looking over the wood in the hopper and calculating how many days of fuel he has before you all head out to the Roost. A twist of a lip tells you he’s realized he might be a day short and needs to chop more. His gaze drops to his lap as he lightly massages your feet–just running his hands along their contours, pressing a thumb in here and there to tenderize a muscle. The firelight loves him, plays at the edges of his curls, slides down his nose, kisses the purse of his lips.

You jump as he slides a tickling fingertip up the sole of one foot. “Hey!”

“What you get for staring.”

“I wasn’t staring at you, I was reading.”

“Must be pretty small print you don’t turn a page for five minutes.”

Taking off your readers and closing the book, you sit up and deposit them on the coffee table. From here it’s easy to scoot up to him and lean an elbow on the couch back. “What’s got you so thinky tonight, hmm? You look like you’ve got your worry pants on.” There’s a curl right behind his ear that’s so easy to twirl in your fingers and you indulge. You’ve found a little touch helps him open up.

“I can’t help thinking about those kids, thinkin’ they could just wander out in the world like that. If it weren’t for us hearing the runners….” He goes quiet a minute and you let him, his gaze haunting Ellie’s direction but living somewhere in the past. “They gotta be somebody’s kids. I can’t believe Seattle’s so bad they just let ‘em run wild…let ‘em run away from the best you got for ‘em.”

A faint guitar blares from Ellie’s headphones as she flips a page, purses her lips, absently nods along.

“Yeah, well teenagers rebel, Foxy. That’s what they do.”

“No,” he says, softly, resolutely, a tick of his jaw. “Not all of ‘em. Not if they’re loved. And fiercely. And I don’t know a love that isn’t fierce.”

It’s the look on his face that makes you believe him.

Love isn’t a word that Joel bandies about. It’s easy to see it work in him. The way he tells Ellie no when she wants to do something reckless but promises her something just as exciting, going to any length to make her smile. The way he holds Riley’s head in the crook of his arm, his other hand reflexively coming out in defense if anyone gets too near the baby’s soft spot. The way he shoves his brother with a laugh when Tommy picks on him or how he helps Maria to her feet when she’s been on the floor too long, even if she says she doesn’t need it.

The way he… with you he…

His hands work at your feet again. He understands the minute levels of his strength, knows how firm to go without bringing pain.

With you, it’s the way he rolls over and shows you his soft places, invites you in to be a part of it.

Not really what you’d call fierce. Does that mean he doesn’t–

“Is a cherry bomb like a little bomb or a big bomb?” Ellie asks, an earpad pulled away from her ear and spilling Cherie Currie’s stuttered chorus.

“It’s a little one. A firework. But it packs a big punch. It’ll take your fingers off. Hello, world, I’m your wild girl, I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch cherry bomb,” you sing, pushing your foot against Joel’s thigh with every beat. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he says, wrapping a big hand around your ankle to secure it. “Ellie, run on up and get my guitar. Lemme teach you a better song.”

In the minute it takes for her to come back, Joel foregoes softness for force, tickling relentlessly, almost ending up with a foot in his face with how much you squirm.

___

Church isn’t really your thing, never was. You have your own way of listening to the beauty of the earth that doesn’t mean sacrificing a morning sleeping in to listen to lessons you’ve already learned and hold true.

But today you’ve come to the after-brunch curious to welcome the new residents and managed to show up a little early. So you’re standing in the back of the mess hall with Maria and Riley, waiting for the final hymn to end, for the preacher to call an end to the service and a beginning to the meal.

Maria leans in and murmurs in your ear as the final chorus comes. “Tommy and the crew are working on one of those bigger houses with the vaulted ceilings in the new district so the church can have its own building.”

“They’re not gonna like having to walk over there.”

She shrugs, adjusts Riley’s teething toy and bounces him up a notch. “Might cause some of them to move over there. Thin out the density. Easier on the power grid. We do have five new residents.” 

You watch as one of the new boys–Owen–helps the pregnant Mel to her feet. “Soon to be six.”

Once the kitchen starts serving, Owen and Mel find their way over to your table, eager to meet Riley and ask Maria all kinds of questions about childbirth and your friend finds herself in a mentoring role she didn’t ask for. She’s not opposed to being helpful, just lets her judgment slide through on the whole babies having babies thing which completely flies over the kids’ heads.

They’re good enough kids, but something tastes a little sour when Owen tries to include you in the conversation.

��What about you? You and…is his name Joel? You gonna have any kids?”

It’s a rude question. He’s earned your side eye and he knows it, but smiles through it, playing innocent.

“Already got one. One’s enough,” you laugh, sly, chewing through some boiled oats and letting him know you’re gonna let that one slide.

“Oh, yeah, right. Ellie, right?” he asks, with a flick of his eyes to a table behind you. Turning, you find Abby at a table with some other residents and when you turn back it’s with a dry expression that tells him he’s worn out his turns at beating the bush and should be out with it.

“We just were wondering if she’d show us around,” Mel explains. “She’s the only one of the children here who will talk to us.”

You snort. “Don’t let Ellie hear you call her a child. She’s short for her age, but she’s not much younger than you. She likes people, but that won’t win you any points.”

“And don’t worry about the other kids,” Maria takes over, shooting you a look. “They’ll come around. A lot of them were born here and they don’t see a ton of new people.”

“Are they not coming to the brunch today?” Owen asks.

“Who?”

“Ellie and Joel.”

Shaking your head, you swallow your latest bite. “Joel and Tommy are off getting some work done in the new sector and Ellie would bite my face off if I woke her up before high noon on a weekend. But she knows where you’re staying. I’ll send her around to you once she’s up and acting like a whole human.”

You’re about to change the subject and ask them a few questions of your own but Riley starts fussing and Mel asks to hold him and the whole baby talk starts up again.

When you look over your shoulder, Abby is gone from the table. Left her dish for someone else to clean up.

There’s a thought creeps in that maybe Ellie can teach them all some manners. And then you remember the mouth on your starling and smile.

____

“And Owen showed me some of his drawings and they’re so amazing. He’s like a fucking Picasso or something. He says he’ll give me lessons if I can get Mr. Scowlface here to take him out hunting. Says he misses hunting deer with his dad. And Abby wants to go too. I told her how you taught me to use a shotgun and she seemed really interested to learn. She might want to join the patrols some day. But I told them not this week since we’re going out to the Meadow and they all had questions about that. Abby especially–” 

Ellie has a remarkable talent for chewing and talking at the same time. She catches a piece of apple that escapes her mouth, slurping it off the back of her hand where it landed, then downs the rest of the milk and wipes her mouth with the cuff of her sweater, leaving you to negate your silent praise of her manners from earlier in the week and giving you a break in the chatter to speak.

“Well, you’re a little young to be recruiting your own Roostlings, but if Abby or any of the others want to come out sometime and see what the fuss is about, they’re welcome. I’d rather them wait until spring though, or at least until we get the whole of the flock back from the deep winter holding grounds. Chickadee’s taking up the caboose on that.”

As you push the carafe of chicory coffee toward Joel and clear the breakfast plates, Ellie snatches the last hunk of bread you left on yours, shaking her head. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

Joel scoffs. “Last car on a train.” He takes a long, loud drag of his coffee, pouring on the annoyance to get a glare out of the girl and succeeds. “Well, if she don’t like heights, she’s not going to enjoy learning patrol duty either, not with the watchtowers and the mountain trails. And don’t go promising services you can’t guarantee. I’m not a scout leader.”

“What’s a scout leader?”

“Someone with a lot more patience than me. Get.”

Taking up her backpack, Ellie makes her way to the front vestibule to pull on her gear.

“Don’t forget your hat and scarf!” You call to her, but smile at Joel as you perch your butt against the table and tuck a little curl behind his ear. He’ll ask you to cut it soon. And you’ll put it off for as long as possible.Tickles, he'll say. I know, you'll say.

“Thanks, Gramma Betty!” she calls back and pulls the door shut behind her as Joel lays a warm hand on your outer thigh.

“What’er you getting up to today?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m in carding mode. Got a whole bag of washed fleece needs combing. I’d ask you what you’re up to, but I assume you and Tommy are gonna be tearing down some poor old house.”

There’s a moment where he squints, thiinking. His thumb tracing the outer seam of your jeans. 

“I want you to come with me. Got something to show you.”

“Really. Well I like the sound of that. I could use a little walk in the bitter cold with a mystery at the end of it. Gonna have to go pull on a heavier sweater though. Might need to take this one off first. You wanna come watch?”

There’s a knock at the front. Tommy. The door opening.

Joel only grins fondly and pats your thigh, sending you off, before pushing the chair back from the table and separating himself from his coffee mug. “I’ll catch the later show. ‘Specially if it calls for audience participation.”

Five minutes later, bundled and booted, the three of you head out toward the new section, Joel with his scarf tucked in tight and hat pulled down low, and Tommy with a set forced upon him because you’re quickly becoming the winter clothing police around here.

It’s not a long walk. Jackson was never more than a few miles wide and this is just the first expansion of the wall. You’ve wandered over during the construction crew’s activities enough to know the way without being led, but what you’re expecting is for Joel to lead you away from the furthest street, away from the beautiful A-frame house so neatly repaired along with its pretty neighbors and up the street with Tommy to the next clutch of houses they’ve been working on. 

But instead, Joel tells his brother he’ll be along in a minute, and Tommy smiles knowingly as he continues on, leaving the two of you in the walkway up to the pretty A-frame that’s so much like the Roost’s bigger sister.

“You know what today is?” Joel asks, hands in pockets, squinting up at the peaked roof.

“Friday?”

“Probably,” he says, shifting focus to his boots. “I was thinking more holiday-wise.”

The air’s particularly crisp today, hitches in your lungs as you take each mental step and catch up with him.

February 14. Valentine’s.

As your mouth drops open, he jerks his chin at the house. “You like this one, right?”

“What…what are you….Joel?”

There’s a cringe that belies his confidence, maybe a tinge of regret. “I just figured we were gettin’ along so well, that maybe you’d… It was just an idea–”

He can’t even look you in the eye until you yank his hand awkwardly out of his pocket and wrap your gloved hand around his. He seems almost shocked to see your tears welling up–true, half from the cold–but he’s also relieved. Big breath in, big breath out. That must have been the hard part.

Words aren’t Joel’s way. This is how he tells you just how deep his feelings go. You know he’s had time to imagine with every window replaced, every floorboard leveled out, every load bearing wall reinforced,  just which family was going to get to live in this house and what kind of life they might make in it.

What kind of life you might make together here.

So you take his lead and say only what’s necessary, as steadily as you’re able. 

“Take me inside.”

His sheepish grin confirms that it was exactly what he’d hoped to hear.

The interior’s simple, but gorgeous. The dark wood gleams, and the whole back wall of the A frame is windowed. The triangle at the top replaced with a leaded stained glass in a sunrise of orange and rose that reflects the undertones in the timber inside and the pines out the window, the mosaic just high enough to catch the last rays that will come in over the mountains at the end of the day and turn the whole place into a dream. The open floorplan has the kitchen near the door, but over by the windows….

Joel gives the tour. The hand-laid stones in the fireplace. The built-in shelves for your books. This is the corner where your favorite chair can go, nearest the fire and where there’s good light for spinning. This rug was here, still good. He points out to the little shed in the back–a place for wool dying, he can hang pegs in there however you need them.

If he weren’t so occupied in explaining the wood he chose to finish the countertop, the way he followed the original dovetailing in the doorframe, the pattern he made with the reclaimed wood in the floorboards, he may have seen you admiring the most important part of the house…or, rather, the most important person in it.

There’s more. Two bedrooms, one off each side of the main part of the house, each with its own bathroom, the larger one with its own porch overlooking a little creek.

“The basement’s not quite done, but I figure I’ll just use that for my own. Felt you might not like the…vibe…”

Ah yes. The former owners. He took care of that too. 

He took care of everything.

“I love it, Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“If there was a stronger word, it would be yours, believe me.”

He only wraps his arms around you as you dive in to squeeze him.

“Good,” is all he says. Breathes in the scent of your hair. “That’s good.”

________

The ewes hate the leader ropes, but they follow, bleating now and then as you slowly guide them through the woods toward the Meadow’s north entrance. Joel’s got two behind his and Ellie’s horse, and you’ve got four behind yours, a small party, but the only ones that were ready to come on back out after the coldest weeks.

Goldie’s happy to lead them out to the rest of the flock while you and Joel go up and get situated, get warm, get ready for the week ahead. Ellie follows Goldie and Joel hangs his watch by the door. All’s quiet in the Roost.

Until Joel’s tongue clicks. “That beam is bowing,” he points up to one of the main rafter struts on the far side of the room. “Wood stove keeps this side warm and the snow melts off, but there’s no balcony on the other side. No way to rake the snow off the roof. Tommy should have known better.”

“Well it’s not like he’s had a lot of practice with big boy tree forts, I’m guessing,” you say, dumping a sack of potatoes near the cook pile and throwing the stack of fresh sheets onto the bed. “Does it need to come down?”

“Don’t think so. But come spring we’ll add on another balcony and do some reinforcement.”

As he runs his hand up the wall seam, you come up behind him, hugging him from the back with the sole purpose of distracting him, your way of letting him know he’s obsessing like an old man. It gives you the right angle to grab onto his open jacket and start pulling it off him. “Take this off and stay awhile.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Goldie takes her leave on your horse, guiding Joel and Ellie’s behind, glad to be going back to more warm water than she can heat on a stovetop, and Ellie helps to cart a few buckets of the colder variety up from the stream so you can all just stay in for the night.

Then it’s stew and cards, and Ellie kicking Joel’s ass at Scrabble, all of you bundled in wool sweaters and slippers handmade by you and Chickadee, the firelight glinting off the game tiles, highlighting the glee in the girl’s eyes, the resigned agony in Joel’s smile.

Almost a whole year now she’s been coming out here with you, and it’s wondrous how much she’s grown inside and out. You never felt lonely at the Roost, in fact, you had always very much enjoyed the solitude. Now you don’t think you could abide it. It’s only a home for a week at a time, but only when they come out here with you now.

It’s a nice night. Stars are out. Ellie’s still staring out at them as you and Joel fall asleep in the big bed.

_____

It’s the scent of woodsmoke that wakes you in the middle of the night, sitting you up straight in bed. Or so you think, except that the embers in the stove are low, so it can’t be that. 

No. It’s a voice outside.

“Burn in hell, Joel Miller!”

Is that…Ellie? What’s she doing outside? No. Not Ellie. No it’s–

“Abby?” Ellie says blearily from the bunk above you.

There’s someone in the room moving swiftly toward you from the windows, hulking, with a rifle–

Joel.

“Get up. Both of you. Get out. The place is on fire.” 

It doesn’t register.

“What? What fire? Joel? What’s happening–”

He shakes your shoulder, pulling you from the bed. “Get Ellie out. Now!”

There’s no other thought, just fumbling in the dark as Ellie jumps down beside you and dives for her jacket, shoving her feet into her boots without doing up the laces while you reach out one hand to catch hers for when it comes to you. The other gropes the near table for the walkie and thumbs the button.

“Meadowlark to patrol. Meadowlark to Goldfinch. We’re in trouble, there’s a fire and–”

The whole cabin sways. A gunshot from the balcony. Joel growling over his shoulder. “Get out! Now!”

“Joel–!”

“NOW!”

The ladder is still sliding down into place when you jump on it and ride it part of the way down, still waking up as Ellie’s boots come fast, almost kicking you in the face as she follows you down the rungs two at a time, moving through a plume of choking blackness only to come out below it to a roaring bonfire that’s eating through the Roost’s supports.

Oh god. The Roost…

is burning….

“JOELLLLLL!” you scream up as your stocking feet hit the ground hard, as you catch Ellie and pull her off the ladder and stumble backward, as something hits your head hard and causes you to let go, as separate sets of arms grab each of yours and drag you roughly backward, fast enough to keep your feet from catching up until you’re on your knees.

There’s a crackle in the air– “Patrol to Meadowlark. What’s the trouble?” 

The walkie lies somewhere in the pine needles just out of reach and you’re screaming at it for help but all that comes out of your mouth is a string of names and no’s and helps. You’re able to yank your non-dominant arm free, pitching forward, clawing for the radio, until a flash of hard silver–a meteorite, exquisitely dense and smooth, malignant, swift, direct–cracks down on your forearm with a sickening thud, shattering the bone.

The world slides out of focus through a screen of sudden pain.

At first, you assume you’ve been shot in the arm. But then a figure steps around to your line of sight. Abby. With a golf club? What? Why? Where did she get that? The commissary? Why the fuck would they stock golf clubs? What the fuck is going on? 

And you watch as Abby picks up the walkie. Tosses it into the fire.

The hands are back upon you now, forcing you back to your knees, and a third set joins them, wrapping around your forehead and chin, pulling you back against a belly and you struggle.

Where’s Ellie.

You’re able to twist your head to one side despite being held. She’s there on the ground, face down, groaning, with Owen’s knee in her back.

“Ellie? Honey?”

One pair of hands holding you twists you hard, meaning to pull you further away from her without compliance from the other hands or consent from your muscle structure and there’s a sickening pop as your shoulder leaves its socket and then your scream drowns out everything even the roar of the fire.

“She keeps it in her pocket,” Abby says. Rooting into Ellie’s pocket, Owen finds the knife and pulls it out–the one she cherishes, imbued with the legend of her mother, given to her on the same day as her name, her life, and her orphanhood.

The day Ellie told you the story, you’d taken steel wool to the knife and cleaned it. Oiled the hinge. Shined it up good and pretty.

It flips open easily in Owen’s paw. It twirls swiftly around, and points downward, his fingers closing over the hilt, thumb curling over the butt of the handle to give it more leverage when he’s ready to bring it down.

The night is horribly black and lit along the edges in orange fire.

There’s a loud crack. Owen’s thigh explodes in a splatter of blood and he falls backward off Ellie, screaming. The hands around your head let go and Mel runs to him.

Joel stalks out of the plume of black smoke, cocking the rifle, pointing only long enough at Owen to confirm he’s down and then swinging the barrel around to Abby.

A stand off. No sound or movement but the whoosh of flames and a few ground-muffled cries from Owen, a few sniffles and shushes from Mel.

“Who the fuck are you,” Joel growls out over the steel barrel, his cheek quivering in barely hinged anger.

Abby stands, solid, unyielding, straight as the blonde braid hanging down her back, club wound up tight, ready for the pitch, a face full of lines and soot and destruction.

“The last survivors of the Firefly massacre. You didn’t think to check the rest of the compound? Like the whole team was just one-offs? Like none of them had family, you sick fuck? You fucking orphaned us. Left us to fend for ourselves. Go ahead and shoot, old man. Marlene always said you weren’t so good at keeping kids alive, actually surprised you got as far as you did. So go ahead. Not like we’ve got nothing to lose. We just came to return some favors and finish the job.”

It’s only in the moments later, before the dawn, when you’re laying on your back looking up at the stars, one arm laying broken and useless in the snow beside you, the other cradling a weeping Ellie Williams as tight as you can, that you’ll be able to slow the film of your memory and play out the next thirty seconds frame by frame.

The series of snaps and cracks as the support under the Roost gave way and the whole structure tumbled out and away from the scene, pulling several pines down with it, the crashing and burning the only sound you remember now.

Ellie trying to shuffle along the ground toward you and away from the fire.

Owen pulling himself up enough to raise the knife and bring it down into the meat of Ellie’s calf.

Owen’s body flying backward as a bullet ripped through his skull.

A wrench of your neck and the warm splash of blood from above you as another shot rang out, one person holding you falling away and back, gone, but still pulling you down with their dead body.

The roar of an angry Abby and the clank of a club shaft on a rifle barrel.

Another gunshot.

The sound of metal hitting flesh.

Thirty seconds. And now you can see the stars. Orion. The Milky Way.

Somehow you’re lying yards from the little patch of burning trees with Ellie cradled in your good arm. Someone dragged you here.

There are voices and flashlights. The patrol. Bear and Tommy. Goldie and Willa and Chickadee.

And Maria. Laying on the ground beside you, exhausted from the effort of dragging two humans out of the burning thatch of trees.

“Joel. Where’s Joel.” It hurts to speak. Breath comes fast and shallow.

Then he’s there with the others, a bruise blooming purple beneath his eye, saying only what scant words he needs to move past them and get to you. To Ellie. 

His hands are gentle, but his eyes are cold.

Two still, black pools reflecting fire.

_______

Perhaps unsurprisingly, you dream of Troy, his mangled face open and bleeding, laying in the hole next to Ash, mutilated, stopped at the moment of transformation into something more sinister, your ex-husband and his sister lost to you because they were headstrong, foolish, too devoted to each other….

Ash’s eyes open, what’s left of them anyway. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

They didn’t know the Roost was elevated. They followed us out here and didn’t have a good plan. Is that it?

They don’t answer. They get up and climb out of the hole, turn their backs on your and walk into the forest. You call after them, desperate to have them back after all this time, begging them not to leave you.

But you’re calling after them wrong. You can’t seem to say Troy. You can’t say Ash.

You’re only calling out for Joel and Ellie.

_____

The next thing you know, you’re sitting up in the snow, leaning against Goldie, the girl patting at your cheek as you’re coming around. “Come on, come on back, baby.”

The sun’s up, but not high enough to breach the mountains circling the meadow. Everything’s still lit by the slowly dying flames.

The one two punch of Willa setting the bone and popping your shoulder back in must have sent you off. Looking down, you see you must have thrown up as well. 

“Holy shit,” you groan, “I’m sorry. Oh my god, holy shit that hurts.”

“I know, I know,” says Goldie, smoothing your hair and kissing your forehead. 

“Here,” says Willa, handing you some dark root. You forget what it’s called, you just know you gotta chew. “Don’t swallow,” she reminds you. “You ride with Goldie. She’ll keep you upright once that sets in.”

“I gotta get up,” you mumble, struggling to stand and inhaling sharply at the twinge of pain the movement brings to your bandaged and immobilized arm. Goldie’s able to help get you up, but seems hesitant to let you go. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my feet, lemme go. Where’s Ellie?”

But you don’t need to ask, she’s just behind you, laying on her back in the snow, one arm flung over her eyes, breathing heavy to manage the pain, leg bandaged and tourniqueted.

Good. Next priority. “Where’s Joel?”

Goldie points to the fire. It’s starting to die down, enough to make out the bodies of three teenagers consigned to the flames. Past them, the group of the regular patrol. Joel shaking his head at them, speaking. Jacket zipped up to the top, no scarf, no hat; probably got left behind in the Roost. Rifle over one shoulder. A backpack over the other.

But not his backpack. Why would he have someone else’s backpack? Why would he have one at all…

He’s…. No.

Pushing off Goldie, you immediately find out that walking is hard. Even if the pain’s just in one arm, everything’s connected, everything hurts; it’s disorienting. Your knees are bruised and even your soft sleep pants feel like sandpaper on them. Feet cold and wet, no boots…

Joel sees you struggling to get to him and walks away from the group and the fire, meeting you partway, catching your good arm as your fist falls hard on his shoulder and yanks, fingers digging in hard to his coat, doing your best to hold on tight, to keep him here, to convince him not to go.

“Don’t you dare, Joel Miller. What do you think you’re fucking doing???”

He says nothing, only lets you collapse onto his chest, to sob. There’s not even an arm to comfort you, he gives you nothing but the bare necessity, a wall to keep you standing, and you know nothing you say will make a difference. In essence, he’s already gone.

“Please. Joel. Don’t. Please don’t go.”

“Trail’s fresh. Best to get on before it snows and covers the tracks. One of them’s the pregnant girl. One of them’s bleedin’. They can’t get that far.”

“You don’t have to. Just come home.”

“They’ll just come back. Maybe not soon, but someday.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Stepping back, it hurts to look at him. The Joel you love has been asked to step aside, the care and fondness he’s come to show you locked up somewhere secure, somewhere where it won’t get in the way. 

I warned you, this Joel seems to say, void of emotion, jaw set, brow even and low, hand on the strap of his rifle. You took me in knowing exactly what I am.

He’s right.

“I need you here, Joel. Ellie needs you here. Don’t you dare go…unless you can come back.”

“I need you here too. ‘S why I’m going.”

Nothing. No kiss goodbye, no waiting for approval, he just turns and walks. 

Maybe this is the last of it, just one last loose thread, then he can finally leave off wandering, finally shake off the killer and just come home, just be your Joel.

Convincing yourself of this is the only choice you’ve got.

________

You find yourself out on Maria’s back porch that night. Unable to sleep from the ache of the mending bone and the swell of your assaulted shoulder, it seemed like the best remedy was to find the toughest jerky in the kitchen, to sit on the porch in the cold and chew through the pain, and to lean back in one of the porch chairs with a soothing snowpack between it and your back.

The moonlight plays illusions like the canteen filmstrips–a summer image of Tommy and Joel teaching Ellie the mechanics of tackle football. The twinkle of the fireflies lending veritas to the picture…which in reality is only the twinkle of a dusting of new snow.

Not enough snow to make tracking impossible, but enough to make it difficult.

The back door opens and a blanket lands over your lap.

“Was gonna ask you if you wanted company, but then I decided, it’s my house and you don’t get a choice.”

Maria plops her own blanket in a nearby chair before disappearing and returning with two steaming mugs of tea as offering for the table between you. She takes her time covering you just so before wrapping herself up and joining you on the porch. “Suppose I should have asked if you want that cold pack changed before I get too comfortable,” she says, not really offering, but leaving the suggestion there between you if you need it.

It’s not necessary to talk for a while. She knows exactly what you’re thinking. Sees what you see.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. Riley did,” she lies. You’d heard her shift when you got up from the bed–her bed, well, hers and Tommy’s. But hers and yours for now.

“Thanks for taking care of us.”

“You say that like you’re not my family.”

“Well then, thanks for staying behind as if you are.” 

It’s hard to see her out of the corner of your eye, backed by dark shadows. But the moon plays little crescents on her face, the curve of her nose, her cheek, her chin. Her voice comes out velvet from the dark.

“I know you’re pissed at Joel for going, but he’s doing the right thing.”

Now you make the effort to turn, rotating more from the waist than the neck to save the injury from twinging, but it does anyway, mirroring your spike in irritation. “Really? You think so? Is that why you sent Tommy with him? After all that time you spent bemoaning the things Joel made Tommy do all those years ago–”

“This is different. This is about the greater good.”

“You know that’s what the villain always says, right?”

She presses her lips together, hating that you’re right. “Okay, so maybe not the greatest good for the morality of the remainder of the human race, but. For the good of Jackson.”

“Two grown men hunting down two teenage girls is the greater good.”

“They won’t be teens forever. They’ve both got reasons to come back for their revenge. And now they know where Jackson is. They get taken in by the wrong people, and then the wrong people will know where Jackson is too and when they come back they won’t be alone. They’ll know exactly how many and what kind of folk to bring.” She holds your gaze for a few seconds, steady and wise but also warning, her warmth only thinly veiling the matronly protectress behind it, like a Durga on her throne. “You know why we have patrols. You know what happens to people that get too close. Two more drops in the bucket is all.”

“Three. One of those little girls is pregnant.”

She has no answer to this. Rather, your dig brings no new argument to the table. It’s just words, just a fact on the wind. It doesn’t sway the needle one way or the other.

It’s exactly what you’d been thinking about, staring up at her bedroom ceiling. Then out here on the porch. It’s like she knew you needed to hear the justification out loud.

“They would have killed him, lady. And Ellie. And you. I’m surprised you don’t want them hunted down like dogs.”

You turn your attention to the back yard, the smallest hump of leaves under the big tree there not quite scattered to the wind, sparkling with snow cover. You can almost still hear Ellie’s high laughter as it sounded the day she experienced her first leaf pile.

“Oh, I want them run down,” you say. “I’m all for that, let ‘em eat lead. I just didn’t want…” It’s not really necessary to continue. Maria knows exactly what you want. She always does. That’s why she sent Tommy with him. To keep him tethered to humanity.

To the way Joel watched Ellie jump and disappear into a poof of leaves. The sun in his smile. At peace. At home. Free from the old violence. Reborn.

I just didn’t want Joel to be the one to do it.

______

Maria’s dinner table feels empty. Funny, you think, it was always the two of you. For a while there was four, what with Troy and Ash, but most of the time just the two. Then Tommy. Then Joel and Ellie. Now Riley…well, that is, if he’s still up during family dinner.

You’ve slept through most of the light of day and was hoping to talk to Ellie at dinner, but Maria’s been taking all her meals to the guest room for her. Mostly so she doesn’t have to walk down the stairs on her healing leg, but also because Ellie’s not been talking since that night.

And you can guess why. It has less to do with the injury and assault or the fire, and more about the truths she learned during them. 

Not much to do. The arm has to stay stable, strapped to your body. At least they fucked up the non-dominant one so you can still hold a fork, still brush your teeth. But knitting? Spinning? Helping Maria clear the dishes? Fat chance.

Not much to do but chew root, smoke wild weed, and sleep it off.

Maria reappears with a plate needs washing. “There’s a break in the clouds. I got three whole words out of her. This might be your chance.”

“Oh. Joy.” It’s getting to be less of an effort to stand now that you’ve got rest and food in you. The stairs are daunting only because of the conversation that waits at the top.

A knock on her door only grants you silence.

“I’m coming in, Starling girl. Best not be naked.”

No answer. You take that as the opposite of opposition. Tolerance.

She’s sitting on the bed, propped up by pillows behind her back and under her knee, her bandages freshly changed, no more blood pooling or free bleeding. She plays with the cuffs of her sweater, tugging at a loop in the knit, a book abandoned by her side as if she’d put it down when you knocked. A good sign. She doesn’t want to hide.

You crawl in beside her, awkwardly, one-handedly, a big showy sigh of relief when you finally land. “You know, if I was your mom, I’d probably start off with ‘what’cha reading there, kiddo?’ just to get you to say something, but I’m not your mom and I’m not here to make you talk if you don’t wanna–”

“Well I don’t.”

“Good. I didn’t come up here to hear you yap anyway.” You detect the tiniest twitch of her cheek, not quite a smile, perhaps a sneer…to scare away a smile. “Don’t talk, just listen.”

“I don’t wanna do that either.”

“Tough titties. I’m cashing in exchange for all the time I had to listen to you go on about Sally Fucking Ride.”

Now she does smile. Barely. Gives you the teenager face you wanna slap sometimes. “Tough titties? Really?”

“They didn’t have tough titties in the orphanage? Seems off-brand.” The smile fades. “Tell me how you’re healing. I’m not asking, I’m demanding.”

A big breath in. But the air doesn’t come rushing back with a dramatic sigh, just melts out of her with a single tear she doesn’t move to brush away.

So you do. “That bad, huh.”

“It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks so bad.”

“Heh, tell me about it. I miss the good old days of ibuprofen. Shit. I miss morphine. You’re young though, you’ll be up and running in a week or two. Me? I’m gonna be aching for–”

“He fucking lied through his teeth.”

Ah. There it is.

Now the colony of tears follows the first scout, pouring out over the plains of her cheeks until she covers her face with those cuffs she’s been picking at, relieved at being able to let it all out in front of someone who might understand, but probably scared as hell to let herself be this messed up in front of someone who might not. A gamble.

And a win. You’ve still got one good arm and you put it to good use, pulling her into your side. “Yeah, you’re right. He totally did. He’s a fucking asshole. Why the hell would he do that.”

“It wasn't time that did it,” she hiccups from under her woolen cuffs.

“I don’t know what that means, Starling” you say, unable to stop yourself from kissing the crown of her head.

She wipes her nose and comes up for air. “I mean I know why. But he fucking lied about everything. Straight to my face.”

“Well, you’ve got every right to demand an explanation and an apology when he comes back. Straight to his face.”

“If he comes back.”

You let that sit a moment between you. It’s her way of saying that she knows you’re mad at him too, that she heard the conversation you had with him when he left. It’s her way of poking at your own fears and getting you on her side.

“Those girls aren’t armed and the Miller boys have a lot more experience with being hunters than those kids do being prey. He’ll be back.”

“I hate him.”

“I know. But also. You don’t.”

“I had a… a purpose. A fucking purpose.”

“Well….I know you did, but…probably not so much as you think.” She looks up at you but you can’t meet her eye, she’s right to mourn, and you can’t deny her that. “Remember what I told you about my sister and her treatments?”

“The research hospital.”

“Yeah. Cancer’s been killing people on this earth far longer than cordyceps and they’d had millions of patients to test on. Still couldn’t crack it. How many people are immune like you? Because if it ain’t millions, you just become one part sample in a petri dish and another part dead body that maybe give some vague clues and then you’re all parts in the bin, end of story. I mean, I’ll be honest. I don’t blame him. You’re quite a keeper.”

Now her sigh is dramatic. “And then he fucking lied about it.”

“So you would feel good about it. Accomplished in your goal. Also so you wouldn’t hate him for caring about you more than you do.”

“Why didn’t he just say–?”

“Do you know that man to be good with words?”

This quiets her. Both of you. For a few minutes. She goes back to picking at her sleeves.

The sun’s set completely now and her little bedside lamp can’t even drown out the stars so bright on the other side of the window. Clear night. Cold out there.

After a moment you take your arm back, jostle her with your shoulder. “Hey. I’m going out to the Meadow tomorrow, check in with Willa, look over the damage. If I bring you back a piece of the Roost, you wanna do some carving or whittling or something? We’ll build a platform like the old one and it’s probably just gonna be a tent up there for a while like it used to be, but hopefully this spring or summer we’ll get a structure up there and we’ll need a cornerstone or a plaque or something signifying its importance. Since you’re on your ass all day with nothing better to do, and you’re the star recruit, I’d love for you to do it.”

Her lips twist, half smiling at the request, but then in regret. “I lost my knife.”

“The one from your mom?” She nods. “Well if you’ll do some carding for me while I’m out there, I promise to look for it, ask around, maybe one of the patrol picked it up, okay?”

“Okay. Oh. By the way…How are you healing?”

“I’ve been worse. But mostly I’ve been better. Thanks for asking. ‘S kind of you. But don’t you worry about me.”

“Okay. Um…I’m…sorry about telling them about the meadow and all.”

“Why? You’re a Roostling. It’s your story to tell.” Sliding off the bed you head for the door. “Oh hey. I meant to ask–” you nod at the book by her side. “What’cha reading?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh…just porn.”

“Cool. G’night.”

“‘Night. Hey Meadowlark?”

You poke your head back in before the door closes completely. “Hm?”

“Thanks. For all that. But mostly for not calling me kiddo.”

You smile. Nod. Give her a warm wink. “Sure. I gotchu, kiddo.”

It’s worth the eyeroll you catch as you close the door.

________

The most sickening part of coming in through the north passage isn’t seeing the burn scar on the pine grove in the middle of the Meadow, isn’t missing the outline of the Roost through the trees, but rather the feeling that your home has been breached, that for a moment it wasn’t safe and now you’ll always wonder if it will be.

Riding across the north plain, you close your eyes and breathe, let the horse plod on without your guidance, he knows the way. Once spring comes and the valley fills with flowers and the music of the lambs calling for their ewes takes over from this cold silence that comfort will be renewed. 

But for now, there is no comfort on the Meadow in winter, not without a pretty little fireplace and a warm spot to watch the snow build up on the mountains.

You know what’s coming, but it turns your heart inside out all the same when you open your eyes.

Where once there was a cabin in the treetops is now a void leading downward to a pile of blackened rubble and debris. Off to the side under some lower trees is the old canvas tent with the vent hole and a friendly little trail of smoke rising from it. Willa always knew her way around a fire and didn’t mind keeping a low one going on the inside. You never were that confident, even with a fire-treated tarp.

She’s been at work out here, pulling useful things out of the rubble. The woodstove. The pulley jacks. A few timbers that are mostly unburned. 

But there’s a pile of other things too, useless items that shouldn’t be mixed back in with the earth: a burned walkie. Twisted silverware and blackened plates. The iron tools from the rafters. Shattered tile. Your charred and mangled boots.

All that’s left in the major wreckage is wood. And glass. And bones.

Three blackened skulls, three sets of eye sockets and three jaws gaping up at the sky as if they were caught in the moment of realizing their plans were going terribly awry. 

Stupid fucking kids. ….Just kids.

If someone asked you how you knew which one was Owen’s, you wouldn’t be able to say. You just know. The memory of him sinking that knife into Ellie’s leg…of hurting her…intent to kill… His skull breaks like a cracker when you put your weight on it.

Willa doesn’t say anything when she comes up along side to stare down at the bones with you. It's not the first time you've stood with her at the edge of a burned down home.

"I hate that it’s gonna take me a while to sift though all this,” you say.

“We’ve decided to skip your turn for a while. At least until there’s a new platform.”

You nod, resigned. You don’t love it, but it’s best. Trauma lingers longest of all hurt. 

“How’s the flock?”

“They’re over it.”

“Figures. Fluffy shits. Any chance you found a pocket knife out here?” You ask her.

She nods, reaches into a jacket pocket and there it is, like it’s been waiting to come back to its keeper, made itself shiny and easily found. It’s passed between you like a sacred object, holy, a relic saved and cared for, a thing infused with deep love and meaning. There’s an instant relief as your fingers curl around it, your shoulders relaxing and releasing a little of the pain.

“Thank you.”

“There was this too.” From the same pocket Willa pulls a disk of silver and glass, turning it over and placing it in your hand with the knife.

The watchband is burned away. But it’s otherwise unharmed.

Willa may be a stoic, but she knows enough to recognize a release through tears and to hold you while you cry.

Later that afternoon when you knock on Ellie’s door, you’ll hand her the knife and a piece of the old Roost to carve to consecrate the new one. And then you’ll give her the watch and ask her to be your hands, to help you with one more thing.

________

Two days later, you’re standing in Joel’s living room, never having been here when it’s so quiet, dark, and cold. With you and Ellie staying with Maria, there’s been nobody here to light a fire, to make the place live. You wouldn’t be here if Maria hadn’t made a side comment about maybe you and Ellie’d been in the same clothes for a day too many. Not that you thought you’d be with her that long.

She was right. It was nice to change into something clean–a soft fleece and some sleep pants. While the sword of Damocles kept things in check at Maria’s house, it did feel just this side of an extended girl’s night sleepover, might as well dress for it. Ellie had asked for something soft and comfy so you decided to go for it, an assortment of sweats and sweaters in the duffel at your feet.

What you’re eyeing at the moment is an empty hook on the wall by the fireplace.

You put your hand in your jacket pocket and pull out the watch.

Ellie did a beautiful job with it, took directions like a champ. Sitting together on her bed, listening to Joan Jett and Pat Benetar, you’d instructed her how to design the plaid stripes into the strap, how to knot and plait in patterns.

“Macrame. MACrame. Mac. Ra. Mayyyyyy,” Ellie’d chanted. “It’s a fun word to say. What’s it mean?”

“Fringe. Knotting. It’s just the name of the technique. I dunno. Probably something prettier in French.”

The strap clasps had been lost in the fire, so you’d had Ellie work him a new strap out of dyed and tightly-spun wool, something a little longer so he could tie it on. Most likely he’d come back here first, so you want to put it somewhere he’d see it, that way he could have it again without a lot of fuss but knowing at the same time you were thinking of him. So you slip the end loop over the hook, gently let it slip through your fingers and rest against the wall.

If he comes back…

The front door opens. Boots on the wood. The thump of a backpack.

By the time you’ve turned, he’s coming in through the front hall.

When he sees you standing here, he stops.

You never imagined this moment. You should have. It might have prepared you for the yellowing bruise on his face, the majority of his left pant leg browned with dried blood, his knuckles raw and just beginning to heal over.

You struggle with finding the right question. Find ‘em? They dead? Finish the job? No survivors?

I’d ask you what the hell you did, but I know and I don’t wanna hear you say it.

Instead all you can muster is a nod at the blood on his jeans.

His eyes slide to the staircase, already looking to move on, and he only answers with a short and shallow nod of his own before doing just that.

You find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at your hands, the duffel, the watch, back at your hands. Listening as he moves around upstairs, dropping boots, his belt buckle clapping to the floor. The shower running for a long, long time.

Sun’s going down. Getting colder.

The squeaks from the staircase are slow, softer than usual. He’s taking his time coming down. Doesn’t want to force himself back into a space so safe and quiet after pushing through one so big and mean.

He barely shifts the couch as he sits on the far side. Clean shirt. Clean jeans. A pair of socks you knit him.

“Where’s Ellie?” He sounds like he hasn’t spoken to anyone in days. You’d wager he hasn’t.

“With Maria. We’ve been staying there. I was just getting us some clothes. Didn’t think you’d be gone this long.”

“Neither did I. They had a head start. Younger. Faster. But you’re safe now. You’re both safe now.” He’s quiet long enough for the house to give a settling creak as the wind picks up outside. “How’s that arm?”

“Joel, you can’t keep us safe from the world. The world is what it is.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he whispers back, defiant, stubborn, with enough venom that he seems to scare himself and he breathes in deep, keeps it, holding back.

All you want is your Joel back. Even in all this mess. All you want is for him to lay down his fear and love you the right way. 

So instead of arguing, you get up and stand before him, give him the time it takes to understand you’re going to straddle his lap whether he helps you or not. He reaches for you on your way down, guides and supports you, allows you to rake through his wet curls before leaning in to take possession of his lips, to will him–by kissing through to his very soul–to come back to you.

He can’t help but respond, his whole body coming to life, and in the cold, twilit living room, you become a tangle of silhouettes as his hand pushes up under your sweater–somehow still keeping an aura of care around your ruined and wrapped arm–to squeeze almost painfully at your curves, rough and wanting, panting between devouring kisses as he paws beyond the waistband of your sleep pants, sucking at your neck when you throw your head back as he reaches what he was searching for….what you hoped he’d find…

There’s a tousle of repositioning and a clatter of belt and zipper. You’re both raw and rough and needy, and you both take advantage of the emptiness of the house to fill it with the sounds of desperation, of effort, the song of casting off of all inhibition, a duet of total and grateful release. 

But through it all, it’s the way he holds onto you that tells you how much he wanted to get back to you, how close he intends to hold you and never let you go, a desperation that tells you exactly where his faults lay…

…that it was necessary–and always will be–to eliminate any chance of someone taking you from his world by force.

It’s not so much possession as a fierce and burning need to be possessed. A need to belong, concentrated down to its basest form.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he softly kisses your temple, spooning you in the afterglow that burns bright in the darkening room.

“For what? You didn’t hurt me.”

“Rushed it a little. Tend to act before thinkin’ sometimes.”

You’re not completely sure what he means by that. At first you think he’s talking about the rough sex, but you get his meaning. Stalking off after Abby and Mel so impulsively. For being impulsive in general.

For acting out of trauma.

Or love.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to for that, Joel.”

You can tell the moment he understands when his forehead gently meets your shoulder. “Shit.”

It’s probably the best time to break it to him, while he’s still a little softheaded and euphoric. “She’s ready to listen. But I won’t promise it’ll be easy. It might just be you and me here for a while.”

Once his breathing evens out, he shifts, still holding onto you, but just coming back down, settling back in.

“What’s that?” He mutters, just on this side of falling asleep, lazily pointing at the watch on the hook by the fireplace.

“Your Valentine’s Day present. From both of us. Sorry it’s late.”

________

Taking some shifts off from the Meadow rotation affords you time to start slowly moving things over to the new A-frame, Maria helping you to load up a skid now and then and unload it, walking beside you as you lead the horse that tows it.

After a week or two, Ellie’s up and walking–well, limping, but healing–and starting to talk to Joel at dinner again. She’s on the verge of actually gracing his bad jokes with a smile or even a laugh, but she’s making him work hard for it. Good for her.

You haven’t asked either of them how the talk went. Don’t know if you ever will. That’s between them, the less you interfere, the better.

But you know that things are on the mend when you find Ellie playing Joel’s guitar–learning some Johnny Cash song you know he loves.

And you have a feeling that spring is on the way when you drop off another load at the new house and find a new frame on the wall–a handmade, custom carpentry display shadowbox.

With a watch hanging inside.

_______

PREVIOUS: AUTUMN

NEXT: SPRING AGAIN (coming soon)

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[obsessedwithlarkin]

CLUB DANCE COMPANY TEAMS 2024/2025

SUPERSTARS:

Kailey Miller, Hazel Jenkins , Remy Schwalb, Parker Banks, Delaney Poulson, Kristen Morales, Sunny Cunnigham, Daisy Nielsen, Kennedy Elliott, Kenley Rodriguez, Blaire Atchley, Harper Scates, Skye Parkinson, Avery Palacios, Peyton De La Cerda, Paisley Self, , Leo Robbins, Zadie Evans, Peyton Marble, Dolly Putton, Jolene Serna, Eastyn Vose, Blakely Paul

ROCKSTARS:

Harper Rosenbaugh, Lola Forrest, Claire Sandall, Goldie Nielsen, Abbey Scott, Penelope Ortiz, Hazel Silverman, Lily Knopps, Paislee Perkins, Emersyn Varker, Faye Cunnigham, Riley Bagnoli, Olivia Serna, Reagan Tannehill, Allie Kleve, Kinley Palmer, Ava Palmer, Hadley Taylor ( from September), Kinley Martz, Kinsley Camp

MINI COMPANY:

Kensington Ferrin, Addison Pichette, Cara Hart, Presley Ortiz,Kinsley Jackman, Emerson Van Houten, Kate Valentine,Bryn Spears, Emma Kleve, River Robbins, Zoe Zwick, Scarlett Robinson, Kennedy Besch, Taeya Ivory, Mariah Bland, Aspen Brandt, Kyle Young, Jolie Harris, Remy Blaise, Karsyn Brewer

JR COMPANY:

Sylvie Win Szyndlar, Navy Forrest, Finley Nielsen, Kinley Harper, Caitlyn Mackenzie, Harper Scwhalb, Shale Herrera, Nixie Vance, Bella Linman, Libby Jhonson, Maddie Downs, Kennedy Marble, Tatum Self, Nicola Fleming, Cambrie O' Haver, Landrie Kuhni, Kaia Erby, Zoe Philadiapht,

TEEN COMPANY:

Ellary Day Szyndlar, Elsie Sandall, Hadlie Scott, Harper Peterson, Kendyl Miller, Mikayla Isler, Alexis Alvarez, Ellie Self, Emma Scott, Brooklyn Besch, Mikayla Jackman, Lucia Piedrahita, Isla Gardner

THERE'S PROBABLY MORE I CAN'T THINK OF SO WRITE THEM DOWN IN THE COMMENTS!

[cowgurrrl]

I was wondering for your Look for the Light series if you could do a drabble about them figuring out she is pregnant and everyone's reactions?

Oooooo I love this!!

Evergreen

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader plus platonic Ellie Williams x fem!reader

Author’s note: now feels like a good time to mention that Ellie is a little bit older in this series (15-16 years old!!) also I’ve been trying to finish this all day so I’m throwing this and running

Summary: “Nearly everything I know about love, I’ve learnt in my long-term friendships with women.” - Dolly Alderton, Everything I Know About Love aka you find out you’re pregnant [1.5k]

Warnings: pregnancy talks, grief, references to canonical violence, talks of infertility, Ellie being confused, fluff!!

"Are you pregnant?" Maria asks the second you're close enough. You signed up to patrol with her this morning but didn't know she would have a secret sixth sense for detecting if you're pregnant. It's been three months since you and Joel decided to start trying to have a baby, and so far, you haven't noticed any intense early pregnancy symptoms, which is fine. You figured it would take a while to get pregnant, and you and Joel decided to keep it a secret until you knew for a fact that you were pregnant. 

"What? No." You say, turning from her to adjust the reigns on your horse, Goldie. Maria crosses her arms over her chest and stares at your profile.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to believe me. I'm not pregnant."

"Then, look at me when you say it." She challenges, and you press your tongue into your cheek, shaking your head. How the fuck does she know you so well? You step closer to her and look around to ensure nobody's nearby.

"I'm not pregnant," you repeat, but her gaze doesn't falter. You sigh. "Joel and I are trying, but we're keeping it a secret. There's no reason to get anybody's hopes up, so don't tell anyone, okay?"

"How long ago did you decide this?"

"A couple of months ago."

"And you're sure you're not pregnant?" She asks, and you shrug.

"I mean, I don't feel any different, but I'm a few days late," you say, and she practically beams as the words leave your mouth. "But that doesn't mean anything. When I got pregnant with Jane, I had my period the same month I took the test. Besides, it's not like pregnancy tests are just gonna fall from the sky." You try to bring her back down to earth, but she's already reaching into her bag to hand you a box of pregnancy tests. You look between her and the tests, struggling to put the pieces together.

"You've been spacey, and your boobs got huge last week, so I came to my own conclusion," she says. "I also have great mother's intuition."

"Should I be concerned that you took so much interest in the size of my boobs?"

"I mean, it was kinda hard to miss." She says, and you laugh, turning the box of tests over in your hands to check the expiration date. They're relatively new and don't expire for another year. There's also a good amount in there, at least five or six. 

"Where did you even find this?" You ask as you tuck the box into your backpack. 

"FEDRA still makes them. They're the shitty ninety-nine cents ones designed in 2003, but it's better than nothing." She explains. You nod and move to pull yourself onto Goldie's saddle when she looks at you expectantly. There's definitely something to be said about the Miller men's taste in stubborn women. 

"I promise to take one tonight if you promise to stop talking about my boobs while we're on patrol." 

"Done."

"So, she just threw a box of pregnancy tests at you?" Joel asks as he leans against the sink. 

"Pretty much," you say as you stand and flush the toilet. The beauty of marriage is that you guys can still have conversations while actively taking three pregnancy tests. You push him out of the way and set them face-down on the counter as you wash your hands. He doesn't go far, lingering at your left. "You really didn't say anything to Tommy?"

"I swear."

"Maria must be a fucking witch then," you mumble as you dry your hands and look up at him. There's a glint in the deep brown of his irises, and you smirk. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't look at me like that. That look is how we got here in the first place."

"'M excited." He says as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and kisses your jaw. You cover his hands with yours and indulge him as he sways you back and forth to a song neither of you can hear.

"We don't even know anything for sure. I don't even think I'm actually pregnant."

"Then, why did you take three?"

"I took three when I found out I was pregnant with Jane. It seemed like a good number," you say, and he hums into your neck, unconvinced. The worry scratching at the corners of your brain takes center stage, and you feel like you could puke. You take a deep breath and squeeze his wrist. "I don't want to get our hopes up for something that might not happen."

"What d'you mean?" He asks, pulling away from you enough to look at you. 

"What if I can't get pregnant ever again? I've been stabbed, beaten, shot at, starved, left for dead, all of it. And that was fine as long as I survived because I never thought I'd live long enough to want another baby. But now we're here, and I'm scared," you word vomit. Joel doesn't hesitate to hug you tightly, rubbing your back and wrapping you in his warmth. A few tears fall from your eyes and stain his shirt, and you can't stop them. "I don't want to disappoint you."

"Baby, you could never disappoint me, okay? I love you. Hey," he gently holds your face in his big hands and looks at you when he hears you sniffle. "I love you. Nothin' in the world could change that. Nothin' else matters to me except for you and Ellie, and I'm so happy with the both of you. If it's us three forever, that's more than enough. If we do have a baby, that's fine, too. But nothin' about you will ever disappoint me, okay?" He asks, and you nod. He wipes your tears away with his thumbs and kisses your forehead. You still feel uncertain and shaky, but his presence soothes something profound in you.

"I think the tests should be ready." You find your voice, glancing at the three tests staring at you. You turn in his arms and try to find the courage to grab a test off the sink.

"No matter what, we're gonna be okay. We'll always be okay." He says, kissing the spot under your ear, and you nod. You take a deep breath and quickly flip the test over before you can change your mind. 

"Oh, shit," you breathe as soon as you spot the dark, unmistakable lines. Joel reaches around you and grabs another one, and another pair of dark lines greet you. You pick the third and final one up and see the positive markings. Three yeses and six identical lines fill you with hope, starkly different than your gut reaction to your three positive tests at sixteen. You turn to look at Joel and find him staring at the test with tears falling down his cheeks. "Oh, baby," you murmur as you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him. "Are these happy tears?" You ask, and he laughs.

"The happiest," he says, and you smile. He buries his head in your neck, and you cry together. At their core, they're happy tears for the new baby you'll be having together, but you know he's remembering when he found out about Sarah the same way you're thinking about Jane. It's bittersweet. You think it always will be. You imagine a huge electric sign pointing to your grief as if it were a nightclub, announcing that love was once here. Then, in the smallest font possible, there is a note stating that love still is. "We're gonna have a baby."

"We're gonna have a baby." You repeat as he kisses you. You would stay there forever, wrapped up in him, but the sound of the front door opening and closing forces you to pull away. 

"Hello? Is anyone home?" Ellie calls from downstairs, and your eyes widen at Joel. 

"In here!" You yell back. You quickly hide the tests behind your back and do your best to look natural as you stand with Joel in the bathroom with tears staining your faces. You don't hide it very well. Ellie can see that much as she steps into the threshold of your bathroom with the Ellie Stink Face on.

"Why are we all hanging out in here?" She asks, and you can't even answer her. You just hand her the pregnancy test and watch as her mind works. You and Joel are buzzing as you wait for her reaction, hoping for something big and sweet, but she shrugs. "I don't get it." She says, and Joel laughs. Sometimes it's easy to forget that Ellie was born after the world fell apart.

"So, I just took this test to see if I'm pregnant. Two lines mean yes." You explain, and she finally lights up, her eyes bouncing between you and Joel.

"You're gonna have a baby?" She asks, and you nod. "Oh, my fucking God!" She yells as she wraps you in a big hug, jumping up and down with you in her arms.

"Hey, be gentle. There's precious cargo in there." Joel teases, but Ellie barely reacts to his words. Instead, she hugs him, still jumping up and down. There's nothing purer in the world than her squeals of joy and trying to answer her million questions. You like to think that Jane and Sarah are somewhere nearby, maybe in the next room you can't see quite yet, listening and getting just as excited as Ellie. 

🍓

🍓

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taglist: @evyiione @nyotamalfoy @abbyhaslongshorts​

[fairytale-poll]

ROUND 1C, MATCH 3 OUT OF 16!

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Brittany:

Her dress is so cute in this, this alvin and the chipmunks is very charming and nostalgic to me.

Scroogerello:

It's very cute, Scrooge is definitely an unusual Cinderella being an old man or duck should I say. And his fairy godmother is younger than him being Webby. He wears a golden outfit to his ball, fitting since his love interest is Goldie O'Gilt.

[broadwaydivastournament]

Movie Musical Divas Tournament: Round 1

Alice White (1904-1983): Broadway Babies (1929) - Dee Foster | Showgirl in Hollywood (1930) - Dixie Dugan | Sweet Mama (1930) - Goldie | Playing Around (1930) - Sheba Miller | Sweethearts on Parade (1930) - Helen

"alice white was an early musical star, transitioning from silent films. she played a string of bubbly, vivacious flappers and showgirls, and she was just absolutely adorable look at her. she's like a real life kewpie doll." - anonymous

Lupe Vélez (1908-1944): The Cuban Love Song, Hollywood Party, High Flyers

"She was so incredibly vivacious. Whenever she was onscreen, even if she wasn't singing, she just lit up the room." - anonymous

This is Round 1 of the Movie Musical Divas tournament. Additional polls in this round may be found by searching #mmround1, or by clicking the link below. Add your propaganda and support by reblogging this post.

ADDITIONAL PROPAGANDA AND MEDIA UNDER CUT: ALL POLLS HERE

Alice White:

Photos and video submitted by: anonymous

Lupe Vélez:

Photos and video submitted by: anonymous

[bittersweetaucreator]

Ep10 Dave Miller

In the town, Jermey meets a man named Dave Miller and shows him around the place while Goldie discovers more things about the Missing Children's incident and learns who this Dave miller really is.

[jxrm]

book log - 2024 (so far)

diva by daisy goodwin

the heiress by rachel hawkins

only if you’re lucky by stacy willingham

the chateau by jaclyn goldis

just stay away by tony wirt

the other mothers by katherine faulker

middle of the night by riley sager

the disappearance of astrid bricard by natasha lester

every time i go in vacation, someone dies by catherine mack

the last caretaker by jessica strawser

just for the summer by abby jimenez

house of glass by sarah pekkanen

the mayor of maxwell street by avery cunningham

first lie wins by ashley elston

the phoenix crown by kate quinn

murder road by simone st. james

the fury by alex michaelides

happiness falls by angie kim

the house of last resort by christopher golden

run rose run by dolly parton

the chalice of the gods by rick riordan

there should have been right by nalini singh

the mysterious case of the alperton angels by janice hallet

darling girls by sally hepworth

the pieces around us by leigh fields

love, theoretically by ali hazelwood

the teacher by frieda mcfadden

x by jack croxell

iron flame by rebecca yarros

the only suspect by louise candlish

throwback by maurene goo

the housemaid is watching by frieda mcfadden

zara hossain is here by sabina khan

slice by angie caedis

the ways of the dead by neely tucker

orphan train by christina baker

a court of silver flames by sarah j. mass

come and get it by kiley reid

the drowning woman by robyn harding

when i bleed: poems about endometriosis by maggie bowyer

the house in the pines by ana reyes

only say good things by crystal hefner

the mother-in-law by sally hepworth

daughter of mine by megan miranda

lore olympus: volume four by rachel smythe

this time it’s real by ann liang

anna o by matthew blake

the girl with the louding voice by abi dare

where the forest meets the stars by glendy vanderah

a friend in the dark by samantha m. bailey

the wife app by carolyn mackler

howl’s moving castle by diana wynne jones

the spanish love deception by elena armas

divide by jessa russo

lies and weddings by kevin kwan

the foxhole victory tour by amy lynn green

dying to tell by keri beevis

my father, the panda killer by jamie jo hoang

the wedding party by l.r. jones

girl gone mad by avery bishop

starter wife by bethany lopez

the queens of new york by e.l. shen

theater lovers by ciara blume

once upon a broken heart by stephanie garber

the surrogate mother by frieda mcfadden

crying in h mart by michelle zauner

don’t forget to write by sara goldman confino

the next girl by carla kovach

the paradise problem by christina lauren

ivy league liars by grace costello

every summer after by carley fortune

the ballad of never after by stephanie garber

a curse of true love by stephanie garber

the devil’s storybooks by natalie babbit

expiration dates by rebecca serle

the murmur of bees by sofia segovia

growing up hadley by dana harp

the vacation by john marrs

rum punch regrets by anna kemp

the five-star weekend by elin hilderbrand

people to follow by olivia worley

the treasure hunters club by tom ryan

you shouldn’t be here by lauren thoman

trophy wife by bethany lopez

seven summers by paige toon

veridian sterling fakes it by jennifer gooch

the friendship club by robyn carr

women of good fortune by sophie wan

the smuggler’s apprentice of guatemala by lachlan page

this summer will be different by carley fortune

natural selection by elin hilderbrand

the passengers by john marrs

asap by axie oh

island of shadows by christopher kvintus

swan song by elin hilderbrand

lore olympus: volume five by rachel smythe

blue hawaiian by carla luna

the villain edit by laurie devore

hermione granger and the order of the phoenix by sara baines-miller

the hotel nantucket by elin hilderbrand

bummer camp by ann garvin

pink glass houses by asha elias

cut and thirst by margaret atwood

the exception to the rule by christina lauren

#crimetime by jeneva rose

incidents around the house by josh malerman

the mistress by valerie keogh

kiki’s delivery service by eiko kadono

when we were friends by jane green

the honey-don’t list by christina lauren

worst wingman ever by abby jimenez

the perfect couple by elin hilderbrand

home is where the bodies are by jeneva rose

the only good indians by stephen graham jones

roar by cecelia ahern

the wedding people by alison espach

look in the mirror by catherine steadman

fit to die by daniel kalla

uglies by scott westerfield

hideaway by nicole lundrigan

the fortune teller by natasha boydell

crazy rich asians by kevin kwan

the wish by nicholas sparks

how the penguins saved veronica by hazel prior

the plus one by s. c. lalli

the haters by robyn harding

china rich girlfriend by kevin kwan

rich people problems by kevin kwan

the haunting of moscow house by olesya salnikova gilmore

the lonely hearts book club by lucy gilmore

the measure by nikki erlick

somewhere beyond the sea by tj klume

adam and evie’s matchmaking tour by nora nguyen

i was a teenage slasher by stephen graham jones

here one moment by liane moriarity

badass bonita by kim guerra

zetas till we die by amber and danielle brown

shred sisters by betsy learner

one of the girls by lucy clarke

society of lies by lauren ling brown

the radius of us by marie marquardt

fantasticland by mike bockoven

sheets by brenna thummler

the boyfriend by frieda mcfadden

delicates by brenna thummler

no one will know by rose carlyle

lights by brenna thummler

counting miracles by nicholas sparks

the night we lost him by laura dave

ghost stories by ron ripley

the hitchcock hotel by stephanie wrobel

for better or cursed by kate williams

the last one at the wedding by jason rekulak

creation lake by rachel kushner

like mother, like daughter by kimberly mccreight

libby lost and found by stephanie booth

the nosy neighbour by nita prose

needy little things by channelle desamours

[sidetongue]

Harold has the same smile as my childhood golden, it's always such a treat to see him on my dash

This dog is STUNNING. I hope I can own another goldie like this one day, what a beauty!

Sending hugs from Haz (plus budge and Moe who thought it was their photo too… and miller eating the chicken food)

[angelofsmalldeath-codeine]

When I saw the ao3 email in my inbox, I could not wait to read it! Goldie and Joel belong together.

Well, there is the pesky reason why she upped to uni and never spoke to him again. And he better read her book soon.

Halcyon - Ch. 5: I've Never Been a Bad Influence a Day in My Life

You and Joel get closer as you put together your lists. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 4, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Masturbation, fantasy about P in V sex. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 5K

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter

October, 2022

“Why can’t I add to your list?” You pouted a little, can of hard seltzer in your hand as your float drifted to the middle of Joel’s pool. 

“Because you’re gonna just use that power for evil, not good,” Joel replied. 

“Would not!” You shoved off the side of the pool with your foot, floating back toward the middle of the water. 

“Am I allowed to put shit on your list?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the pool, his feet in the water and a beer in his hand. 

You scoffed. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Well, there you go,” he shrugged. “Goes both ways.” 

“You’d be a dick about it!” You kicked the water in his direction but the spray of it fell short and you watched him try to not laugh. “You’d put things on there like ‘buy Joel beer for the rest of his life’ or ‘speak in a bad British accent for a week��’”

“Can you do a good British accent?” He asked, brows raised. 

“That is beside the point.” 

“What are you gonna add to my list, hm?” There was a teasing edge in his voice as he took a sip of beer. “Get a new wardrobe? Get Sarah a dog?” 

“OK, both of those are good additions,” you said, defensive. “But no, not what I was thinking.” 

“Then what, Goldie?” 

“Put in a hot tub,” you said, chin raised. 

He barked a laugh. 

“A hot tub?” 

“A hot tub,” you nodded. “How can I come over to your house and float in the water if it’s too cold to go in the pool? Which it will be in like… a few weeks. You need a hot tub.” 

“It’s already too cold,” he said. “That water’s below 70 degrees, couldn’t pay me to get in there now. Lucky I’m in this far as it is.” 

“See?” You said. “Hot tub.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he shook his head. 

“If your list is shitty can I add to it?” 

“If you actually think my list is shitty we can discuss it,” he said. Your float drifted close to him and you were afraid, for a moment, that he was going to splash you. Instead, he just pushed the edge of it with his foot, sending you drifting back toward the middle of the water. “Still down to compare tomorrow night?” 

“Think so,” you said, taking a sip of your seltzer. “As long as you don’t mock me relentlessly for it.” 

“When do I not mock you relentlessly?” 

“Excellent point,” you said. “I should get better friends.” 

“Probably so.” 

“At least now you come with Sarah,” you sighed dramatically. “So I guess I’ll keep bugging you…” 

“God, you two are gonna kill me,” he said, trying to look serious but a hint of a smile on his lips. “Worst idea I ever had, lettin’ you two get to know each other…” 

You giggled a little at that. You and Sarah had become thick as thieves since you and Joel had reconnected now two weeks ago.

It was hard to believe that he’d only been back in your life less than a month. But then, it was hard to believe he’d ever been out of your life at all. You’d only gone a few days without seeing him since that night at the bar and, on those days, the two of you were almost constantly texting. It was the most natural thing in the world, having your life fall into step alongside Joel’s. It reminded you so much of high school even though you were in your 30s now, your lives moving in parallel until they collided at the end of the day and you came over for dinner or went and cheered on Sarah at her soccer game or Joel showed up at your door with beer. Even after all this time, he just knew you and you just knew him. You could read his posture as easily as a book, instantly knowing the kind of day he had by the way he opened the door or flopped on your couch. He seemed to be able to peer inside your mind on command, just a raised eyebrow or a sigh telling him everything he needed to know about how you were feeling and how to make it better. 

There was one day where you hadn’t intended to see him at all but it’d turned shitty and he just somehow picked up on it from the tone of your texts. New paperwork had come over from Gale’s attorney and you resigned yourself to spending the evening picking over the bones of your marriage with a bottle of wine and a wilted salad - because you definitely didn’t have the emotional energy to go by the grocery store - when Joel texted. It was a meme that you responded to with just an lol before going back to the paperwork. He FaceTimed just 30 seconds later and you frowned, answering it. 

“Hi?” You said brows raised. 

He nodded sagely. 

“What I thought,” he said. “You look like shit.” 

“Gee thanks.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“For you you look like shit. What’s wrong.” 

You narrowed your eyes and he laughed. 

“What?” He asked

“How can you just tell?” You replied. “It’s weird.” 

“Come over,” he said instead of answering. He flipped his camera around and Sarah made a face, sticking her tongue out, her hair in two springy buns on the top of her head. 

You frowned. 

“Where are you?”

He turned the camera back around.

“Picking up pizza,” he said. “I’ll grab an extra cheese bread, come over.” 

“I’ve been drinking…” 

“We’ll pick you up,” he said. “Come over.” 

“Please?” Sarah jumped to try to get in the frame and Joel laughed, tilting the camera so she was visible. “It’ll be fun! OH! Spend the night! Come sleep over again, please?” 

Joel tilted the camera so he was back in the frame. 

“You really wanna disappoint my kid?” He asked. “C’mon.” 

“Yeah!” Sarah said, bouncing just out of frame again, just a bit of her bun appearing in the bottom corner as she jumped. “Don’t let down the kid, that’s just shitty.” 

“Hey,” Joel said but you could tell he was trying not to smile. She stopped bouncing. “Language.” 

“Sorry.” 

He turned his attention back to you. 

“Be there in 10,” he said. “Can’t let you just sit and wallow. Need pizza for that.” 

He and Sarah picked you up and Sarah insisted on cranking Taylor Swift in the car, signing Look What You Made Me Do into her water bottle in the back seat while you balanced warm pizza boxes on your lap, trying not to laugh when you and Joel exchanged glances at red lights. 

At dinner, you pulled a pepperoni off your slice of pizza and stuck it on the end of your nose and held very serious eye contact with Joel and Sarah as they spoke, nodding along carefully so as to not disturb the topping dangling from your face. Sarah tried very hard not to laugh and did a pretty good job of it until you made a face at her from across the table when Joel’s back was turned and she cackled, laughing so hard she almost knocked over her soda can.

“You bein’ a bad influence on my kid?” He asked when he handed you the paper towel you’d requested.

“Joel,” you said, deathly serious, pepperoni slice still on the tip of your nose. “I’ve never been a bad influence a day in my life.” 

 After dinner, as Joel did the dishes, you sat on the couch with Sarah and listened as she told you about one of her friends at school who hadn’t been as kind lately. You nodded along until Sarah seemed to run out of steam, slumping down against the cushion with a slightly tired look on her face. 

“Well,” you said. “Have you told her that you’ve been feeling hurt by how she’s been treating you lately?” 

She scrunched her face a little. 

“No,” she said. “But I thought that’d be pretty obvious…” 

You shrugged. 

“Sometimes it’s not. She may not even know she’s doing it. If I were you, I’d tell her that you’ve been feeling hurt and ask if she’s doing OK because it sounds like this is a change for her. If she’s hurting you that might be because her feelings are getting hurt somewhere else.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she nodded a little. “That’s a good idea.”

“I do have those occasionally,” you said and she smiled a little at you. 

The three of you watched part of a movie before Sarah went to get ready for bed and you eavesdropped from the living room as Joel read to her in her room, the door opened just enough to hear when his voice changed with the characters. 

“Peeta sighs,” Joel said like Joel before his voice shifted to something that sounded more boyish but still strong and deep, almost what you remembered from when you first met him. You smiled. “'Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was alive until the reaping…’”

Joel flopped next to you on the couch when he was done and you held out your glass of wine. He took it, taking a big sip before handing it back. 

“You look tired,” you said, holding the glass. 

He shrugged. 

“No days off from this whole dad thing. Don’t really want a day off but still… get tired after a bit.” He looked over at you and smiled a little. “Thanks for talking with her. Think she needs someone like you around.” 

“Oh, someone who managed to tank her relationship and got stuck starting over in her 30s?” You asked. “That kind of someone?” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“A woman…” 

“Oh, is that all?”

He glared at you. 

“A woman,” he said again. “But one who’s lived some life, knows how to navigate the hard shit. One who’s willing to listen to her problems. She’s got me and Tommy for that but can’t help but feel like I’ve let her down by not giving her some kind of… I don’t fuckin’ know, feminine influence.” 

“Ahh yes, the mysterious feminine,” you nodded sagely. Joel picked up a pillow and smacked you in the stomach with it, making you laugh as you caught it and held it to yourself. “Joel, you’re doing great with her.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, serious now. 

“Yeah,” you said, serious, too. “You really are. She’s so lucky to have you, Joel. You have no idea.” 

“I’m lucky to have her,” he said, looking toward Sarah’s room for a moment before turning back to you. “So, you have the kind of bad day that you want to talk about it or the kind of bad day that you want to get fucked up about it?” 

“The latter.” 

“Then chug that wine,” he said, shoving himself off the couch. “And maybe change into your pajamas, I’m getting the tequila.” 

You swapped numbers with Sarah at breakfast the next day. You and Joel were both hung over and trying to pretend like you hadn’t been up until 2:30 on a work night getting hammered until you passed out in a heap on his couch only to be roused by a groggy Sarah at 7 in the morning. 

She’d taken to texting you then, sometimes just silly selfies, sometimes memes you didn’t really get, sometimes with questions about friends at school. You were pretty sure your heart melted the first time she called you Aunt Goldie, a sense of belonging wrapping around you that you’d never really known before. 

“We still on for tomorrow?” Joel asked, eyes following the slow, lazy path your float was making across his pool. “Make a night out of this whole project, kick things off right.” 

“Hell yeah,” you said, drifting back to Joel. He didn’t shove you back out to the water this time. “Did I tell you I’m seeing Anna for lunch? I cannot just go into that blind, I’ll need an out…” 

“She’s doin’ that well, huh?” Joel asked. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “She’s supposedly sticking with her program but… I feel like I should be a better sister and try to check in more but then it just feels like babysitting and that doesn’t seem right, either.” 

“At a certain point, she’s gotta do it on her own,” Joel said. “You’re her sister, not her mom.” 

“I know,” you nodded. “But I feel like I should have checked in on her more after our mom died. She was a teenager and I just left her alone…” 

“You were 20 years old,” Joel said gently. “Not like you were equipped for that shit.” 

You shrugged and took another drink. 

“Hey,” he said, nudging your float gently, just enough to make you look up at him. “Don’t be hard on yourself for that. You were handed a shit situation and you did what you could with it. Trust me, I know.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Ended up in a similar boat with Tommy. Spent years - literal years - bailing his ass out of jail and begging him to get his shit together. Eventually he did a stint in the army and got it figured out. At least a bit. She’ll get there. But it’s not your job to get her there.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “You’re probably right.” 

“Who, me?” He asked, mocking. “Right? Never thought I’d see the day…” 

“Shove it,” you splashed at him, the water dripping down his face and soaking his t-shirt. You snorted as you watched him fight the urge to laugh. 

“Gonna pay for that,��� he said, setting his beer down on the side of the pool and grabbing your float as you tried to paddle away. 

“No!” You shrieked and laughed, shoving your seltzer into the cupholder as more of you ended up in the cold pool water than you really wanted in your rush to escape. 

“You started it!” Joel was leaning precariously over the water now, trying to splash you again while keeping you from retreating. “Shoulda just kept those little hands to yourself…” 

“They’re not little!” 

He yanked your float back toward the side of the pool and nodded down at one of your hands.

“Freakishly small…” 

“Yours are just freakishly big you mutant!” You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and watched as he realized a second too late what was about to happen. 

“Oh shit,” his eyes went wide and you laughed in victory before you pulled him all the way into the pool, jeans and all. He brought you down as he went, the float capsizing and sending you and your mostly empty drink can into the cold water with a sharp yelp. 

You went under, the chlorine stinging your eyes as you twisted and tried to right yourself below the water. You and Joel surfaced at the same time, not even a foot apart and gasping for breath, laughing as you tried to brush your soaked hair back from your face. 

“It’s so cold!” You shivered and splashed at him before crossing your arms tightly over yourself. 

“Why are you complainin’ to me?” He shivered back. “You’re the one who wanted to be in the damn pool…” 

“In the floatie!” You said. “I was mostly dry until you got involved!” 

“Got justice you mean,” he said, reaching for your can and pulling it out of the water, dumping it out before setting it on the side of the pool. “You’re the one who put us in here…” 

“You’re the one who was being mean,” you said, reaching out for him and pressing your cold fingers to his chest, the heat of him still apparent even in the water. You sighed contentedly. “That’s better…” 

“Jesus, what are you, ice?” He griped, tugging you against him with a little yelp. “Gonna fuckin’ freeze to death if you’re not careful… ridiculous…” 

You giggled once but pressed yourself closer to him, soaking up his heat and pressing your cold fingers to his exposed skin. 

“OK, you could be less mean about it,” he said, pulling back from you just enough to scowl down at you. “Frozen fuckin’ hands…” 

You laughed and realized, very suddenly, how close you were to him. You weren’t sure the last time you’d been quite this close to him, the last time you could feel every line of him through his clothes, the last time his mouth had been that close to your own. Your heart sped up. His eyes searched yours and you could feel his breath on your skin and suddenly, you weren’t close enough to him. Not close enough at all. 

“Dad?” Sarah’s groggy voice called from the sliding glass door, making you jump, both of your heads turning toward her. Her face was scrunched and a curl had broken free of its braid, sticking straight out from the side of her head. “Is everything OK?” 

“Course it is, baby girl,” Joel frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be? What are you doin’ out of bed?”  

“You’re being loud,” she groaned. “You’re never loud.”  

“M’sorry kiddo,” Joel said, separating from you and working his way to the edge of the pool, pulling himself out of the water and dripping on the stone edge. “Gimme just a second to get Goldie out of the water before she freezes to death and dry her off, I’ll come tuck you in again in just a minute…” 

“Can I get another chapter?” She said it fast, the words all strung together, her eyes big. “Please? They just got into the arena and…” 

“We’ll see,” he said. “But only because it’s Friday and you’re sleeping over at Emma’s tomorrow so you won’t get one then. Inside, go on.” 

He watched her go and then went to the lounge chair at the side of the pool, getting the only towel he’d brought outside and holding it away from his body, spread open wide. 

“Hurry up, before I change my mind,” he said. 

“Such a gentleman,” you said, trying not to let your teeth chatter and trying to shove the ache that was still growing all hollow and wanting inside you down deep. You got out of the water and he wrapped you tightly in the towel, his arms going tightly around you. 

“Not really,” he said, pulling you back against his broad chest and squeezing you so the water from him soaked into the towel before he shook his shaggy curls over you so drops of water got all over your face as you laughed. “There, cured you of THAT notion…” 

“Thanks so much,” you said wryly as he released you. You turned to face him as he ran his fingers through his soaked hair and his shirt pulled up just enough that you caught a glimpse of the smooth flesh around his hips and you found yourself drifting closer to him again before you stopped yourself. Joel put his arms down and seemed to notice exactly where you were, just looking at you for a moment before he cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“I should go tuck Sarah back in,” he said. “Get into something dry so I don’t get her all soaked…” 

“Right,” you said, stepping back from him. “Sorry we woke your kid up because you just couldn’t leave well enough alone…” 

“I will throw your ass back in that pool,” he said, going to open the door for you. “Don’t try me.” 

“Oh don’t worry Miller,” you teased. “I know just what you’re capable of.” 

He started toward the stairs, a little trail of water in his wake as he went, and you watched the pull of the wet fabric of his shirt over his shoulders. You swallowed, hard.

“I’m just going to head out,” you said and he stopped, turning to frown at you. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “Really should go wash this chlorine out of my hair. But see you tomorrow?” 

“With the list?” Joel asked. 

“With the list,” you answered. 

“Lookin’ forward to it,” he said, turning to go up the stairs again before looking back over his shoulder. “Drive safe, Goldie.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, just heading for his room. 

Your heart was still racing. 

You left the towel draped over the banister and just pulled on the oversized t-shirt you’d put in your bag before going to your car. 

You tried not to think about Joel as you drove home. 

It didn’t do you any good to think about him that way. It was Joel. He didn’t see you that way, drifting in that direction was what had ruined things so many years before. You’d just gotten him back, things were so good again, you felt like you belonged again, you couldn’t fuck that up, not because you’d never been able to move past a school girl crush. 

But you wanted to kiss him. Fuck, you wanted to kiss him. 

You tried not to think about kissing him. You tried not to think about what happened after the last time you’d kissed him. How quickly everything had dissolved, how you’d gone from picturing a future with Joel - a different one than you’d held in your mind outside of fantasy before - to running as far and as fast as you could in a matter of hours. 

It’s Goldie, he’d said then. It’s the worst thing that could happen, I wish it was anybody else…

You flinched at the memory, shoving it away. No, you didn’t think about that, not when you could help it. Just like you didn’t think about the way Joel’s lips felt against your skin, how his fingers - warm and think - had traced over you, how he made you feel so clearly seen and adored in a way that no one else had before, in a way your husband had never really seemed to. How he still made you feel that way. 

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself as you parked, dropping your head to your steering wheel with a groan before you went in your house, closing your car door with a little too much force. 

You showered and forced yourself to keep your hands away from your aching slit. You were not going to fuck yourself in your bathroom to the idea of sleeping with your best friend. You weren’t. You weren’t a teenager anymore and you weren’t going to act like one. You were better than this.

Your hair was still damp when you gave up on getting any writing or grading done and went to bed, an almost frustrating, throbbing ache between your thighs. You stared at the ceiling in the dark for a while before you all but threw the covers off and rifled through your nightstand for the discreet little pink vibrator you’d bought years ago when you’d first figured out that, while your husband had many talents, making you come wasn’t one of them. 

You went to your usual fallback for porn but didn’t find anything that was really working for you, the ache of longing just getting worse as you gently toyed with your clit under the covers in the dark. Your cunt was slick, your wetness seeping down to your nightie and coating your fingers. It felt like forever that you’d been touching yourself and getting nowhere when the batteries on your vibrator died and you whimpered, kicking your legs down into your mattress in frustration. 

“Goddammit,” you moaned into your pillow, tossing your phone and vibrator aside, the ache in you worse than you’d ever really remembered it being before. There was no way you were going to be able to sleep like this, your whole body drawn tight and needy. You fumbled in your drawer for the charging cable and plugged the vibrator in before sighing and staring up at the ceiling again. 

Your thoughts drifted to Joel again. You couldn’t help it, he’d felt so good against you in the pool. He knew you so well, even after all this time. He kept your favorite snacks at his house and draped a blanket over you when you started getting cold when watching a movie. He was so funny and so handsome it hurt to look at him and he’d felt so fucking good.

Your fingers slipped between your legs again without really thinking about it, brushing against your swollen, sensitive clit. You resisted it for a moment, the idea of falling into the fantasy of you with Joel, but the need drawing everything inside you all tight and molten won. 

It swallowed you quickly once you gave in. 

The memory of him was there at the fore so fast, the way his lips had felt on you so many years ago. How you thought they’d feel against you now. His hands ranged over you, around your waist, down to your hips, his fingers twisting and knotting in the fabric there as he bunched it up to hold you firmer, reach you better. You moaned and rocked into your hand, sliding lower, your palm pressed against your sensitive nub as you slipped a finger inside yourself with a moan. You worked yourself open slowly, your slick making easy work of it, as you imagined it was his hand between your legs, his fingers sinking into you. How he’d take your swimsuit off and line his cock up with your entrance and push inside of you as he moaned your name. How his fingers would grip your flesh, prying at you as though he was trying to take you apart to keep pieces of you for himself. How he’d work himself so deep into you that you were certain no one else had ever come quite so close to climbing into another person’s skin before.  

You rocked your hips against your hand to the thought of him, not sure where memory ended and fantasy began, the fingers not plunging needily into your hole finding their way to your breast, grasping at the soft swell there, your own hand so unsatisfyingly small compared to his. You remembered the way his voice trembled as he breathed your name - his mouth against the tender skin at the base of your ear - as his cock filled you, the whole of him buried inside like he belonged there as he came. 

“Joel!” You gasped as your own orgasm hit, tight channel throbbing around the three fingers you’d managed to fit inside yourself, slick pooling in your palm and your tit filling your other hand. 

You came harder than you had in years, let alone from only using your hand and not your toy. It took you a few minutes to come down from the high of it, indulging in the fantasy of him in a way you hadn’t done since your freshman year of college. He last time you gave into it was back when you’d first started dating Gale but you’d felt so desperately alone, like no one had ever bothered to learn you at all. So you’d let yourself pretend that your best friend was still your best friend, that he loved you the way you loved him and that fucking you hadn’t been some mistake he’d made on prom night. It had seemed the most supreme extravagance, pretending that Joel would have wanted you to come like that with him. It still did. 

You put a stop to all that when Gale proposed, solidifying your relationship in an entirely new way. You tucked the memory of Joel and his body on and within yours away then. You’d never intended to think about him that way again. But then, you’d never intended to get divorced, either. 

“Fuck,” you sighed, shoving yourself out of bed to pee and clean up the mess you’d made of yourself. Before you lay back down, you opened the golden notebook on your bedside table and found the page with the list. You went to the bottom and tried to add another line but the pen in the elastic loop wouldn’t write. You groaned before fishing out the red pen you’d left in your nightstand from a night you were editing in bed from the top drawer. You added two words to the bottom of your list - trying to ignore the way the diamond of your engagement ring caught the light from your lamp, casting little rainbows on the paper - and circled them, pressing the pen into the paper harder than you really needed to. 

“There,” you said, capping the pen and dropping it on the notebook you hadn’t bothered to close. The pen rolled until it came to a stop, the red cap almost pointing to the newly added words as though they needed any more attention. 

That, you thought, was the solution. If you could just figure out how to accomplish that, you could put Joel back in that little box and keep this stupid crush from blowing up your whole life a second time, as long as you weren’t an idiot about it. 

You switched off the lamp and pulled your blankets tightly around yourself, trying to ignore the feeling that the words were glaring at you from their perch on your night stand. They blinked at you like neon behind your eyelids and you tried not to see them in the same way you tried not to think about Joel’s body on yours in the pool as you drifted off to sleep.

Get laid.

A/N: I just adore these two. Honestly, they keep getting away from me, their conversations are so fun to write and explore that I get lost in what I'm trying to accomplish with a chapter. But that's OK! The ride is the point of this whole fic thing, right?

Thank you for being patient with this chapter! I got a bit sidetracked with another project but I think I'm in a good place to get back to my once a week updates here for a while. I hope it was at least somewhat worth the wait!

Thank you for being here! Love you!!

[mlobsters]

supernatural s1e14 nightmare (w. sera gamble, raelle tucker)

dude being in that smoky exhaust vintage car reminded me of b dylan hollis showcasing his '78 lincoln continental mark v, it's a boat of a car (longer than the impala but 2 doors and puny backseat, no less). he mentioned it gets 7mpg. always thinking about baby and fuel expenses

see there's the advantage of being in arm's reach i was talking about, shake him right out of bed

DEAN Yeah, that makes sense. You're dreaming about our house, your girlfriend. This guy in your dream, you ever seen him before? SAM No. DEAN No. Exactly. Why would you have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan.

sam with the "i was right, jerk" stare lol

rolling my eyes thinking about that's some peak post 9/11 hyper patriotic bullshit with the giant flag on the police car, then noticed it's also an ugly modern impala ha

SAM I don't know what it was. I don't know why I'm having these dreams, I don't know what the hell is happening Dean. What. DEAN Nothing. I'm just, I'm worried about you man. SAM Well, don't look at me like that! DEAN I'm not looking at you like anything. Though I gotta say, you do look like crap. SAM Nice. Thanks.

so begins the sam starting to get freaked out over (dean) thinking he's a freak storyline?

SAM Dean, you saw them, they're devastated. They're not going to want to talk to us. DEAN Yeah, you're right. But I think I know who they will talk to.

excuse to play dress up

pretty sure i commented on this first time watching but it cracks me up that for his priestly getup, sam combs his bangs to the side. extra forehead also means extra sympathetic face via forehead crinkles

i know the mom (beth broderick) from something, all i can figure is sabrina the teenage witch, but i didn't think i'd seen much of that show? but she's so familiar and i definitely know her voice. ah well

i definitely know these ladies though?? the 5 mrs buchanans???? 17 episodes in 1994-5. focus, nic. the dumbass green laser gadget is soon

SAM I know it's rough, losing a parent. Especially when you don't have all the answers.

uh huh

s1e14 brendan fletcher as max miller / the killing s3e3 as goldie

thought he played belko in the killing for a minute and was very confused. both actors are named brendan too! lol

truly the green lasers that does me in every time. it's just so out of step with the general vibe of this show lol and thankfully never to be seen again

sweaty jared sighting

jensen was givin a lot of neck in this little gun cleaning situation

the classic grab for the amulet/chest. rewatched the clip from 2x11 because i know you can see the amulet sorta flash by like he had it gripped before he grabbed dean's face but wasn't sure if we see him grab him (we don't) but noticed that it's the mushy music theme at the end of that scene!! (also little insight into why the music reminded me of top gun!)

DEAN If you're gunna hurl I'll pull the car over you know, cause the upholstery…

surely they've got towels or blankets for protecting the precious upholstery being how often they're covered in blood and viscera. also, plastic bags aren't just for trash

sam sweaty and freaked out, dean doing a bad job at not looking freaked out

SAM Dean, I'm scared, man. These nightmares weren't bad enough, now I'm seeing things when I'm awake? And these, visions, or whatever, they're getting more intense. And painful. DEAN Come on man, you'll be all right. It'll be fine. SAM What is it about the Millers? Why am I connected to them, why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to me? DEAN I don't know, Sam, but we'll figure it out. We've faced the unexplainable every day. This is just another thing. SAM No. It's never been us. It's never been in the family like this. Tell the truth, you can't tell me this doesn't freak you out. DEAN (After staring straight ahead for a long moment) This doesn't freak me out.

some cute little parkour there getting up dude's building, will i make gifs no one cares about again? maybe so

had to go brighten this up, look at those jeans pockets. how very 2000s lol. and i think sam's actually wearing boots in this sprint up the fire escape

of course i made the gifs. parkour!

sammy bout to walk into traffic, i'm sure dean taught you better :p

SAM Well, I know one thing I have in common with these people. DEAN What's that? SAM Both our families are cursed. DEAN Our family's not cursed! We just...had our dark spots. SAM Our dark spots are...pretty dark. DEAN You're....dark.

okay that was cute and i laughed

man, this actor that plays max is really good at this. i remembered him being he was really good at crying/playing sad but this conversation where sam and dean are trying to gently push for info on his dad and uncle, everyone does such a good job. max seems genuinely upset and scared but trying to put on a good front unsuccessfully, dean pushes but not too hard and then also is the one to be pretty soft about suggesting they should head out and let max get some rest.

fun fact i used this moment for my tiny sam and dean in my motel acrylic painting, you can take the first shower

MAN Well, in my life I've never seen a child treated like that. I mean I'd hear Mr Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street, he was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tar outta Max. Bruises. Broke his arm two times that I know of. SAM This was going on regularly? MAN Practically every day. In fact that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy but the worst part was the stepmother. She'd just stand there, checked out, not lifting a finger to protect him. I must have called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good.

cps has problems too but that's who they should have been contacting

SAM These visions, this whole time -- I wasn't connecting to the Millers, I was connecting to Max! The thing is I don't get why, man. I guess -- because we're so alike? DEAN What are you talking about? The dude's nothing like you. SAM Well. We both have psychic abilities, we both... DEAN Both what? Sam, Max is a monster, he's already killed two people, now he's gunning for a third. SAM Well, with what he went through, the beatings, to want revenge on those people? I'm sorry, man, I hate to say it, but it's not that insane. DEAN Yeah but it doesn't justify murdering your entire family! SAM Dean... DEAN He's no different from anything else we've hunted, all right? We gotta end him. SAM We're not going to kill Max. DEAN Then what? Hand him over to the cops and say 'Lock him up officer; he kills with the power of his mind.' SAM No way. Forget it. DEAN Sam...

dean's face to the "promise me" line lol

SAM Dean. He's a person. We can talk to him. Hey, promise me you'll follow my lead on this one. DEAN All right fine. But I'm not letting him hurt anybody else.

this had to go down in only way where someone's hand is forced, painted themselves into a corner. far from the days where they can be like, if we catch wind if you killing someone, it's curtains 😠 (like kate in bitten 8x04) classic slip slide around a moral quandary

what a beautiful shot of him. and interesting with their pushing sam to admit that john never hated him, with this conversation. john raised them like soldiers, stole their childhoods, neglected them, etc. but he never hated them

MAX It wasn't about getting away. Just knowing they would still be out there. It was about...not being afraid. When my Dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like? SAM No.

feels like jared is *this close* to really hitting this conversation where he realizes max's mom got killed by azazel too, but felt kind of clunky. but it's also kind of an awkward vibe generally because sam's in puzzle solving mode and kind of fired up because he's figuring it out but max is still crying (and doing really well at keeping that despair and fear going so long). i think all the times in the rewatch i felt a little wobbly about jared's performance is portraying this type of emotion, think he just hasn't quite nailed down where to go with it

more sweaty sam out of nowhere which i'm blaming on sweaty jared

floating gun effects are rough. the knife wasn't great but it was easier to ignore but this is big and bright and shiny all over and they're rotating it and it's like mmmmkay. that's a real gun!

sammy with his one-time (other than when he's juiced up on demon blood) telekinesis, because if there's anything that's gonna bring out the psychic powers it's gonna be saving dean

ugh i forgot max killed himself. blugh.

SAM Well, I'll tell you one thing. We're lucky we had Dad. DEAN Well, I never thought I'd hear you say that. SAM Well, it coulda gone a whole other way after Mom. I little more tequila and a little less demon hunting and we woulda had Max's childhood. All things considered, we turned out ok. Thanks to him. DEAN All things considered.

in spite of him, bro! john's lucky dean was able to take care of everyone. as a child! sure, it could have been worse, that doesn't make it good either :p

my goodness sam giving the babiest sweetest puppy face in all the lands

SAM Yeah, maybe. Aren't you worried, man? Aren't you worried I could turn into Max or something? DEAN Nope. No way. You know why? SAM No. Why? DEAN Cause you got one advantage Max didn't have. SAM Dad? Because Dad's not here, Dean. DEAN No. Me. As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you.

moment of despair over how very much this is not the case, despite all his efforts

[obsessedwithlarkin]

WELL-KNOWN DANCERS COMPETING AT JUMP VEGAS:

CSPAS:

•Londyn Springer - Fields Of Gold

• Chloe Murillo- Diamonds

• Penelope Pranger - The Rose

• Stella Binkerhoff- ZTBA

• Brooklyn Ward- Into The Ground

• Coco Gonzales - Devil Wears A Suit And Tie

• Tabitha Nan - The Nurse's Diary

CLUB DANCE:

• Daisy Nielsen- Show Off

• Finley Nielsen- Remember Me

• Goldie Nielsen- Twist And Shout

• Reagan Tannehill- Delicate

• Kennedy Chzarchowski- Somewhere Out There

• Kinley Harper- He's A Dream

• Blaire Atchley- Hey Daddy

• Kensington Ferrin- Evil Gal Blues

• Mariah Bland - Danny's Allstar Joint

• Harper Rosenbaugh- Cabaret

• Kortlynn Rosenbaugh- Retrace

• Kelsey Jackman- Life Of The Party

• Mikayla Jackman- The Truth Remains

• Kendyl Miller- TBD

• Lucia Piedrahita- TBD

• Ellary Day Szyndlar- TBD

• Libby Jhonson- Crippled Bird

•Maysen Bosterer- Drowning In Oxygen

DMITRI KULEV CLASSICAL BALLET:

•Keira Sun - Seeing Sun

K2 STUDIOS:

•Neriah Karmann- To The Sky

MATHER:

• ChaCha Shen - Feeling Goregous

• Kennie Shen - Scars

PAVE:

• Tayah Klimuck- TBD

STARS:

• Tristan Jones- Crest With In

STUDIO X:

• Madison Luckman- Holly Rock

• Baileigh McJimson- Crystal Ball

• Braxy Montana- Bang

• Emery Bourne- These Boots

• Jeanne Garcia - Wicked Games

• Chloe Tyler - Haunted

THE ROCK:

• Melina Biltz - Dakiti

• Mariah Ruvers - Viola

YYC:

• Kinsley Stella - Limerence

[lauraneedstochill]

I was tagged by @aegontarqaryen & @aemonds-princeregent, thank youuu, girlies 💞

Rules: post 10 of your favorite comfort movies and then tag 10 people

(in no particular order) (and with my comments no one asked for):

“About Time” (such a soft love story, warms my silly little heart, and I’m absolutely in love with Rachel McAdams); “Burnt” (I have a soft spot for movies about cooking… and! Sienna Miller is stunning in this one); “A Good Year” (basically my perfect life would look like this); “Intouchables” (would highly recommend, can’t praise this movie enough!); “The Martian” (smth about the main character’s incredible optimism but also Matt’s charisma); “A few best men” (yes, this one is a dumb comedy but it’s so goddamn fun!); “Il bisbetico domato” (I grew up watching movies with Adriano Celentano and I have no regrets); “Overboard” (Goldie Hawn & Kurt Russell are a golden duo! also couple goals); “Tucker and Dale vs Evil” (oh, the dark humor in this one); “Love Actually” (…do I even need to explain? 💕). no pressure tags: @theold-ultraviolence, @hellshee, @arcielee, @amiraisgoingthruit, @adderess, @jasonsmirrorball, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @pendragora, @worms-on-a-single-string, @aemondryvers, @redahlia-writes (and anyone else who might want to! ✨)