#old game but still a goldie

[suchacreativeusrname]

fnaf collab WOAWAH 10 years of fnaf? wow

this was a collab w my very awesome sibling @birbisanon, they did the wolf! i did foxy.

my cat is chasing a fly around while i type this

[goldensunset]

everyone in this ending montage is just their usual static pixel self in their usual place but our real main character most specialest boy in the world gets a full painting with animated hair as he overlooks a sunrise

[ckret2]

My first ask not about the goldie fic but I want your opinion: do you think Bill had a crush on the pharaoh? Because he really hypes up how he was obsessed with him, while the evidence shows Amenemhat was one of the least interested humans he partnered with, and he still doesn't seem to harbor much ill will by Bill standards. He also kinda overtly says he tried to flirt with him and that he was thirsty (for friendship). I feel like their relationship was different from most of the others, and is focused on the least.

Also do you think he was into the shaman. Because their non-portal-realated relationship is elaborated on the most and he seems to hold the biggest grudge, but it could've also just been a particular rare respect.

I think Bill has two kinds of crushes.

Bill gets 🩷crushes💕 on people that, like, have traits he generally finds attractive, whatever those are. Amenemhat III wore a big hat and built three pyramids, maybe Bill's into that, idk. We don't know much about their dynamic. If things don't work out with these crushes he's like, whatever, he moves on. These crushes are like a game to him.

On the other hand, Bill gets 🔥CRUSHES🔥 on people that make him go "they just like me fr." And here I'm using the word "crushes" to also cover platonic relationships—it doesn't necessarily mean he wants to make out with them, just that somehow he's forged an iron-hard emotional chain with them that he craves to be reciprocated. (the other crushes could also be platonic, but I think they tend to tilt more toward romantic by default.)

Bill strikes me as the kind of guy who goes through life thinking Nobody Could Possibly Get Him so when he runs into the rare person that he does think gets him, he latches onto them like a crocodile onto a baby hippo—and it's just as likely to end either with the prey dead or with the predator getting a few teeth knocked out.

And these are the ones Bill gets bitter and resentful over when things fall apart.

But look at what we know about the shaman: when Bill offered him a way out of his world to explore the secrets of the universe, he jumped at the opportunity; they got intoxicated together; they stargazed together; the shaman taught Bill something he didn't know, which has gotta be rare at a trillion years old.

Ford, obviously, is one of these people to Bill, and the shaman sounds like he's got a lot in common with Ford—curious knowledge-seeker, "the wisest of his tribe." Shaman also sounds like he's got a lot in common with Bill, partying with aliens, enthralled with the stars. I think Bill thought the shaman got him, and that he was not just furious but devastated when that fell apart—and we only don't see the full impact of that because Bill's had nearabout 4000 years to cauterize those wounds.

The shaman was a 🔥CRUSH🔥; the pharaoh was a 🩷crush💕.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

enamored with the bill possessing Ford's body au. If you would feel up to it, do you have more tidbits? :3

I’m happy to see so many people enjoying it!! I have a lot of additional tidbits so I’ll just stick to giving a few for now:

— Dipper finds out Ford is the author a lot earlier, for the obvious reasons of Bill being present in Ford’s body. He doesn’t put the pieces together right away, only because initially, he hates Bill, disappointed that the ‘scientist’ his parents spoke about that he wanted to impress turned out to be nothing like what he had hoped, ignoring and dismissing him instead, even taking a liking to Mabel before him! He has this idealised version of the author in his head, someone who he relates to and finds comfort in, and he doesn’t want to taint that vision by suspecting it may be someone who he hates. He may be a mystery lover but he is still a twelve year old with a grudge.

It’s only after he and Bill start getting along that he brings it up, and Bill doesn’t think to lie. He’s just that surprised Dipper found it. He does lie about not remembering things though to avoid Dipper’s questions about the paranoia and why he hid it — as on the spot kind of thing, and that becomes Dipper’s mystery fixation of the summer.

— Stan and Bill have various nicknames for each other, with Bill’s main one for Stan being ‘Fez’, and Stan’s main one for Bill being ‘Goldie’.

— Speaking of them, when it comes to their relationship, they are genuinely friends after thirty years of living together, but what that friendship entails is where it gets complicated and I don’t think I can summarise here. I’d say it can best be described as two people who have come to understand each other very deeply, and are similar in a thousand ways, but they would rather throw themselves off a cliff than acknowledge or talk about that. There’s also the lingering anger and resentment on Stan’s end, not for taking Ford’s body, he knows Bill doesn’t want to be stuck here either, but for what he did to Ford before that, how he hurt him. He, much to his confusion, does care about Bill, and Bill, much to his own confusion as well, does care about Stan back, but their friendship is built on something awful, and that doesn’t just go away.

— On a sillier note, it was in 1990 that Stan realised Bill was his only friend and that he sort of enjoyed his company, and that truly was a horrifying moment. On the other end Bill finally admits to some degree he might care for Stan in 1994, which happens while both of them are drunk, and Bill likes to claim it didn’t happen. The image below also probably summarises the lighter aspect of their dynamic better than I could word it here:

— Bill has taxidermy as a hobby and actually gives Dipper and Mabel a few lessons in it, creating some displays for the shack. Weirdly good bonding activity.

— Very specific ‘episode’ idea in my mind where Stan and Bill get framed by Faires that Bill angered a thousand years ago for a crime they didn’t commit, and Dipper and Mabel have to figure out how to prove their innocence, finding more about their Grunkles along the way, and also having to beat a fairy in a game of poker.

— Mabel at some point comes to the conclusion her “Grunkle Ford” had a bad breakup that he still hasn’t gotten over and makes it her goal to help him through it. This is part of her summer mission. It comes up frequently. It’s ridiculous I know but what is Gravity Falls without a generous amount of both angst and utter silliness.

I’ll probably leave it at that for now! But if you’d want more or have any specific questions, I shall do my best. I’m still figuring out some stuff too so input will be helpful.

[astorianyxkings]

Oldest Daughter Dick™ is probably one of my favourite things ever. And it always will be and here's why:

Of course Dick loves his siblings and of course he loves that they know Bruce as the father he is. But it won't stop the jealousy he feels. And no one gets it, not even Jason. They were all raised by Bruce Wayne, he was raised by Batman.

When Dick came to live with him, Bruce had no idea how to he a father. How to handle normal kid stuff like sicknesses and school events let alone the fact he was an acrobat. He was Batman and Dick was raised to be not just his successor but the only contingency plan he had against himself.

Bruce never held his punches ("That was a good block but I still got you, didn't I?" Bruce had said, rubbing cream into the blossoming bruise on Dick's side. "I'll get you next time," Dick had promised, young eyes challenging. "You better." Bruce had grinned back.) All attacks were to remind him that he was at a disadvantage strength wise and thus needed to re-evaluate his lines of defense and offense.

Dick was raised by the paranoid-in-his-late-twenties-probably-shouldn't-be-a-dad-despite-what-Marisol-said Bat. A fun game of catch? He was dodging Batarangs. Learning to drive? It was the Batmobile and he was age 14 (and a half). School events? He was fumbling, awkward and did not want to be there (but still was because he'll be damned if his boy didn't have his support.)

And you know that's fine, Dick was fine. It wasn't Bruce's fault he didn't know how to be a proper dad, despite Alfred's parenting books and videos. And he did try, he was always there. But it just really hits a sore spot everytime he sees Bruce hold a punch before he knocks Tim out cold or when he's behind the wheel with Steph telling her what not to do. Or even when he's at school with Damian and Duke making Marjory and her cupcakes look ridiculous compared to him and his coconut crumble cakes.

It also irritates Dick beyond senseless whenever the topic of sparring with Bruce is mentioned. ("We can all beat the old man Goldie, he's ancient." Jason shrugs off and Dick wanted to scream.) The only one who even tries to sympathize with him was Cass. More than likely because she'd seen him fight as Batman The Dark Knight before seeing him fight as Bruce The Father of Six-Almost-Eight.

And it just really stings because he can't relate to being raised by Bruce the way the others can't. Bruce changed for them, not him. And maybe that kind of hurts. But maybe he's overreacting.

What he doesn't realize is he's the reason why Bruce changed. Bruce saw the hurt and anger in Dick's eyes when he fired him from Robin (Think Shifu denying Tai Lung the Dragon Warrior scroll). He knew the second he saw the betrayal in Dick's eyes after seeing Jason as Robin, that he'd have to change. (The same way Shifu should've changed for Tigress but I digress, not that fandom).

Bruce pulls his punches because he hated seeing Dick limp away from their sparring matches—despite the fire and promise of a rematch in his eyes. He teaches them how to drive regular cars before the Batmobile because the one time Dick crashed (while trying to avoid some of Poison Ivy's vines) his heart rate skyrocketed so high Clark had called him up demanding to know if he was okay. He shows up for Duke and Damian and Cass and Tim because Dick's smile whenever he saw Bruce in the parent's lounge never failed to make him melt.

Bruce stands firm on the fact that while he may have made a hero out of Dick, Dick Grayson made a father out of Bruce Wayne.

[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

[riddles-n-games]

Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart

Pairing: Avery and Jameson Summary: Avery has finally gotten downtime to actually settle for the holidays. It's her first Christmas at Hawthorne House and with a new boyfriend. Jameson and her are still figuring things out; can they help each other through the muddle of the last few weeks? Length: Moderate Story Type: One Shot

Tag List: @hathorneheiress, @whatsamongus, @xoxo-lenah, @charsoamerican, @thecircularlibrary, @elif-in-wonderland, @jamcarven, @silly-little-gooses, @mafiasliege, @lyrakanefanatic, @nothankyou3333, @inmyheaddd, @downrightbooks, @no1bookgirl, @elysianwayy77, @ariscats, @never-enough-novels, @goldi-1-graysons-version, @apollospoems, @x-liv25-jamieswife, @anintellectualintellectual, @aaal-iz-well

A/N: Hey guys, Merry Christmas! It was about time we actually had some holiday set fics and what better way than to dedicate it to the couple that started it all? I was inspired by one passage in Secret Santa from Games Untold and so we go back in time to where it all started for Averyjameson, at the most wonderful time of the year. Enjoy! Warning, it's looooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnng.

  “I keep thinking about last Christmas. You were still recovering from the coma.”

    Last Christmas, we hadn’t played Secret Santa.

    Last Christmas, we’d been together, but I hadn’t been his and he hadn’t been mine the way we were now.

ONE YEAR AGO

    It seemed to be his wish and purpose to mask this expression with a smile; but the latter played him false, and flickered over his visage so derisively, that the spectator could see his blackness all the better for it. Ever and anon, too, there came a glare of red light out of his eyes; as if the old man’s soul were on fire, and kept on smouldering duskily within his breast, until, by some casual puff of…

    My throat was starting to feel dry so I carefully reached over for the water bottle. Xander’s Holly Jolly Hot Chocolate Marshmallow Surprise was already halfway gone and I wanted to savor it for as long as I could. There were also only four marshmallows left, to my dismay. In addition, while my plate of sweets was still relatively full, it was already devoid of my favorites, chocolate cupcakes, even though Libby had added extras for that very reason. They never stood a chance and now without them, the plate looked agonizingly empty.

    I unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to my lips, never taking my eyes off the page.

    … passion, it was blown into a momentary flame. This he repressed as speedily as possible, and strove to look as if nothing of the kind had happened.

    Once hydrated, I put it back down and grabbed a cookie, stuffing it in my mouth before I grabbed another sticky note, taping it on the little desktop attached to the recliner. It was convenient compared to my usual tactic which was using a textbook as a hard surface to write on when I didn’t want to sit hunched at my desk. Grayson would have argued there was no difference where I sat as both resulted in bad posture. 

    I finished off the page and kept the book splayed open as I jotted down my newest annotations for the chapter. When done, I put the sticky note in the free margin and slid the book toward me, flipping to the next page.

    For some time, I continued on with no annotations since there wasn’t anything of note. 

    Or was there, as it rather seemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along with his deformity, whichever way he turned himself? And whither was he now going? Would he not suddenly sink into the earth, leaving a barren and blasted spot, where, in due course of time, would be seen deadly nightshade, dogwood, hen-bane, and whatever else of vegetable wicke-

    A gasp escaped me as the book toppled off the desktop from my lax grip but luckily my arm reflex was fast enough to grab it before it fell to the floor. But, of course, that still came with a price.

    “Damn it.” I lost my spot on the page. I quickly leafed through familiar territory until I got to the newer stuff I just covered. Thankfully, I realized that I had stopped just a page or two after the start of a new chapter. When I found it, I searched for keywords from what I remembered reading then leaned back in the chair to get comfortable. Before I continued reading, my eyes drifted to the fire in the hearth to the garland decorating the mantle and the antique clock sitting atop it. 9:15, the clock read. It was getting late. 

    I sighed. The day had been long; Alisa occupied me with more papers relating to my emancipation alongside briefings for the Hawthorne Foundation and upcoming events. However, even with all the paperwork, I somehow managed to help Libby bake cupcakes and other holiday desserts, got roped into Xander’s Christmas experiments, and also had some shooting practice with Nash. After it all, I escaped into the circular library to one of the adjoining rooms for some relaxing and to get on with my English reading. 

    In part, I knew that all of this was to keep me distracted from my traumatic ordeals from the past few weeks. While I was pushing for it because I didn’t want to be wallowing in those memories and all the questions that came with them, I was still tired. I needed this. 

    My gaze drifted to the rest of the room, to really take it in for the first time in hours. There was a Christmas tree in the corner, bookshelves lining the walls, a large desk in the back, and another sitting area. It was cozy and with all the Christmas decor, it felt like a Christmas card came to life. Mom would have love- No. Don’t think about it. It’s just gonna hurt you. I blinked back the sudden onset of tears and took steady breaths to keep from crying. But it was too late; my imagination was conjuring up projections of my mom sitting in the opposite chair, making her move on a chessboard, teasing me about doing homework when I could have been taking an epic nap. 

    I shook my head and swiped at my eyes as I leaned over to grab another cookie. I munched on it slowly and turned back to the book. 

    … wickedness the climate could produce, all flourishing with hideous luxuriance? Or would he spread bat’s wings and flee away, looking so much the uglier, the higher he rose towards heaven? “Be it sin or no,” said Hester Prynne bitterly, as she still gazed after him, “I hate the man!” She upbraided herself for the sentiment, but could not overcome or lessen it. Attempting to do so, she thought of those long-past days, in a distant land, when he used to emerge at eventide from the seclusion of his study, and sit down in the fire-light of their home, and in the light of her nuptial smile. He needed to bask himself in that smile, he said, in order that the chill of so many lonely hours among his books might be taken off the scholar’s heart. Such scenes had once appeared not otherwise than happy, but now, as viewed through the dismal medium of her subsequent life, they classed themselves among her ugliest rememb-

    “Avery?” I heard my name being called and I jolted. 

    The question was followed up by a tentative knock on the door. “Heiress?” Jameson.

    “Come in,” I called out.

    The door knob turned and a resounding click later, a dark-haired Hawthorne was standing in the doorway smiling softly at me. He stood there for a beat, awkwardly shuffling his feet and scratching his side as if waiting for a signal or something. Odd. I beckoned with my head for him to come in. It took him another second before he actually made a move. 

    I closed my book and turned to properly face him, flashing him a bright smile in greeting. “Hey, barely saw you today. What have you been up to?” 

    Jameson didn’t reply but clearly what I said put a little more spring in his step. As he got closer, a familiar glint appeared, the kind he got when he was thinking up something clever and his usual smirk came back. When he was finally close enough, he spoke, taking on a poetic tone.

    ‘‘Twas a few nights before Christmas, when all through the House, not a creature was stirring, not even the heiress on her couch.”

    “Not a couch but go on.” He grinned, undeterred.

    “But every so often she’d look to the clock and run a hand through her hair, anxious to know if her devastatingly handsome boyfriend would soon be there.” I rolled my eyes but didn’t miss the way he punctuated the word boyfriend. It sent a shiver down my spine. 

    “She was snug as a bug by the hearth with a book that needed to be read, while thoughts of his potential mischief that day dashed through her head. With an exasperated sigh and a hot chocolate sip, she continued to read all the while thinking how she was going to give him lip, when all of a sudden he burst through the door with his usual swagger, looking rather dapper,” he winked when I snorted at the sheer arrogance, “and sat in the chair beside her to ask her what was the matter.”

    With that end of verse, he plopped into the opposite chair all the while looking terribly pleased with himself. Note to self: learn how to curb this man’s ego. While I admired it at times, if we were going to be in a relationship, I was gonna have to bring his smugness down a few notches. I eyed him carefully.

    “Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.”

    “Avery Kylie Grambs.” The bastard dared to give me that shit-eating grin of his.

    “What did you do?” And more importantly, what are you hiding? 

    “Nothing.” I arched an eyebrow. He chuckled and shook his head. “Can’t believe even for a second that for once I might not have been up to trouble?” My eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

    “Prior instances dictate otherwise.” And Oren was just outside for back up reconnaissance. His expression morphed into a guilty smile that looked anything but remorseful. I pursed my lips and sighed loudly. “What am I going to do with you?”

    “I don’t know. Hopefully run away with me on a grand adventure.” 

    “Mm. Sounds delightful. But unfortunately, as you yourself said, I have a book to read.” 

    “What is it?” I held the book up. “Scarlet Letter? You really can’t resist Hawthornes, eh?”

    “Not my fault the school curriculum is also obsessed with you,” I grumbled.     

    Jameson chuckled again before growing quiet. Just like that, the playfulness died down and we settled into silence. Both of us turned to look at the hearth. The pleasant crackle of the flames coming from the fireplace and steady ticking beat of the clock were the only ambient noise in the room.

    None of us said anything for a little while but it felt like its own eternity, like a tension was building but not an uncomfortable one. I peaked at Jameson from the corner of my eye, noticing that his smile had faded and looked rather solemn. His eyes glowed an inviting emerald in the firelight. He looked deep in thought, about what, I didn’t know. Suddenly, I picked up on movement coming from his end and it was getting closer to me. Looking down, I realized it was his hand reaching out to my right one that was lax on the armrest.

    Though I saw it coming, I still startled a bit when I felt his fingers brushing against mine. “Sorry.” 

    He didn’t say anything, just continued to do what he was doing and gently took my hand in his. I let him. Looking up, I saw that Jameson had scooted over to the edge of his seat, his eyes trained on our hands as he gently rubbed circles into my skin. I watched him and felt like I couldn’t breathe, terrified to break the spell of this moment, whatever this was. 

    “How are you?” His soft voice broke through my mesmerized daze and realizing he was now looking at me, that rare sincerity in his expression made me feel shy under his gaze. My heartbeat seemed to slow, making each cycle feel like the tension would burst any second and the rush of blood flowing was loud in my ears.

    “I’m okay,” I finally said. He didn’t seem satisfied but didn’t push. Jameson then brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles but it made me wonder. What are you doing? Why are you?

    This wasn’t the first time where he dropped the pretense and turned tender. In the last few weeks, there have been many times where, when we were alone, he’d randomly become gentle and considerate, throwing me for a loop. It was certainly unusual.

    And surprisingly, even though it was happening often, it caught me off guard every time, more so than anything going on these days. We’d been together like usual but my brain still hadn’t really given the thought we were in a relationship until he did something like that. I hadn’t really processed our new status in general with all that’s been going on but I clung to our normalcy like a lifeline. 

    “She told him there was nothing to worry about, but he could see hovering over her head was a gray cloud of doubt.” He looked at me with arched brows. “He was there for whatever she had to say, even if it took an entire day.”

    I smiled and squeezed his hand. “Really, I’m okay. I’m just tired and I don’t want to think about the last few weeks at all. Actually, I was planning on asking Alisa if she could find me a good therapist in the New Year.”

    “That’s good,” he said encouragingly.

    I sighed before continuing, “Thank you for being here for me. I know it’s not your usual style but…” 

    “Maybe, but, I told you that if you chose me, this would mean something. You mean something to me, Avery. I just didn’t know this-us-would happen so soon. That was definitely something I wasn’t counting on.”

    A smirk played on my lips. “Oh, but you were expecting us to get together at some point?”

    Jameson smiled sheepishly. “Only if you could resist my charm for so long.” I guffawed as he rolled his eyes.

    “No, but um, you’re right. I didn’t expect this either. If you had asked further down the line, I don’t think I would have said no then either. But what happened, happened; we can’t change that,” I paused and took a breath, “And honestly, I wouldn’t want to. As cliche as it sounds, we do have our future ahead of us and we get to make decisions together now.”

    “Wow, just wow. That was so motivational. Would you mind skipping a grade so you can be valedictorian for my class next June?”

    “I mean, I could but I don’t think Xander would like that very much.”

    “And why does my little brother take precedence over your boyfriend?” There it was again but I didn’t focus on the way the word made my heart skip a beat.

    “Because he’s already gotten attached to my hip and betrayal would break his precious little heart. Oh, and, he’s promised to stash away 10% of Mrs. Laughlin’s blueberry scones if I swore allegiance to his robots.”

    “Fair enough. That’s Xan for ya,” Jameson said fondly.

    “Yeah. And what about you, Clement Moore? How much of that did you have rehearsed?”

    He smiled shyly and looked down. “Just the first bit. I can make up stuff pretty quickly. The old man used to read to me when I was younger and I liked rhyming words so when I couldn’t sleep I would try to make up as many rhymes as I could until I did. I also used to sleepwalk.” My eyebrows shot up. “Yup. I know.”

    “I can imagine that. Sounds like a very Jameson thing. I-”

    “Um, Heiress, sorry to cut you off but I have to ask you something.” I blinked, taken aback. “Be honest with me, does it bother you when I refer to myself as your boyfriend? I saw the way your eyes widened.”

    “I mean, aren’t you?” A nervous laugh came out as I wasn’t sure what to say.

    “Technically, yes. But I’m not forcing you to call me that or anything. To me, what’s important is what you’re comfortable with.” My heart swelled. This boy.

    “I actually hadn’t given it much thought. With all that’s been happening, whenever our, um, this flits through my head, I would freak out and my mind just didn’t know how to address it. Not that I don’t want to think about us but it’s like a visceral reaction which I hate.” Fearing I said too much I shut my mouth and with bated breath, waited for his reaction. I expected disappointment but was relieved to find no judgment. No, I was met with understanding instead. He squeezed my hand this time and I exhaled slowly.

    Moments like these made me forget he was just Jameson and reminded me that he was now… something more. We became “official” with a coin toss and a kiss then continued doing what we always did. Everybody knew we were together, we didn’t make that a secret, done deal. There just wasn’t a label. And yet, I still felt it in every way that mattered. 

    Except, I wasn’t sure how to express that to him as he was wary about his brother despite Grayson backing off. However, we had to figure other things out between us first. I may be ready to be bold but being bold and wanting to be bold were two different things.

    Part of that was becoming his type of reliable with loyalty being highest priority. I couldn’t change what Emily did, that I knew, but I could help him move past that. Jameson had been doing that for me so much recently and I couldn’t be more grateful. It was hard to believe but the boy who’d played at indifference was also the one who came with his heart on his sleeve, offering to dive headfirst if I chose him. 

    This was the same boy now holding my hand, checking on me because he was worried. What a difference two months made. I knew immediately behind the facade, there was a compassionate young man with a good heart, he just didn’t believe it. I hoped I could change that. 

     With that in mind, I turned back to him. “To dispel any misconception right now; I know what I was saying yes to. I did think about that. A lot. Being with you, being together has been such an important part of my day and it keeps me sane. And-” My voice cracked suddenly, surprising me. “And…”

    “Heiress?” My eyes landed on his concerned face, darting over each feature and taking in the details until I was swept into the memory of the day with the postcards. 

    The hidden letters. The words of longing. Toby. Sarah who was actually Hannah. The same forward as backward. Hannah, oh Hannah. My mother being described through someone else’s eyes. Their love story. Me wanting to be left alone. Jameson being the first to address that. Jameson ushering everyone out. Jameson leaving. Jameson giving up on a clue. Jameson putting aside the mystery. Jameson. Jameson. Jameson.

    A sob escaped me. My hand flew over my mouth in reflex. I didn’t understand why but another one followed and another. Jameson was in front of me in a flash. His arms wrapped around me as my vision blurred with tears. The last thing I did register was my nose pressing against something hard but covered by a soft material and my eyes fluttered shut, letting the tears fall.

    I didn’t know how much time passed but the tears felt never ending, my cheeks were sticky and the sobs coming out were shallow gasps. Images of my mom danced through my mind, especially those from the last Christmas with her. That morning she’d been wearing a robe over her pjs with a steaming mug of coffee in her hand, hair loose for once, all excited as she slid a wrapped present over the counter toward me. It had been a book I wanted, special edition, which I scolded her for but Mom had laughed it off, bringing me into a hug and wishing me a Merry Christmas. But most memorable had been her luminous smile, so joyous and bright that it made our home feel that much warmer. I inhaled sharply as my eyes snapped open.

    “Mom. Mom. Why’d you have to go?” I whispered, breathless. 

    “She was sick, Heiress. But I bet she fought every day to be with you.” 

    “Mom, I want my Mom! I need her. And Toby, Toby… H-He left me and I needed him. He left me. I needed him. I told him not to go but he said he couldn’t stay. I-” I hiccuped a sob and felt another onslaught coming.

    “I know. I’m sure he wanted to but your safety means to him more. It does to me too.” And just like that a fresh damn of tears broke through and I was dry heaving with the unrelenting heavy sobs that came wave after wave after wave. But through it all, Jameson never let me go.

    When I finally came to, I realized I quite literally used Jameson’s shoulder to cry on and the soft material had been his green cashmere sweater that was now soaked. As I swiped at my crusted eyes, I said, “Sorry about your sweater.” 

    He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t mind. It clearly served a good purpose.” That got him a weak laugh from me. Jameson slowly brought up a hand and wiped at a stray tear before leaning down to kiss my forehead. I watched him warily as he pulled away and frowned when I saw him pull out a handkerchief from his pocket. He used it to gently wipe at the tear tracks on my cheeks.

    Once he finished I brought it up. “Since when do you have a need for handkerchiefs, Mr. Darcy?”

    He chuckled. “Since I had to start offering to wipe away the tears of young ladies who have been most unconsolable by any other actions. Don’t worry, I don’t make a habit of stealing my brother’s brooding English gentleman aesthetic too often.” I couldn’t help but laugh too.

    “Are you feeling better now?” 

    I nodded. “Yeah. Just didn’t think I had that in me.”

    Jameson looked thoughtful for a moment before bringing his hand up again and caressing my cheek. I leaned into it. “You know, far be it from me to tell you what you do or don’t need, but I think you’ve needed to do that for a while. As you said, so much has happened in the last few weeks which your brain hasn’t had time to process and instead it just kept pushing it all aside until this moment.”

    “I guess. I just… I miss my mom. I’ve been getting better at acknowledging the fact that she’s, you know… gone after these two years but now all that we’ve found out, it just brought back that feeling so much stronger. And it feels like I’m back at square one.” He nodded solemnly. 

    “Yup, that seems to be the power of grief. There are days when I feel like the old man is still around and like he’s just about to pop out from any corner. Then I remember he’s not and I lose it. I go into the passages and just walk until I get out and go to the next one until I inevitably end up on the roof.” 

    I sighed. “I think she would have liked this place. As weird as everything is about you Hawthornes, this seems like her kind of place.”

    He huffed amusedly. “Hypocritical much?”

    “Potato potahto.” Cue eye rolling. “And I think she would have liked you too.” Jameson looked at me curiously. “Yeah, she would have loved your spontaneity. You two would get along. I think you’d enjoy playing our games and I can see her coming up with more. Although, you’d probably make me go crazy and wonder what I unleashed on the world.” 

    “At least I know I’d be on your mom’s good side.” I snorted. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

    “Maybe. But then she’d drop not so subtle hints and I would give in eventually because I know she’s right. Don’t think for a second I wouldn’t make you work for it.”

    “I don’t doubt it.” 

    “Good. But most of all, I think she’d love your compassion.” 

    There was silence and then a sharp inhale. “Heiress…”

    “You are good. You have a good heart, Jameson Hawthorne.” I didn’t leave room for arguing and narrowed my eyes at him for good measure. Whether he liked it or not, I had told the truth and I was going to make him believe it. “Say what you want but I’m going to repeat it until you believe it. I’ll do what I have to, no matter how long it takes.”

    As I finished my grand declaration, he had the audacity to smirk. “Anything?” 

    “Anything within reason,” I amended with a scowl. He chuckled and then rose up.

    “While I’m sure you will and I will more than likely accept defeat one day, there is something you could do for me.”

    “And what would that be?” I asked suspiciously.

    “Well, with it being the holidays and since it’s our first Christmas together, would you mind joining me under the mistletoe, Miss Grambs?” I blinked as I watched him take out a sprig of mistletoe from his sleeve. 

    He went to the fireplace and somehow tied it to the garland. I got up from my recliner and walked towards him. As soon as I got within range, one of his arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me into him as my hands instinctively went on his chest. Jameson then brought his free hand up and brushed hair out of my face before cupping my cheek. I gazed at his face all the while and admired the way he looked in the soft glow of the fire. 

    “May I?” I nodded. Slowly, he leaned down and tentatively connected his lips to mine. I closed my eyes and got lost in it, entertaining the fantasy of the mistletoe kiss. I cupped the back of his neck and brought my hand into his hair. His hold at my waist tightened ever so slight. It was slow and gentle and perfect. Too perfect. But even so, just for a moment, I let myself believe we were perfect.

    When we parted, I opened my eyes and looked at him, expecting him to be looking back but his eyes were shut. “Jameson?” 

    “Hmm?”

    “You ok?” 

    “Yeah. Just taking it in Heiress.” When he opened his eyes, he wore a soft smile that made me feel shy again. He kissed the side of my head. “Thank you for that.”

    “Oh. You’re welcome,” I said bashfully. 

    He hummed a reply before speaking up again, “So, what did you think? Does it fulfill your expectation of a mistletoe kiss?”

    I shrugged. “I’ve never really cared about that tradition let alone thought about what it’d be like.”

    “Fair enough. But I do hope I set a standard for you now.” My eyebrows raised in bemusement. “Hey, you’ve got to let me have something to brag about.” I rolled my eyes. 

    “What I would like to know is where you got that sprig in the first place.”

    “All in due time, all in due time. Patience is an arduous virtue one must learn but conquer nonetheless.”

    “Stop philosophizing about something you don’t even have the skill set for.”

    “Well, miss, less questions, more kissing. Simple as that.” 

    “Practice what you preach then, Hawthorne. All I’m hearing is wor-” He shut me up with another kiss and then broke away just as quickly but hovered only a breath away from mine, teasing me before I put a hand to his collar and tugged sharply for him to get on with it. I felt him smile against my mouth and I stood on tiptoe, returning it in kind. We shared a few more kisses, a few playful ones and some just short pecks.

     The next time we pulled apart, we were both breathing hard. As Jameson recovered, he ran his fingers through my hair and smiled thoughtfully at me. “What?”

     He shook his head. “I was just thinking, despite all the shit that happened this year, turns out it was still a good one. You’re here with me even though I didn’t think that after…” I nodded in understanding.

    “Yeah, I get that.” What started out as a terrible year in the trenches with Libby and Drake turned into one of the biggest blessings even with its drawbacks. I had Jameson now and that was all that mattered. As I turned back to him, he pulled me into a warm hug. For a moment we stood like that, just enjoying the comfort it brought before he loosened his hold and broke the silence.

“With a mistletoe sprig and a firelit kiss, the couple started to reminisce, thinking about all that was and all that could be, knowing now they’ve truly become a we, there was room for new merriness and bliss while hoping it would be a very good first Christmas.”

    “Whoa there, Sir Moore. What happened to the rest of the poem?” 

    “Eh, we already got to the good part. Plus, it takes a lot longer when you’re the one trying to make up the rhymes to fit in with the preexisting structure.” 

    “I thought you said you could make stuff up on the spot.” I giggled until he muffled the laugh by pressing his lips to mine again. “Mmmh.” He smirked when he pulled away. 

    “Be my guest, Heiress. Let's see what you got.”

    I grinned at the challenge. “Once he had finished his part and she admired for a time in his art, her thoughts turned forward, past the New Year’s grandness and wondered how they would fill up their blank canvas.”

    His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Impressive. Not bad, not bad. But definitely beginner’s luck.”

    “It’s alright not always being up to my speed, Hawthorne.” 

    “Fine, I shall concede just this once.” I smiled triumphantly. “Merry Christmas, Heiress.”    “Merry Christmas, Jamie.” His resulting smile had never been more beautiful or joyous than in that moment. When he leaned in to kiss me again, I really did wonder about the year to come and what it would bring. Let it be a good one, please.

   “Merry Christmas, Heiress.”

   “Merry Christmas, Jamie.” His resulting smile had never been more beautiful or joyous than in that moment. When he leaned in to kiss me again, I really did wonder about the year to come and what it would bring. Let it be a good one, please.

A/N: See you in the next one! Hopefully will get a few more out before the true end of holidays. Merry Christmas once more and Happy New Year to everyone!!!!!!

[themoonweaversden]

Messeges that were found so far: STAN / STANLEY PINES / STAN PINES / STANLEY (spoilers)

This is just to collect all the codes that you can type in in thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com and their effects only (please click images for better quality)

Masterpost with all messeges / codes

You have to keep spamming it to get all of these links

Eventually you'll get this:

Transcript:

"WHEEL! OF! SHAME!

STEP RIGHT UP! It's time to play my FAVORITE GAME!! BOOTLEG SIXER over HERE spent a LIFETIME trying to hide his humiliations, BUT I'VE BEEN INSIDE HIS MIND, so NOW they're ALL YOURS for the low price of BEING MY NEW PAL! IT'S SHOWTIME FOLKS, AND THE ONLY WAY TO LOSE IS TO BE NAMED STANLEY PINES! CLICK BELOW TO SEE WHAT THIS MOUTH BREATHING CARNIVAL BAKER HAS BEEN KEEPING TO THE VEST ALL THESE YEARS. BROUGHT TO YOU BY: SHAME!

"SHAME:™ IT'S THE ONE FRIEND WHO NEVER LEAVES!"

EX-WIVES!

FEARS

SECRET SHAMES

UNREPORTED CRIMES

FAILED PRODUCTS

LOWEST MOMENTS

DARKEST THOUGHT

HOW HE BEAT ME"

If you click EX-WIVES

Transcript:

"EX-WIVES

Old Goldie Vegas wedding to a cursed gold-toothed antique.

Marilyn Fakenamé Vegas wedding to a cursed gold-toothed antique.

Brenda Chuggins Shack attraction for having "World's Biggest Thumb." (Carny Tip: Never date your own freaks. She used that thumb to hitch-hike off with Johnny Snakes 3 days later)

Sandra Sweetmeadow A kind beautiful Amish girl eho made Stan choose between her and his "sinful gold chains." He chose the chains.

Someone named "Burline" Stan has no idea who she is, but he found her wedding ring in the Shack Lost & Found, put it on, and it got stuck forever. Physically binding. Might be legally binding!

His childhood poster of "Attack of the 50 Foot Woman" (8 year old Stanley drew a ring on the poster and made Sixer witness.)

Natalia Annika Ömanövv Totally un-suspicious turist from a country that no longer legally exists. She took Stanley's creedit card and social security number while he was sleeping and still "checks in on him" via hidden cameras. Ah, love!"

If you click FEARS

Transcript:

"FEARS

The IRS Finding Out

Soos being the one to find Stan dead and taxidermying his body. (Soos would consider this an honor)

The cops calling Stan's fingertips "unusually little."

Betting Dipper in a poker game (and losing.)

Word getting out about Stan's little fingertips, people discovering that they're littler than Ford's.

Stan being dubbed "Baby-Fingers Pines" by the media and having to look into black market finger enlarging."

If you click SECRET SHAMES

Transcript:

"SECRET SHAMES

The time Wendy beat Stan in arm wrestling. 3 times in a row. She never has to work overtime as long as she never tells a soul.

The fact that no one came to his fake funeral except his mom and an IRS agent who whispered to the coffin "this isn't over."

The quick cash Stan made in 1975 posing for a "Hunky Drifters Catalogue" that wasn't as tasteful and classy as the job listing made it sound.

Was the baby mascot for the "Fussy Boy" Brand diaper rash commercials. (Claims that was Ford.)

Writing His Duchess Approves erotic fan-novel: "The Duke's Temptations at Oglebottom Estate.""

If you click UNREPORTED CRIMES

Transcript:

"UNREPORTED CRIMES

The time Stan hit Toby Determined with his car and just... kept driving.

Illegally breeding wolves to create a "super wolf." You should hear this thing howl.

Pretending to be a veteran to get a discount on PEZ, then having to invent an entire fake war in a fake country to keep the ruse going. Stan still has a "Remember Operation Enduring Excuse" bumper sticker, and regularly updates the Wikipedia page for the "People's Grepublic of Grunklestan."

Shooting out the tires of the Mythbusters Van after they axposing him for "looking kinda doughy" on tape.

Selling his heart medication to Children claiming it was "metal-flavored candy!"

Accidentally inhaling too much taxidermy glue, black out, and waking up to discover that he had somehow managed to rob himself. Still tracking down the lost boot buried by his arch-rival "Glue Stan""

If you click FAILED PRODUCTS

Transcript:

"STAN'S FAILED PRODUCTS

The "Wishy Washy!" - A washing machine that somehow makes your clothes dirtier.

The "Counter Fit!" - A rubber band you attach to your kitchen counter to exercise while doing dished. INJURY TOLL: 27

"Welcome to Gravity Town!" - A cartoon show pitch which was unanimously rejected by every network for "blatant Illuminati references."

"Flavored Lottery Tickets!" - Turns out that the kind of people who think they can win the lottery are the kind of people who ignore "do not swallow" instructions. LAWSUIT TOLL: 48

"THE SAD SHACK" - A burlap bag to cover your head so no one can see you rendomly crying during the day. Cheaper than therapy!

A soda called the "Drippy Stanley!" INGREDIENTS: Pine Sol, wood glue, & expired sun tan lotion. Soos tested it and now he can't remember the year 2000."

If you click LOWEST MOMENTS

Transcript:

"LOWEST MOMENTS

That time he somehow got an F- on a history test, which teachers thought was mathematically impossible. Filbrick made him stand on the lawn for two days holding a sign that said "Estra Stan, 3 dollars or better offer."

When "1998's Best Tourist Traps in Oregon" listed the "Mystery Shack" as #99 below "The world's bigest fence" and "the dog that might be thinking human thoughts."

His birthday the year before he met Dipper & Mabel. No one came to "Mr Mystery's Mystery-Age Party & Used Wolf Pet Sale" He'd spent hours writing comedy roasts of employees who never came, burned off one of his eyebrows attempting to make a cake, and drank the night away skeet shooting Sixer's old Beethoven Records.

The day after he met the twins, he overheard them debating whether they should escape out the window and report him to the FBI. Mabel shook a Magic 8-Ball and tey stayed.

Stripping for edible flour in Tijuana Please don't make me elaborate."

If you click DARKEST THOUGHT

Transcript:

"DARKEST THOUGHT

Pin all my crimes on Soos"

If you click HOW HE BEAT ME (You have to keep spamming)

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME He didn't! IM STILL HERE, SUCKER!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME LOOK the gambler got a lucky break, alright? A lifelong LOSER was due for ONE freak royal flush! What does it mean? NOTHING! LESS THAN NOTHING! NOT WORTH EVEN THINKING ABOUT!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY? That a guy who once tried to EAT THE DECORATIVE POTPURRI out of the bowl in the bank OUTSMARTED ME?! PLEASE! Goofus was just following Gallant's LEAD! It was SIXER'S PLAN, PTSD BARNUM is just a side character, a resume-inflating, cheap trick loving, past-denying overgrown child protected from failure only by a force field of DENIAL AND shamelessness! Sixer ate Stanley's potential in the womb, and the only thing interesting that ever happened to him started when I entered HIS head! END OF STORY! PERIOD. And I have NOTHING MORE TO SAY ABOUT IT!!!!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME ..."

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME AND ANOTHER THING! Ever since that pathetic excuse for a 5-sensed three Dimensional one lifespanned skin-puppet was barfed into the universe, he was nothing but a carbon copy of a better genetic duplicate, and he knew it! A trillion years from now when I've broken out of this place nd taken over, he'll be remembered as the special bump under the cement truck of my inevitable triumph asterisk next to an asterisk next to an asterisk next to an asterisk who would be a joke if he was capable of understanding comedy whehich he OBVIOUSLY isn't, I mean, have you heard the hacky matreials he does on his tours, I've been inside his dreams, he WORKSHOPS that material, he PAVES over it, and the best he can do are some puns that would make a third grader cringe and vaudeville that were hack before they were even invented! Its an insult that showed to wear a suit and tie, he should be in a BARREL with SUSPENDERS!

HACK JOKES. CODEPENDENT. SELF-PITYING STUPID "FULLY CLOTHED WOMEN" COULDNT WIN LOCAL ELECTION SMUG SAS-CROTCH TACKY UNWORTHY CLICHE DREAMS "SINGIN' SALMON" AND THAT'S THE FINAL WORD!"

Transcript for this image in specific taken from this Google doc

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME OKAY I SEE WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE! You’re just like those those PREACHY INFANTILZING AUTOMOTONS AT THETHERAPRISM who are SO OBSESSED with getting me to TALK about my “FEELINGS”. YOU THINK YOU CAN GET A RISE OUT OF ME?! TRY! I DARE YOU! I DARE YOU!”

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME KEEP CLICKING! SEE WHAT HAPPENS! I CAN OUT-LAST YOU PAL! DO YOU REALIZE WHO YOU’RE STEPPING TO HERE?! IM LITERALLY INSANE! TRY IT! KEEP TRYING IT! I’VE GOT FOREVER, LET’S GO! COME ON! GO! KEEP CLICKING! KEEP DOING IT!”

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME KEEP DOING IT!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME I LOVE IT!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!

⚠︎ FLASH WARNING FOR THE FILES BELLOW ⚠︎

Transcript:

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!"

Transcript:

"DO Y Ou even fAThoM ho W muCH pAIN IM"

Transcript:

"sOMeTIMES when i CLOSE my eyE i caN"

Transcript:

"I cAN STiLL sEe (encoded in alchemic sipher, author's cipher, theraprism and color cipher (in that order))"

Decoded messege: "The eyes of everyone I've ever"

(last three images)

[ducktoonsfanart]

Quack Pack Kids (Preteens and Teenagers) and Young Adults (Boys and Girls) - My sketches -Game, Well-To-Do-Duck, Wild, Friend(s), Cultured, Emotional, Obscure and Nostalgic Duck (s) and FREE SPACE DUCKS (plus geese, parrots, rooster and pigeon) - Duckvember - Quack Pack AU and Duckverse (Donald Duck and Ze Carioca comics, Ducktales, Darkwing Duck and Quack Pack) - My style

After a long time, I finally drew my drawings, a newer edition, related to my favorite characters, primarily children (preteens and teenagers) and young adults. I was inspired by the brilliant Alessandro Gottardo, who draws Donald Duck and his family, friends and rivals and publishes them on his Instagram page, and who previously worked on Topolino comics, so he encouraged me to draw my favorite characters in my own way, modeled on his sketches, but this time as a Quack Pack version or as I would imagine them in a Quack Pack version (my version of Quack Pack AU). Since I didn't have time to do everything related to this year's Duckvember, I drew more characters related to multiple themes since it's hard to decide who belongs to whom, but in my own way. I would draw more characters, but I will do that another time, because these are not the only ones who would appear in Quack Pack AU. Yes, I combined Italian, Danish, Dutch, Brazilian comics, Ducktales 1987, Darkwing Duck and the original Quack Pack, in my own way to be in one gathering. Family and friends of Donald's nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie.

And I'm posting on the occasion of Universal Children's Day which is celebrated on November 20th (along with June 1st as an alternative date and the first Sunday of October as Children's Week), so Happy Children's Day! The three separate drawings I drew represent mostly preteens and teenagers as they would look in my Quack Pack version, since it wouldn't fit all in one drawing. The first drawing shows Huey, Dewey and Louie, April, May and June Duck, Gosalyn Mallard and Webby Vanderquack in my style (taking mostly the Topolino style). The second drawing shows boys and mostly features Phooey and Kablooie Duck, Honker Muddlefoot, Zico and Zeca Carioca (nephews of Jose Carioca), Newton Gearloose (Gyro's nephew), Sonny Seagull (Garvey Gull from the Egmont comics), Gene the Genie (more of a boy), Gustav Goose, Doofus Drake, Dugan Duck (Fethry's nephew), and Shamrock Gander (Gladstone's nephew). Yes, Kabooie Duck is Donald's fifth lost nephew and wears mostly brown clothes and is in between my version of Phooey and Honker. Gustav is a friend of Donald's nephews in the Quack Pack, but in my headcanon he is Gus's distant nephew. The third drawing shows girls and young women who are still adolescents, but now adults, more like in their late twenties. This refers to Dickie Duck (Goldie's granddaughter), Loretta MacBridge (Brigitta's niece) and Matilda De Spell (Magica's younger cousin) who is located in the lower part of the drawing. The others are teenage girls Minima De Spell (Magica's niece), Vanessa (a friend of Donald's nephews from the Area 15 comics and mostly Dewey's and Louie's girlfriend), Susie McGuider (from the Quack Pack "Ducks by Nature") and an unknown duck from the Quack Pack from the episode "Shrunken Heroes". Since she doesn't have a name, I decided in my headcanon to name her Dottie Duck and she is Daisy's distant niece who appeared once in an old comic, but is now a teenager. I hope you like this and like these versions.

If you like these drawings and are fans of these characters, feel free to like and reblog this. Just don't use the same versions of mine from my drawings without mentioning me and without my permission. Thanks! Also Happy Children's Day and congratulations to Topolino on their 3600th anniversary edition!

[cobalt-axolotl]

I plan on doing art RQS (request not the remnant queue system)

I would love if you submitted your head cannons and ask me my own.

About me

I am a demiromantic pansexual demiboy

I fictionkin Cassidy

Cassidy is my main blorbo

My prounouns he/him

My name is Austin but I also go by cobalt, charlie (my middle name is charles), and that mother fucker

My favorite fandoms are the following: homestuck, COTL, scp, fnaf, dsaf, Dhmis. Danny phantom, megaman, creepypasta, glitch productions, Minecraft, Ben 10, omori, undertale, sonic, gravity falls, Pokémon, bendy, TcoA&L, analog horror as a whole (especially Mandela catalog, angel hare, and Midwest Angelica), gr3gory88, helluva boss, hazbin hotel, TF2, moral orel, half life, half life VR but the AI is self aware, bioshock, 5YL, Spooky’s Jump-scare Mansion, The owl house, epithet erased, amphibia, Steven universe, Henry stickmin, disc world, AO ONI, pizza tower, and various tokusatsu

My favorite animal is the axolotl

I mainly post incorrect quotes and art but I do run an ask blog for my AU’s

I am a simp for papyrus undertale

Minecraft is my favorite video game

I run an 14+ blog

By the time I am making this edit I am 18 years old.

My OTPs are Evan x Cassidy and marlie

DNI (do not interact)

Transphobes

Racist

Sexist

TERFs

Homophobes

Pedophiles

Trolls

Stupid people (people who refuse to learn)

List of my AUs and they’re connected cannons

Golden children (fnaf)

Shattered souls (fnaf)

Malefactor malfunction (fnaf and Ben 10)

Glam it (fnaf)

Triple M (scp)

Xanthophobia (fnaf)

GMTC (fnaf and undertale)

B&P (fnaf and dnd)

NUCN (fnaf)

SBR (fnaf)

Under void (undertale)

Fazrune (fnaf and deltarune combo)

Like it never even happened (fnaf)

List of oc’s and ther connected AUs

Nick (my fnaf AUs)

Virgil (under void)

List of my AU’s with songs that describe them

Golden children: just gold by Mandi pony (I don’t like the guy I just like his music)

Shattered souls: creepin towards the dirt by griffinila

Malefactor malfunction: the ben 10 theme song (just replace the words Ben 10 with Cassidy)

Glam it: this comes from inside by the living tombstone

Triple M: secure container protect by madame macabre

Xanthophobia: look what you made me do by taylor swift

GMTC (give me the child): collared by vane

Bears and pizzerias: your the key by Kyle Allen music

Nicks ultimate custom night: replay your nightmare by hard ninja

Stuck in the back room (my alive AU): I’m still standing by Elton John

Under void: gasters theme by Toby fox

Characters in my AU’s

Cassidy Noelle Carter (died at 14 in golden child au) (in the golden children AU she becomes Fredbear and in the shattered souls, glam it, xanthophobia ,and malefactor malfunction AU she doesn’t die) (can speak German) (learned German so she can figure out what’s bothering Nick and calm him down) (in xanthophobia nicks death drives her to the point of insanity and causes here to become a serial killer “super edgy I know”) (in shattered souls she marries Evan but doesn’t change her last name due to her hatred for William) (learned Korean from her mother and is fluent it)

Evan afton (crying child) (died at 12 in golden children au but not dead in malefactor malfunction, glam it, xanthophobia, or shattered souls Au) (loses all sense of empathy after the bite of 83 in xanthophobia “a head injury can do that to you right?”) (marry’s cassidy in shattered souls)

Benny afton (Cassidy’s and Evan son biological son in shattered souls) (an analog to golden children Cassie)

Goldie (he’s here he’s there he’s everywhere who you gonna call psychic friend fred-bear)

Gregory afton (Vanessa’s brother in the golden children au) (trans gender FTM)

Cassie Maxie Carter (nick and Elizabeth’s adopted daughter in the golden children AU) (named after her aunt)

Kasey Roxanna Carter (Cassidy’s twin sister) (nicks older sister) (lesbian) (cares for Nick as much as Cassidy but is unable to understand him at times) (neli’s ex girlfriend) (posses Roxanne wolf) (currently dating Susie) (learned Korean from her mother and is fluent in it)

Gaberiel grim (died at 10) (died in 1985) (possesses Freddy)

Jeremy grim (died at 11) (died in 1985) (posses Bonnie)

Fritz smith(died at 3) (died in 1985) (posses foxy)

Susie McCarthy (died at 14) (died in 1985) (posses chica) (Kasey’s current girlfriend)

Adrian smith(died at 5) (died in 1987) (part of the second mci) (posses mangle)

Millie fitzsimmons (died at 18) (died in 1987) (part of the second mci) (possesses toy Bonnie)

Markus Murphy (died at 17) (died in 1987) (part of the second mci) (possesses toy Freddy)

Nelli Twain ( died at 16) (died in 1987) $part of the second mci) (possesses toy chica) (Kasey’s ex girlfriend)

Jake McCarthy (died at 6) (died in 2016) (used to posses stitch wraith along with Andrew)

Andrew Montgomery Emily (died at 16) (died in 1987) (part of the second MCI) (posses Monty in the golden children au) (used to possess stitch wraith along with Jake) (was besties with Cassidy and Evan)

Charlie Emily / Charlie afton (not dead in the golden children or Xanthophobia au) (is dead in shattered souls) (marries Mike in the golden children au)

Mike afton

Vanessa afton (Mike and Charlie’s daughter in golden children au)

Elizabeth Clair Afton / Elizbeth Clair Carter (doesn’t die or posses baby in the golden children au) (died at 8 in the shattered souls & malefactor malfunction AU’s) (is nicks best friend) (dies to circus baby in shattered souls au) (takes Evan’s place in shattered souls au) (born in 1979 in the main 2 AU’s) (married to Nick as an adult in the golden children au) (going to college to become a psychologist in the golden children au)

Malary Emily ( Henry’s wife) (Charlie and Sammy’s mom)

Henry emily (dies at 63) (championed for better treatment of autism in the golden children AU)(mentored Nick in robotics after Edd’s death)

Clair afton (died at 20 due to suicide) (Williams ex)

Loralai afton (Williams current life) (survives in every AU I made) (her name is also a pun on Ballora) (Evan and Elizabeth’s mom)

William Afton (Dies at 36)

Dave miller (nicks therapist) (named after book and DSAF Dave)

Nikki Carter (Nick, Kasey, and Cassidy’s mom) (Korean immigrant) (left while Nick was too young to remember) (may or may not have indirectly been the cause of David’s abuse to towards Nick)

Malcom faraday zanaflex (main protagonist of my scp au)

Dr Elias Munro (died at 79 on the year 1981) (original owner of fredbear’s sing’n show) (was a father figure to Henry and William) (was their boss before he retired in 1955)

Zachary Munro/nightmarionne (not dead) (became a mutant after a remnant injection) (immortal) (grandson of Elias)

Garret schmit (basically Garret from the movie combined with Mike from the movie)

Abby schmit (just Abby from the movie)

Jeremy Fitzgerald

Sammy Lewis emily (is younger than Charlie in these AU’s) (like around nicks age) (non verbal until his twelfth birthday) (good with Rubik’s cubes) (dies in xanthophobia and takes charlottes place as the puppet)

Billy (AI created by William afton to watch after evan while he worked on his projects)

Jack Kennedy (named after the one from DSAF just nota corpse) (Bonnie mask Bully) (gave Nick the spring Bonnie mask) (was much less willing than mikes other friends during the bite of 83) (mikes right hand man)

Maddison Simmons (jacks girlfriend) (chica mask Bully) (was much more willing than her boyfriend)

Jerry Mann (Freddy mask bully) (just as willing as Mike & Emilia)

Vinny (literally just exist to be Sammy’s boyfriend because I don’t like Sammy being forever alone)

Nickolas Alastair Carter (Kasey and Cassidy’s younger brother) (has a red Bonnie plushi named mr Marvo) (is a paranoid schizophrenic) (was raised by his sisters due to them having bad parents) (takes Cassidy’s place in shattered souls au) (works at the pizzaplex in the glam it au) (born in 1983 in the main 2 AU’s) (has a slightly un healthy obsession with Bonnie the bunny) (was hired on by Henry during the events of fnaf 1 in golden children AU) (often wore a Red Bonnie halloeeen mask as a child) (can speak German but only does it when he’s extremely angry or when he finds a certain word to be extremely funny) (autistic “like me”) (he’s also really defensive about his intellect) (died in a ball pit in shattered souls au) (acespec panromantic) (post ffps his soul transfers into eclipse in the SS Au)

Edwin Alastair Carter (Aka. Grandpa eddy) (Nick and Cassidy’s grand father) (their only parrental figure that isn’t abusive to Nick) (was hired by Henry and William to design the springlock suits) (built the mimic as a friend for Nick) (also made the old man consequences AI)

David mobi carter (Nick, Kasey, and Cassidy’s father) (abusive towards Nick in specific) (Cassidy is his favorite) (ignores Kasey) (is manipulative towards Nick)

Old man consequences (an AI that acts as a sorta therapist to Nick in my AU’s)

Nightmare (before being possessed by half of nicks soul it was the first working springlock suit known as proto lefty) (not one of the nightmare animatronics) (half of nicks soul)

Marvo Marvelous (half of nicks soul in the shattered souls au) (a red magician hare)

NYX

Glitchtrap (separate from mimic) (had his consciousness put into a roomba)

Captain poncho (nicks imaginary friend) (scares Gagleon)

Stitch wraith (possessed by Andrew and Jake)

Fredbear (possessed by Cassidy and Evan in golden children au)

Plush trap (in the golden child au he is a little drone sent out by null trap)

Null (second spring Bonnie suit that William place Evans body in after he died) (possessed by Evan in the both AU’s)

Mxes the hare (in the au he is named after mr mxes) (the au version of him looks more human in the AUs) (in golden children au he was first an animatronic for the fnaf 1 location that filled the same role as the then defunct security puppet) (created my nick)

RWQFSFASXC (all of nicks insecurities in physical form) (main antagonist of the GMTC AU) (shadow Bonnie)

Shadow Freddy

Mr mxes (has half of Cassidy’s soul inside of it in golden child au) (is choc full of agony from Nick)

Mimic (nick and Cassidy pretend he’s their older brother as in all three AU’s he just lives with the two)

Nickolai (animatronic human built by Henry as a third entertainer at fredbear’s family diner) (starts wearing a Fredbear Halloween mask after the mci for… “reasons”)

Void Bonnie (shattered souls spring Bonnie) (has a shadow variant name dark trap) (this Springbonnie is possessed by Nick not William afton as he simply feeds off of William’s agony) (heroic counterpart to Springtrap) (takes golden Freddy’s place in shattered souls AU) (born from Nick’s corpse being put into a certain ball pit) (name after the void between the physical and spiritual plains)

Mangle

Miketrap (the pit creature before metamorphosing into pit Bonnie) (a Monroe experiment)

Salvage (an old springlock suit given life through mysterious means) (a Monroe experiment)

Nightmarionne (a nightmare version of the puppet) (a Monroe experiment)

Remnant Queue System (the shadow’s child)

Night-watch (machine built by Mike to hunt down what’s left of Fazbear entertainment and destroy William once and for all) (-the rebuilt endo of Fredbear)

The classics

The toy animatronics

The withered animatronic

Springtrap (not darktrap) (in shattered souls darktrap used the spring locks to curve his violent tendencies and forget about him being a killer) (in shatttered souls his charge goes from being a humanized billcipher as William to a dsaf Dave miller and gruncle stan combo as Springtrap)

The nightmares (evil versions of the twisted ones in the golden children au)

The fun times

Ennard the clown (the in between of the fun times and glamrocks with his blood lust being replaced by a humanoid level of sapience) (has a shape sifting gimmick which he uses to entertain kids)

The Glamrocks

The twisted ones (in the my AU’s they’re good guys and built by Mike along with night-watch)

The hellfire animatronics (upgraded versions of the twisted ones)

The night terror animatronics (scrap’s, night terror Freddy, night terror Bonnie, night terror foxy, and night terror chica,)

The salvage animatronics (salvage Monty, salvage freddy, salvage ennard, and darktrap) (constructed from broken animatronics) (end is are exposed) (partially inspired by the ignited animatronics)

And the omori charecters are cannon to the malefactor malfunction au cuz why the fuck not

The springlock animatronics (fredbear, spring Bonnie, and Alastair)

Villains for malefactor malfunction can be found here

How the AU’s work

Each au has four version (book style in which it falls into silver eye’s continuity, game style in which it falls into game continuity, movie style in which it falls into movie continuity, and amalgam style in which it combines all three continuity’s into one)

In xanthophobia Cassidy is the villain (William afton die’s extremely soon in the AU and for once in his life never comes back)

So in my most of my AU’s the souls are able to grow old despit not being alive which explains any shipping you might see. Most of it isn’t my doing though

Elizabeth x Nick is only cannon in golden children

Unless its Evan x Cassidy or Mike x Charlie

TF2 is cannon in the golden children au (i mostly just wanted to make fnaf 2 Jeremy TF2 Jeremy)

The golden children au takes place in the late 80s to early 90s with flash forwards towards the pizzaplex era while the shattered souls au takes place in 1991 and the malefactor malfunction shifts the entire time line to start in 2000 GMTC takes place around 1999 to 2018 xanthophobia takes place in in the 2000s and 2010s

In shattered souls Springtrap is much nicer due to him losing his murdeous tendencies after getting spring locked

malefactor malfunction is a Ben 10 fnaf crossover with Cassidy having a version of the omnitrix called kaizotrix

The blog itself is cannon in all AU’s

This is a link to the malefactor malfunction aliens list for all of Cassidy’s kaizotrix transformations

As well as facts about the malefactors

Also a timeline for my main AU

*Warning*

Some times I can be very cringe

Check these people out too

@sparkledogzvomit

@sotogalmo

@asksamanthalawrence324

@hearts4ggy

@therealprismcat

@afton-family-askblog

@midnight--motorist

@corpserabbit

@sassysoulstranger

@harley-angel

@simply-icarus

@fredbearcassidy

@wind-the-music-box

@kriemhild-kafka

@dommarhooober

@sea-menace

@ask-basil-omori

@amilotta

@apocalypticjay

@shywizardflower

@beardedstrangerdreamland

@ilovelawrencee

@kaycrowley

@lizzie-get-in-the-robot

@vinyl-lol

@viarayy01-blog

@ghosts-cant-die-twice

@it-came-from-mount-ebott

@idsfantasy

@childo0p

@thecryptidart1st

@the-smiley-blue-axolotl

@museumoftinyhens

@i-live-in-your-basement

@serpentdragon777

@ramunehana (if you 18+)

@artistmediocore

Also check my alts

@cobal-axolotl-undertale

@tokucross-fanproject

@red-documents-redo

@nick-and-cass

@nightmare-from-fnaf4

I also put Nick official design down here

Here is my creepypasta and uncharacteristically ask blog

An here at my character designs so far https://www.tumblr.com/random-world-64/735868089007259648/all-my-major-chararacters-so-far

And here’s some fanfics I’m working on

her is my sona AXOL

Lore alarm

The blog itself is also a cross over point for my AU’s and in multiverse it’s ran by the characters

[dreambones]

Old concept of the game I want to make one day with Luka and Goldie as protagonists.

This year I learned about Sam & Max games and I have been absolutely loving them (Ive only played Sam & Max save the World and I am midway still so no spoilers please!) and they have been a big influence in how I want this game to look and be like.

I don't think I would commit to a completely side scroller, but something along those lines mixed with my usual rpgm top view.

Ideally I would like it to have chapters, with each one focusing in a different problem and different character, with a vague link between them as if they were tv cartoon episodes.

I barely have the bones of the project but it's something I have fun thinking around and maybe one day I have the chance to focus on making it real.

[astrodances]

Oooo for the drabble thing how's about

"Would you kill me if I sent you flowers?"

and you know this just oozes scroldie 😆

Yes, it most certainly does!! 😁 And thank you for the prompt!

Happy (belated) Valentine's Day, and I hope you enjoy this! 💜

AO3 link here

_____

The Love Language of Nature

Want to send a special message to your Valentine? Say it with flowers!

Goldie’s eye caught on the flier taped to the inside of the window in front of her. She’d been walking through downtown Duckburg, between errands, heist-planning, and errands for heist-planning, doing some window-browsing. Every window display was making her painfully aware of the upcoming holiday, yet she still took time to take note of things she couldn’t help but want to get for her special someone. Because of course she would.

The flower arrangements displayed before her were admittedly beautiful, and Goldie had seen plenty to compare around the world in her years. But these were close, were here, and the store offered free delivery with purchase if booked a week or more before the big day.

And the flier’s implications were making it all the more tempting. It listed a whole slew of flowers, and their special, hidden meanings.

She wasn’t the best with words, she knew that; maybe flowers were her love language?

Browsing through the list still, she pulled out her phone and asked Siri (Louie had given her a smartphone 101 walkthrough a while ago, insisting that she needed to “up her tech game to at least the basics, c’mon” if she was going to pull off schemes in the modern age, and especially with him) to call Scrooge. She couldn’t wait around for him to answer a text (which she was very good at, thank you very much) lest she lose her nerve.

It took him three rings to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sourdough. Would you kill me if I sent you flowers?”

“That depends, are they poisonous?” Scrooge asked, not missing a beat.

There was an elevator ding in the background on his end, then more of an open din, and Goldie knew he was at the Money Bin. She automatically turned to the behemoth structure in the distance, as if it would amplify their conversation, and her ensuing indignation.

She let out an offended squawk. “Hey! No they are not, thank you, but if you’re gonna be like that, then never mind!”

He laughed, and the sound reminded her why she did want to send the flowers, darn him. “Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he unfortunately had to point out.

“Yeah, well...”

So sending him a bouquet of lilies, tulips, and lupine from a mythic beast’s wedding from the Underworld to rid herself of a curse hadn’t been her finest hour.

He lived.

“Would you kill me if I sent you flowers?” Scrooge asked, reversing the question.

A blush bloomed through her cheeks instantly. “I...n-no...” So much for not being cursed - her heart was getting softer by the second these days, it seemed.

“Then there’s your answer, dear. Look at you, being so thoughtful.”

Goldie’s brain was ready to self-combust at that, but she had to recover some of her dignity as this call came to a close. A quick, stabilizing breath, and- “Yeah, yeah, just try to forget this conversation ever happened, Sourdough. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sounds grand.” There was a squeak of his old desk chair as he sat down. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Despite the teasing, the warm smile was what remained as Goldie hung up and scanned over the flower list once more before strolling into the flower shop. The air was intoxicating with lovely, fresh scents - heck, all flowers were poisonous if they made her feel like this, this...light, giddy, and airy, and despicably drunk with love.

“Hey there, welcome to Rhoda’s Dendrons! Anything I can help you with today?” the young duck with curly black hair behind the front counter asked.

Goldie’s roving gaze snapped to her as she approached. She tapped a finger on an identical flier from the window that was laminated and taped to the counter’s glass top. “Yeah, I’d like to order some flowers for delivery...”

_____

On the evening of Valentine’s Day, an elaborate arrangement of flowers sat atop Scrooge’s dresser in a tall, multi-tiered golden vase. A pamphlet version of the store’s flower guide, with the bouquet’s choices checkmarked with hearts in a sugary pink ink, laid waiting on the floor next to the bed, its seal broken despite the bashful protests the sender had put up for its recipient to wait to read until the next day (or until her near-impossible death, thanks immortality).

(She had insisted that the pamphlet be included, on a whim of courage, because as embarrassed as she would be, she was also pretty sure he wouldn’t have a clue about the language of flowers, as far as she knew.)

And thankfully, he had read it (as she sat next to him on his bed in half-mortification, half-burning-desire, holding his hand and looking away, his own squeeze growing stronger by the second between sounds of amusement and adoration), because she had been immediately bombarded with hundreds of loving kisses when he finished reading, and now they laid entangled together, happily exhausted, utterly closer in heart, and basking in a symphony of floral aromas.

On the pamphlet, the following flowers were checked off:

Blue salvia - I think of you

Dahlia - good taste

Heliotrope - eternal love, devotion

Lady’s slipper - capricious beauty

Lilac - joy of youth

Pink rose - happiness

Red camellia - you’re a flame in my heart

Red carnation - I admire you and am missing you

Red rose - love, I love you

Red salvia - forever mine

White camellia - you’re adorable

White chrysanthemum - truth

White clover - think of me

Yarrow - everlasting love

[goldensunset]

i think. i am too young for you

[goldie90]

Because it seems like it needs to be said...

First, this is going to be quite long, so my apologies in advance, but I think it is important to address and explain these things and there is simply no way to make it shorter.

Since over the past week, the same person who has been bad mouthing me since february 2023 (as already mentioned here: Goldie — In relation to this post: I know I've already...), apparently felt the need to dig up things from the past again (including old screenshots which funny enough have never been a secret to begin with), I feel like I might should elaborate a few things.

First things first: As already mentioned before, the whole thing started back in february 2023. At this time me and this person used to be mutuals and although we didn't interact much (just a few asks here and there etc.) the few interactions we had have always been positive.

Now some of you maybe know that around this time a certain pc game named Hogwarts Legacy was released and some people were posting about it, sharing their first impressions of the game, sharing screenshots etc. And for me who has been a fan of the Harry Potter franchise since childhood, those were interesting news - not because I wanted to buy or play said game, I'm not playing video games except for sometimes The Sims when I feel like it, but simply for the nostalgia it gave me. You know, I read the first HP book back when it came out in 1998, I was 8 years old at this time and I didn't like to read, I didn't like it at all. But then I read this book and it changed little me's opinion about books forever because I truly enjoyed it, so of course when the following books of the series came out, I read them as well, just like I watched all the movies (which back then was especially fun because just like everyone my age, I had the benefit of being the same age as the characters). So yeah, I think you can see why seeing the screenshots of the game felt nice and so it happened that I reblogged some of them, simply for the nostalgia. I didn't know back then that the author of HP (Joanne K. Rowling) was (and still is) engaging in very discriminatory behavior towards trans people, as I have never been on twitter (which as I learned later is apparently her number 1 platform to spread her harmful opinions) and I'm also not someone who keeps up to date with celebrity gossip, because that's simply not something I'm interested in.

So I had no idea and because of this I was very surprised and confused when shortly after reblogging the Hogwarts Legacy pictures, I received a very rude ask in which someone was demanding that I tag posts related to this game, claiming that it was "transphobic" and "antisemitic", as well as some insults directed at the author of HP. This ask was on anon, it was not signed in any way, nothing. Therefore I had no idea who sent it. All I knew was that this situation (receiving a rude anon like this) brought back bad memories because only a few months before I had a similar thing happening when an anti sent me an anon ask, demanding a nsfw tag for a slightly suggestive selfship post of mine and how me responding to it back then, resulted in being harassed for 5 days straight by antis. I didn't want something like this to happen again, so instead of answering the ask, I deleted it and made a short info post for my followers in which I asked them to please don't send me asks demanding specific tags for my posts/reblogs, and that if someone doesn't like the content on my blog, they could just unfollow and/or block me.

The next day when I logged into tumblr, I was basically greeted with a bitchy post from said mutual on my dash, complaining about me not answering their ask as well as about the info post I made instead, which was how I even found out that it was them who sent me the ask. Apparently they didn't thought I would see their post since back then, their selfship blog was a sideblog and so while they apparently blocked me on their main after reading my post, they forgot to block me on their sideblog as well and their bitch-post about me showed up on my dash. And now I made a stupid mistake, annoyed by their behavior, the rude ask, the public complaining about me, I reblogged their post and commented it with "Oh okay, now I know who the idiot in my inbox was" That was unnecessary and I shouldn't have done this, but right in this moment I wasn't thinking much of it, especially since I already wasn't in the best state of mind at this time due to other reasons (the situation with the antis mentioned above, a fallout with my best friend, as well as my late grandfather's death of cancer only two months before). Short: I wasn't doing well at all and I guess that's why I simply didn't have the patience for something like this on top of everything else. Of course that's not an excuse, but that's how it was and I won't pretend otherwise.

Either way, this little incident between me and this person would have been nothing more than exactly this - a little incident - if it was up to me. You know, something that might annoys you for a little moment, but then you shrug it off and move on. Little did I know that this was just the beginning of a much bigger issue. This user spent the rest of this day with making multiple bitch posts about me, freaking out way more than what would have been reasonable for this kind of situation and then a few days later they started their slander campaign against me, spreading rumors about me being a "transphobe" and "ableist" (the latter apparently because during our disagreement I said that if they freak out like this because of a picture of a castle and some landscapes, they probably got some bigger issues to work on), which resulted in people harassing and attacking me repeatedly, anons flooding my ask box with insults, calling me a "transphobe", a "terf", a "bitch" a "cunt", telling me I deserve to die, that I should kill myself etc. Let me tell you, it was no fun.

But I gotta be honest, I didn't made it better because since they kept bringing up HP / JK, acting like enjoying the franchise I grew up with was suddenly a crime - all of this without ever showing me any proof of their accusations against the author - I simply decided to react in a spiteful way by purposefully reblogging posts about not only Harry Potter, but also the author, fully convinced that she - the person who created this amazing story - would never engage in the kind of behavior those people were accusing her of. After all it goes against everything she wrote in her books....

So for the next weeks it kept going on like this - for every hate anon I received, I would reblog more posts about her, kinda as a big "F*ck you" towards the people harassing me. Then one day when I reblogged another post from a person expressing their support for JK, it happened that the op started to follow me and after a few interactions I followed back. A couple more interactions and he DM'ed me, started a conversation with me and for the first time since my fallout with my ex friend (more to this later), the thought of someone new trying to become friends with me didn't felt scaring to me. There was something about him I can't quite explain but it made me feel safe and comforted and so me and him became friends rather quickly and although I saw the red flags (they were hard to miss ngl) I ignored them, grateful to finally have someone around on this website again who was nice to me, someone who was there for me through this situation and who protected me, or so he said....

He started to openly attack people who would give me trouble or say something bad about me, which of course only made things worse and I asked him repeatedly not to do this, to just let it be but it always resulted in him either ignoring my words, or agreeing just to go right back to it 1 - 2 days later, always emphasizing that he was just "trying to protect me" which put me in a situation where I felt like I owed him something, so I started to make open excuses for his behavior, backing him up no matter what he said or did and just displaying my loyality to him since I knew that's what he expected from me. During this time, he would also target the ex mutual who had started the rumors that caused the whole mess in the first place a few times and because of the trouble I had to endure thanks to this person in the past, I was more than happy to join in, viewing it as some kind of "payback". I'm not proud of this, yet it happened and I would never deny it.

Things got really bad and of course our behavior only provoked the previous harassment I had to endure to escalate even more and at some point someone even made a whole blog about us, screenshoting our posts etc. This went on until one day my friend decided to write a public apology to the people he attacked during this time, to end this whole mess and make people leave the two of us alone.

From there on things finally improved, we parted ways one month later and another month later my ex friend @moss-selfship who couldn't be more different from him came back into my life and it was also him who, when I asked him about it, showed me actual proof for JK's harmful behavior, which was a very shocking and disappointing thing for me to see and of course, it led to me deleting everything I ever reblogged about her, as I'm not willing to support this woman in any way and I feel stupid and ashamed for ever doing so.😦 I also deleted every interaction with this former friend, as well as every other memory of this time, not to hide anything (as the ex mutual mentioned above was accusing me of lately) but simply because I don't want to have these things on my blog, since they were part of a very bad chapter of my life I don't want to have anything to do with anymore. Yet I never tried to pretend it didn't happen and I never would. The blog which was screenshoting all these things back then does still exist until this day and as you will see here, it was also where this person took the screenshots from when they tried to call me out about these old things a few days ago:

Just like they also decided to bring up the old fight between me and @moss-selfship to make distasteful comments about it, although this is something that's not only between us but also something we fixed and left behind us long ago

(Details can be found here: Goldie — As my friend already said (and as you can see here...)

As you already know, I did apologize to this person months ago, with help from my dear friend @moss-selfship who was the one who reached out to them and back then they promised to them that they would stop messaging people to as they like to call it "warn" them of me, but they didn't. From february 2023 when me and them had this "tag disagreement" until this day they kept slandering me and yes it is slandering since the "Goldie is a transphobe" lie they keep clinging to, has never been true at all. Same goes for the accusation of me being ableist, as well as some other things they said.

I spent the whole past year trying to make up for my previous mistakes and working on myself, trying to be a better person but thanks to this person it never stopped being very hard to just having fun on here and enjoying interactions etc. as they would always keep seeking out people I was interacting with to badmouth me, but you already know this from the post linked at the very top of this post here, so there is no need to elaborate this any further.

The only thing I wanted to make clear here is that:

The things they tried to present as something new, are things that happened long ago.

They have never been a secret to begin with, as the "phantom blog" has always been there, freely accessible for everyone.

I never tried to deny them in any way and I never would.

And this is all I have to say about this matter. If you read till there, thank you for taking the time and again, my apologies for it being so long. If you have any more questions about the things showed here, be it the old screenshots you can find on this blog or anything else, please do not hesitate to DM me and I will happily answer your questions.

Have a nice day.💖

[voidvannie]

⋆˚࿔  ꒰ 𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗬𝗦𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗬꒱  𝜗𝜚˚⋆

✦. ── 🎶it's the little things you do that make me want you and the not so little things that make me need you. 🎶 things, maggie lindemann

✦. ── pairing: trevor zegras x grayson kelce

✦. ── main masterlist things masterlist

✦. ── in which . . . we learn more about the dynamic between grayson, her dad, her stepmom and her uncle.

✦. ── feel free to send in any request for things you want to see in this series, or in any of the other series on my page. Or if you just want to share some thoughts about what you read, or if you want to talk about oc's!

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗸𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗱𝘆𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗰. ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

─── grayson & jason .ᐟ

✦ jason was only sixteen when he learned that his ex-girlfriend michelle was pregnant, and he was seventeen when grayson was born. ✦ after learning that michelle was pregnant, he was terrified to tell his parents that he was going to be a teenage father, but in the end, they were supportive of him. ✦ the thought of having a kid terrified him, yet he was super excited especially after finding out that he was having a daughter and he vowed to protect her with his life. ✦ for michelle, she didn't want to raise a kid so young & had suggested putting the unborn baby up for adoption, but jason was against the idea. ✦ jason made the decision to take care of his daughter on his own, and a week after she was born, michelle signed over all of her parenting rights, leaving him and his daughter. ✦ from the moment she was born, she had jason totally wrapped around her finger. ✦ because he was seventeen when she was born, jason's parents often left him to take care of grayson and the two of them had to grow up with each other. ✦ being the only parent in her life and still being a high school student was hard. when he had football practice and nobody could watch the newborn, jason had to take her with him. ✦ in 2011, when he was drafted to the eagles, his entire team feel in love with the little girl and would often take turns playing with her during practices. ✦ he always dressed her up in eagle's gear and got her a personalized jersey every time she outgrew one. ✦ she was often found at most home games, but she also went to all of his away games until she was either old enough to stay at home on her own, and after jason met kylie. ✦ when she was fifteen, allowed her to get her first tattoo and took her to get it. ✦ jason was supportive when she started posting videos of her singing on her social media and vine (which she was allowed to get once she turned fourteen). ✦ she has a moon tattoo on her knuckles that he drew for her. ✦ during the off-season, he goes to as many of her concerts as he can. ✦ he absolutely loves when he can brag about his daughter, her music and just her career in general. ✦ they don't keep secrets from each other . . . only her keeping her relationship with trevor a secret until she was ready to tell him.

─── grayson & travis .ᐟ

✦ travis was only fourteen when grayson was born, and just like her father and grandfather, she had him wrapped around her finger. ✦ he was at times jason's babysitter when he was grounded or just wasn't able to go anywhere before he could drive. ✦ travis was often seen carrying her around more than anyone other than jason, especially whenever she would cry. ✦ travis loves talking about his niece during interviews whenever she's mentioned. he's super proud of everything that she's accomplished. ✦ travis bought her first car when she was sixteen and got her license. ✦ as she grew older, her and travis grew more of a friendship bond than an uncle and niece bond, often doing out of pocket things that drove jason crazy. ✦ grayson once had a pet goldfish that she named goldie, but travis overfed it which ended up with the fist dying and he had to replace it before she noticed. he's never told her. ✦ she has a star tattoo on her knuckles that travis drew. ✦ travis goes to as many concerts as he can whether that's during the football season or on the off-season. ✦ they are always sending each other goofy text messages & memes that they see about each other. ✦ he took her to the taylor swift concert that jumpstarted his relationship with the country singer.

─── grayson & kylie .ᐟ

✦ kylie and jason met on tinder in 2014, and grayson was one of the first things that jason mentioned to the girl when they went on their first date. ✦ a couple months after they started dating, jason finally introduced his girlfriend to grayson and the two of them instantly adored one another. ✦ grayson had just turned eleven when kylie and jason began dating. ✦ kylie instantly took on the mother roll for grayson, and would often babysit the young girl for jason. ✦ at fifteen, when jason and kylie got married, grayson asked kylie to adopt her for a wedding gift. ✦ grayson has planets on her knuckles that kylie drew. ✦ when grayson and trevor went on their first date, kylie was instantly the first person who she called to tell her about. ✦ kylie and grayson are super close with one another, and though kylie is the only mother-figure in her life besides her grandmother that she had, the two of them also like to gossip like best friends. ✦ grayson was with kylie when she found out that she was pregnant with wyatt, and when the little baby was born, both kylie and jason surprised her with naming the baby after her. ✦ they don't keep any secrets from each other.

[fun-twisted-tales]

Ya’ll: Wait, how old are you? Movie!Slappy: ..Wait. Guess Ya’ll: 6 Snappy: *starts dying of laughter* Movie!Slappy: WHAT?!! Ya’ll: ..You said guess? Movie!Slappy: THAT WAS SO FAR OFF!!! Ya’ll: Why are you yelling at me? Movie!Slappy: THAT WASN’T EVEN CLOSE!! Ya’ll: Why are you yellin-? Movie!Slappy: WHAT?? Snappy: *still laughing* Movie!Slappy: Like normally, when people play that game, they guess a little bit younger. Was that the little bit younger guess? Ya’ll: Yeah, are you like 7? Movie!Slappy: WHAT?!!? Goldie: *joins in on the laughter* Ya’ll: Well, was I close? Movie!Slappy: … Movie!Slappy: NO!! Movie!Slappy: I’m not 7!!! Ya’ll: Oh.. Really?? Movie!Slappy: I’m 8 Ya’ll: Oh! I knew it!

Ya’ll: I was just being nic- Movie!Slappy: NO I’M NOT A FUCKING BABY!!!!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN “I KNEW IT”?!?!!!! Movie!Slappy: I’M 43!!! WTF!!! Ya’ll: OH HOLY FUCKING SHIT, YOU’RE OLD!! Movie!Slappy: WHAT?!!