#so like... if you have any i'd love to hear

[oonajaeadira]

Thank you. Thank you so so much for reading this and seeing it and giving me this beautiful feedback. I'm so sorry I'm dragging my feet on the epilogue. It's coming. I hadn't planned on initially, but after such a brutal chapter, I need to gentle them out of it and on with their lives.

Hence the watch in the shadowbox. Joel's spent so much time keeping going, he has to move fast and leave things behind and possessions come and go. But that watch is his one true thing, his one physical anchor, the only thing he can call his own and he keeps it strapped to his body because he might have to get up and run at any time and if he didn't have it, he'd feel unmoored and start wondering what kept him even a little good, a little human.

But here, he's finally finding that there's reason to trust that he won't have to run. There are other things keeping him anchored, other people. And the worst has already happened to the watch--it did go up in the fire. But there were more precious things to save--family, yes, but a whole existence he thought wasn't possible anymore, something Tess would have wanted for him, Sarah too. And he went out there without the reminder on his wrist not to lose his heart. And he made it home. And even then, the watch was found, so nothing of value was lost to him after all.

He saved what he could save. Including himself...by accepting that he sometimes has to step outside of humanity to keep it.

It makes me so happy that you appreciate Maria. She's a hard character to love in the series, but I do, especially in the TV version. I highly admire her drive. In the game, she was born into the family that started the town, but in the show she's a transplant. I decided to merge the two and have her start in the area and go and come back and let her be Meadowlark's tie to family. Because if it were me, I'd want to be close to her. She is hypocritical here because she's human and she's in charge. It's hard to justify difficult choices with all or nothing answers at the end of the world. Sometimes you have to make the choice to throw the switch when the train's barreling down the tracks. If anyone's got the teeth to grit and bear it and face the pointed fingers, it's our Lady of Jackson.

I'm sorry there's no epilogue waiting in the wings at the moment. But it's started. I've posted the snippet before, but for being so kind and thoughtful, here is the opening:

__

There’s a cardinal that’s decided that the A frame home you share with Joel is one of the corners of his territory and the light’s just starting to come into the day when he wakes you up and you find your way to the toilet and back. The mornings are still chilly and the best part of being woken up too early is getting to crawl back into the bed, full of warmth and flannel and chest and scratchy beard and a “hmmf” in your hair as an arm traps you against a man that is finally learning to rest.

You purposefully take up the left side of the bed so that he’s more likely to sleep on his good ear. And it works. The cardinal doesn’t bother him none.

And usually your hand sliding up the back of his shirt doesn’t either. Usually.

“Hand’s‘er cold.”

“Not for long. You’re a furnace.”

“Mmmf.”

He’s quiet and still a long while, but you can tell he hasn’t fallen back to sleep, even though you start to. But you’re thwarted by his moving away, by him finally deciding his bladder’s gonna bug him until he does something about it, and you hear the door slide open to the porch, picking up your head to watch him from the back as he leans forward and over the railing, see the tug of the band of his sleep pants across his waist.

“Joel, we’ve got a toilet.”

“So.”

“Just because we don’t have neighbors yet doesn’t mean you can just heave to in the yard.”

“Don’t see why not. Nature.”

You can’t help but laugh as you bury your face into the covers against the crispy morning air. “It’s called decency and civilization, you heathen.”

Seconds after the door slides shut, he’s grunting as he works his way back under the covers, curling himself around you. 

“See? Now you’re cold. If you’d just used the bathroom–”

“I’ll warm up.” Now it’s his turn to run his chilled hands up and under your shirt, pull you in tight to the parts of him that certainly were not affected by the spring morning and hums, satisfied. “Thanks.”

“You ass. You not even gonna give me the decency of washing your hands?”

“After what you got up to down there last night, you’re gonna complain about what I’m touching with my hands?”

He’s got a point. Figuratively. And, by the feel of it, literally.

It’s not like you’ve brushed your teeth since last night and he doesn’t seem to have a problem kissing you very, very deeply, using one of those said hands to haul your leg over his hip. So who are you to complain? 

Nature indeed.

Obviously, neither of you are going back to sleep. 

Well, not for another hour at least.

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

[lsunstreakerl]

I'm rereading famiglia right now because why wouldn't I and a thought that came into my head as Max is dodging Mercedes and the reporters in chapter 1 is how he dealt with Drive to Survive. I feel like he would be someone constantly in the background getting memes made of him and the #1 person Netflix wants to interview due to how long he's been in the paddock without being a driver. (its only once they find out he's mute that they back off but like not really they bother rbr as frequently as they can without seeming rude after that) I'd love to hear if you have any opinions but wanted to give you mine!

Have a good day!

max runs from DTS like it's an olympic sport. he'll break out in a sprint in the middle of the paddock, he'll hide behind a potted plant, he'll start signing swear words anytime there's a camera angled at him so they can't use the footage.

he's notorious for it.

it's a hazing ritual for new crew members on the team- "hey go grab an interview from max with redbull" so the poor intern/newbie goes to the RB garage like "hello I'm looking for max, with netflix" and RB thinks it's hilarious, so of course they point them in the right direction.

it's just that max has zero issues hopping a fence to get away from a camera crew. (he's ended up in the background of blooper reel footage for both netflix and team related socmed stuff several times.)

[aziraphales-library]

I'm dying to read Aziraphale annoying Crowley by being the cutest and one flustered demon being unable to help himself being so disgustingly in love with the angel 🥹🥹🥹 can you rec me some? pretty please 🍪💕

I just found this blog now by posting over at reddit: "Are there any fics where Crowley's deeply annoyed by Aziraphale's antics because he's so gd cute he wants to disintegrate? I'd read the hell out of it. Very canon. 😻" Lol. I'm willing to write something like this.... I actually might but wanna read it too 🥹🥹🥹

I know there's lots of these out there. This fandom is the most talented and plentiful I've ever seen :333

Thanks in advance xx

We have a #flustered crowley tag with loads of fics, so check that out. Here are more to add to the collection...

No sunglasses in the bookshop by ineffablegold (G)

The angel’s hands very briefly (but very surely) brushed on Crowley’s chest while he moved and spoke and wriggled oh so endearingly, right over his black shirt and the fallen angel could swear he saw stars again, like before the Beginning and like a flash there they were: nebulas all around him danced and exploded with colours. Crowley inhaled sharply and simply agreed with Aziraphale, no matter on what, he didn’t remember anyway. They’d be fine.

A Moonlit Masquerade by charlieiswritingthings (G)

“Say… How about we give dancing a try? After all, that’s one of the most important things about a masquerade, is it not?” Aziraphale tilts his head a bit, towards the direction of the dancers. His smile falters slightly when he hears what Crowley says next. “I don’t do dancing, Angel. You know that.” Crowley speaks with slight… almost annoyance, very obviously against the idea. Though, Aziraphale hasn’t given up quite yet. “Now, now. That simply won’t do. Let’s go have some fun together, shall we?” Aziraphale stands up, taking Crowley’s hand in his own as he begins walking in the direction of the dancefloor. A defeated sigh is heard coming from Crowley, and he’s forced to abandon his nearly finished glass of wine on the table.

Voicemails (from a Petty Demon) by sugardustedtulips (T)

“That’s it,” Crowley growled, taking large, bold strides toward the yellow Bentley in front of him, leaving the poor cherub blankly standing behind, ostensibly stunned. “What’s what?” Aziraphale asked, hoping he didn’t mean that he’d drive off without him. Surely Crowley wouldn’t be that petty. “I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day,” Crowley whispered matter-of-factly, hissing each sibilant as he punctuated his sentence by theatrically swinging open the car door.

Aziraphale makes the Bentley yellow. Furious, Crowley resorts to giving him the silent treatment. Of course, he misses the angel too much, and can’t help bombarding him with voicemails while locked in their bedroom.

A Midsummer Afternoon's Curse by cyankelpie (G)

(Aziraphale is the victim of a love spell, and needs Crowley’s help to break it. Which is a problem, because it’s very difficult for Crowley to focus while Aziraphale lavishes him with affection.) The rest of the sentence got knocked out of him by a large, off-white blur that flew out of the door and tackled him. “Crowley,” said a familiar voice, though the breathy fondness and affection in said voice was anything but familiar. “I knew you’d come.” Oh. It was Crowley. Crowley was the target of Aziraphale’s magical infatuation. Aziraphale wanted Crowley’s help ridding him of this newfound affection for Crowley. And Crowley, who somehow needed to be the level-headed one in this situation, was utterly fucked.

You Don't Need A Licence For That by WaitingToBeBroken (M)

Crowley works for the city council and is responsible for issuing licences and permits. Aziraphale seems to be hoarding them. Crowley should really reject some of those applications. And he will, once he is done pining over Aziraphale. Really, he will!

- Mod D

[classicintp]

This is going to be a long read, a thank you letter to @thelastflyingfuck . no common triggers inside that I'm aware of.

I posted the initial post five and half years ago after a 6 month period of grief following my wife basically emotionally breaking up with me. I am not totally blameless, but I have always gone so far out of my way for her that 6 months later I still felt like I didn't deserve it. It's always difficult to deal with the feeling that you're being treated poorly by someone you like or love, but it was so much worse knowing that she wasn't intentionally trying to do that. She isn't a bad person, she's never schemed against me, and what she was doing was a really healthy and good thing that ultimately helped dig her out of the worst trenches of clinical depression and I think I knew that.

When I posted this, that I did not feel very loved, I couldn't find the gall to ask my few friends for emotional support. I felt so desperate for someone to just tell me they appreciated me, and I couldn't bring myself to bother any of them with it even though I knew so clearly that they would absolutely want me to say something. If I asked them, at the drop of a hat my friends would shower me with genuine appreciation because of how much they do appreciate me against how infrequently I want their expression and how unabashedly direct I am when I want it. It was the exact situation they trust I would say something about and I just couldn't. I don't know if it's because it was a deeper kind of hurt because it was my wife or if I was angry and resentful at her and ashamed because I personally knew she wasn't doing it on purpose. She wasn't being abusive, she was trying to survive and I knew it and I resented her anyway even if I was keeping it to myself.

I posted that I didn't feel very loved because I thought if I admitted it out loud where people could hear or read I could maybe take the next step tomorrow and tell one of my friends afterwards. By posting it I knew I would maybe get some mutuals asking if I wanted to talk, I really didn't hope for or expect anyone to go out of their way to give a poignant response to help me feel better, I just wanted to make myself more comfortable with asking my offline peers for the same support I offer to them, and instead I got this reply. I don't know if you feel like it wasn't much but I needed it, it was more than enough to pull me out of it that night, and every few weeks I would read it again to help prevent episodes of paralyzing grief (as it turns out, I was actually having full blown silent panic attacks, which I'd never heard of because I am not someone who has panic attacks). By the beginning of February, just before COVID started getting recognized, I talked to my doctor and started taking a mood stabilizer (for other reasons too), and I have been fine since. 

I would like to think that if you hadn't sent your reply I still would have eventually talked to my doctor and gotten the medication I needed, but I do know that at the very very least it prevented potentially 3 months of panic attacks, and at most it convinced me to seek professional help that I may not have sought out otherwise. You dared offer kindness to a stranger, sometimes nothing comes of it but you offered anyway, and I have appreciated it for 5 and a half years, I hope I never forget to appreciate it. Thank you again.

i do not feel very loved

[calamaroo]

Octonauts OC ~~~~~~ Mountain Mammoth🦣====================

HE IS MY SON, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH EEEEEE (I really hope this doesn't flop because I love him) (also, this may be a long ass yap, whoopsiesss)

While technically an Octonauts OC, Mountain is in the same boat of "wildly different from the show" as Stag. "Mountain," as his real name means, now lost to time, is a woolly mammoth shifter. He was an idea I had that became fully realized with the help of my friend, @mildy-vibing <33

LORE :

As for general backstory, he's still a new-ish OC (I've had him for 3-4 weeks maybe) so I'm not entirely sure as to his exact story. But, the main gist of his character/idea was . . . He is immortal, and at the very least, around 5000 years old. HOWEVER, immortal does not mean unkillable. He can get hurt, become sick, starve, freeze, and other such means of demise, but HE CAN NOT DIE OF OLD AGE.

Immortal = can die from any means beside old age, Invincible = can't die from any means besides old age. That's the simplest wat to put it.

Anywho!!

For a little history lesson, the earliest known case of living woolly mammoths was on an island near Sibera called Wrangel Island, and that little piece of history is what inspired me to make my son. In real life, they died out due to too few genetic diversity in their isolated population, climate change, and perhaps other unknown causes.

In my vague story idea I have for him, I haven't yet decided if that part of the history stayed the same (the genetic diversity problem, I mean), gets kinda iffy when you make the animals into people yk?

Basic Character Info :

Gentle and spiritual soul, with very old religious beliefs (bro is 5000 years old, and for the most part, stuck in the mindset of people from that age)

His beliefs are almost paganistic, centering around a being called "The Great Mother," who is the embodiment of the universe, fate, life, and death. Usually, I'd stray away from bringing religion into my blog and characters (people can be sensitive, and I personality find the topic uncomfortable), but it's a very crucial part of him as a man, so I think idea of basically mother nature being his god-figure can slide.

Being a mammoth, he eats purely vegetation and is, for the most part, a pacifist. If push comes to shove, though, as trouble that the rarity that he is amongst the less law-abiding side of society, he can and will defend himself.

He's mostly blind and relies heavily on his senses of smell and hearing. Pachyderms don't generally have good eyesight anyway, and I wanted to make my characters more diverse. (He's just like me fr 🥺 (I have horrible eyesight))

As a herd animal, he's very sociable and friendly. He LOVES making new friends to the point that it becomes obsessive (being completely alone for thousands of years'll do that to a fella). Be nice to him once and you'll never get rid of him until you're dead, and even then, he'll wait til you're decayed. In short, he's clingy (again, HE'S JUST LIKE ME FR 😭)

When alone, however, he keeps himself hidden deep within the farthest plains, the deepest valleys, and the highest mountains.

IN REFERENCE TO THE THIRD PICTURE : He was a massive mama's boy when she was alive, and going by the rules of pachyderm herd society, she was the "matriarch," or the leader (herds were mostly females with their young until they reached mature age). While Mountain did wander and, for lack of a better term, breed (older days, older ways), he was never far from his mama. She was his rock and entire world (but not in the creepy boy-mom way because those people piss me off to no end). When she passed of old age, he was devastated, as was he for when his wife passed . . . And then his children, and his grandchildren, and so on.

When his wife aged and he did not, that was when Mountain began to realize there was something different about him. Then, as he continued to live on, he watched the fall of his entire species, and for many hundreds of years, it was a confusing, horrific, and tragic ordeal. The Great Mother had laid down a path for him never seen before, and it took many more hundreds of years for him to come to terms with. He refuses, though, to forget his former family, their traditions, and their ways. It's what keeps him trudging along --- a guilt that if he were to die, all of his people's ideas and lives would pass too.

In the modern day, he's found refuge and friendship with an oc of @mildy-vibing 's own, a fellow extinct species, Darwin the Thylacine!! (And other extinct OCs I won't say in case they don't want me to)

And that's all I have for my beautiful, curly haired immortal son!! I hope you enjoyed my tangent, and if you read it all, I truly appreciate it. I love when people actually like my stuff . . . 👉👈😔 🤎🤎🤎

====================

[psaiouma]

TOP 10 SAIOU AUTHORS EVER GO!!!!!

Due to the length of the response I will be putting everything in a Read More, but please do read it!! I have so much love and compliments to give!! And there's DEFINITELY more than 10 listed! But this list was hard as fuck and NOT definitive. Did I miss one of your faves? Write them in the replies :D!!!

Other than the #1 & 2, all of these are in no particular order!

Rovelae! THE platonic love of my life and my #1 inspiration. I would not be here and would not be writing if I hadn't read Hologram and all of her amazing other works. Genuinely, I believe that every single thing Rov writes is a genuine masterpiece full of complex thought and strict planning. Never in a million years did I think she'd become one of my best friends, but I always said she was my #1 long before we ever spoke a word to one another. To this day, no other fic has come close to the way Hologram has made me feel over and over again. She'd bashfully list many other things that should top it, but they simply don't. Her understanding of Shuichi and Kokichi, plus their dynamic, is something that speaks to me and my preferences directly. I cannot express the true glee I feel that she regularly asks me to beta and read her early works, and that I get to see inside that brilliant mind over and over. AND that she sends me pictures of snakes daily!!! You should read (among many others): HOLOGRAM (my #1 fic recommendation with ART I COMMISSIONED FROM CELE HERE!! AND ART BY AUNI HERE!!!), Ruin, Potion of Steal Your Heart, The Flat Effect (WITH ART AUNI DREW HERE!!), and Before the Stars Evaporate (She gets five recs because I LOVE HER!!!!)

FrostieFroakie! My beautiful, amazing, perfect, talented beloved <3 Any time someone asked me who my fave author was, I said Rov, and if you asked me who my fave nsfw author was, there was no competition. None whatsoever. And now the former is one of my best friends and the latter... is the love of my goddamn life of almost four years. <3 My faves have never changed and I WILL hold my angel up on the HIGHEST goddamn pedestal and you will too <3 Froakie is one of THE best authors I've ever had the goddamn PLEASURE of reading. Not only does she write the hottest shit ever catered to ME, but she does it all in such a way that you really feel like you're in a new world. She has one of the most vivid and amazing imaginations I've ever experienced in my entire life, and I will GLADLY rub in all of your faces that I get to see and hear every amazing thought that comes out of her gigantic, beautiful brain. Guess who knows the plots to the Orcahara and Wolf/Bunny sequels? ME, BITCHESSSS <3 On a much more serious note, I do genuinely mean it that I absolutely love everything she writes and does. Call me biased I do not give a single shit. She's never written anything bad in her entire life. [Once again, she will disagree with me, and she is always right about everything, but I do not care, her works are breathtaking and brilliant.] You should read (NOTE: all nsfw): Cowhara Sins (this is quintessential Intro to Saiou reading), Orcahara Sins, I Make Them Good Girls Go Bad, Hunting Season, and Despite Everything, (She ALSO gets five because she's my GIRLFRIEND and the LOML!!!!)

Unseeliekey It is with great sorrow that I tell you that all of Eye's fics on AO3 have been deleted. Last I'd heard from Eye in 2022, he was moving on to OC content, but would continue his multichaptered fics in the future. Should he do so, I know we'd all be GIDDY to see them, but for now, my inclination is to believe that won't happen, since his account still existed last we talked. Though I do not know my stance on fic saving and sharing once an author has deleted their works, everything that Eye ever wrote HAS been saved, with (I believe) one exception. If you DO want to experience some of the most incredible, breathtaking, life-ruining fics in the entire Saiousphere, I have the connections to get you the Goods(tm). His works are remembered fondly, and anyone who was lucky enough to be around when his fics were still up will most likely list him in their top ten, even though he's been gone for over two years now. From his magnum opus, Therefore You and Me(...), to You've Got the Right(...), to Kattar Shuffle, to Fob, to (...)Tragedy and Comedy(...), to Put the Knife Down(...), to Puppy Love, to (...)You are the Captain, to All Drama(...) and EVERYTHING in between, his works are remembered, worshiped, loved, and envied. Eye was truly, truly, a requirement of Saiou reading. And if you were to ever see this @unseeliekey, I hope you know that you were an inspiration to all, and it was an honor to have read your things while they were public. I hope you are doing well wherever you may be, and that you come back someday.

Majorinconvenience When filling all of these out, I saved Kam for last, because I knew it would be the hardest due to a falling out between what I thought was going to be an everlasting friendship. However, I also knew it would be a god damn lie if I didn't put them in my top 10. Their work still shines beautifully all these years later, and come hell or high water I am gonna recommend them. Kam's pieces are jaw droppingly, achingly gorgeous. They are filled with emotion and yearning very few are able to match. I could list many things from their time in the Saiou fandom, but the loudest of which is easily Drowned Words followed by "Gymnopédie No. 1" and The Truth is in the Eye of the Beholder. I highly encourage you to check out everything, though.

Chuwuyas Jul is, in my opinion, one of THE staples of the Saiouma Fandom. Not only being the GOD behind everyone's favorite reverse Phantom Thief AU, but also one of the funniest goddamn oneshots of all time, and also some of the best smut. Jul can write, Jul can DRAW, Jul is THE hottest person IN the Saiouverse and it's NOT even close. They are my favorite Komaeda kinnie and one of my dearest friends. Every time you read a Chuwuyas fic, you know you're in for the best goddamn ride of your entire life. They have SUCH a way of absorbing you in one of the best whirlwinds of all time, and it's a ride you never want to get off. Look, I do a lot of bragging in this post because I am truly proud of the friends and connections I have made, but I genuinely believe one of my greatest accomplishments and prides in my entire life is the fact that Jul has called me THE honorary Moriarty Kinnie, and the fate of Catch & Release has been left in my hands should anything ever happen to Jul before ch 5 releases. [Not that anything will happen. But holy shit what an honor????] You WILL learn about Moriarty Saihara (aka me) by reading Catch & Release. And you should also check out How to Fall in Love in Three Easy Steps!

LovingDefiance Did you think I would make a top 10 and NOT put LovingDefiance on it? I don't give a SHIT if they haven't uploaded anything in five years. I am STILL subscribed and if they were to ever make a return I WILL sob the happiest tears you've ever seen in your entire life. Quite frankly, their Love Hotel Collection (nsfw) is a must-read four part recommendation for me. Saiou switch, there's aftercare, and god DAMN are you going to have a good time. But that's truly not all. Everything they've ever written is an absolute goddamn treat that will leave you salivating for more. I have read and reread their entire collection many times, and it truly never gets old. I hope wherever they are, they are happy.

Rannas I fear this description will not be as long as it should be, but truly, all I can say is that Rannas' writing is great. They had my favorite fic in Your Hand in Mine, a Saiouma Zine, and I've been reading their works consistently for a long, long time. Every Rannas fic is something special and unique, with each sentence being filled with grace and care. I've known many people who have claimed Rannas as their #1 Saiou author, and it's not hard to see why. Hell, when looking through their AO3 again to recommend something, I was wonderfully reminded JUST how much I love everything they've ever written. I will not out their nsfw account here, but know that it is ALSO in my top 10, and it's in yours too. Of course, I am recommending Our Deal, but I'm also going to dance and sing about the hilarious Salmon Mode Series and Meeting Your Match!

Teharissa Though I only have one fic to recommend, Teri's writing is by far and in large the best goddamn stuff I've ever read. They are my FAVORITE writer when it comes exclusively to writing style. This one example will not do Teri justice, but you must trust me on this. It was an honor to work with them on Spilled Ink (a DRV3 writing zine) and their Kiiruma piece is the absolute best work in the entire zine. Also, overall, I just loved talking to them and I miss our conversations and getting to hear their thoughts. Truly an upstanding individual who I gleefully recommend with no hesitancy. I am begging you to read A Thousand Paper Cranes!!

Nxllberry Just to prove I'm not EXCLUSIVELY an oldhead yearning for 2020/1 (though I am), I MUST put Nxllberry on this list, but not for the reason you're probably going to assume. Though their fic Godspeed IS a good recommendation, and you should definitely check it and their other works out, I am here to spread the gospel (pun intended) on their fic Rising Tide, which is, to this day, my favorite postgame smut ever written, and the main reason they are getting put in the top 10. Nxllberry's work is absolutely legendary, and though I haven't checked out the MCD works, I'm sure if that's your speed then you're going to LOVE those. Because the way they handle emotions is just delicious in every way.

ME!!!! Ezra Psychiccupid! You should ALWAYS include yourself in your top ten!!! I always know exactly what I want to read in a way no one else does LOL!! If you don't love your writing and think it's the best then what are you DOING? Perhaps you are an aspiring author and you think people are better than you, and that's okay! It's great to have writers you look up to. But you better think your stuff is AWESOME or about to be awesome!!! YOU put that out there!!! I'm still a relatively new writer in the grand scheme of things. Saiou Prom was only done FOUR YEARS AGO. Sep. 2020. I've grown a lot and I've seen many things since then, but I loved what I wrote then and still do. GRR You should always been in your top 10!!! I'm fucking awesome and I write really good stories because I have really good ideas. I'm extremely honored and thankful that so many people agree. Please, please read my fics and also hype yourself up today!!! Feels a little weird to rec myself but if you DO read anything of mine, please have it be King Piece or In the Aftermath of a Killing Game. If you want to get a feel for how much my writing has grown and improved since those two, check out My Stick; Your Bites (latest work), or One Day We Will Both Die(...). Also, would be a fool to not rec my most popular work, Poison Mouth, though I hope something better outshines it one day :)))) Please,,,

HONORABLE MENTIONS: I have many friends and I know SO many talented people that I'm gonna shout out a LOT and you better be READY. (I'll try to be quicker here ahaha!)

Bcschauer! Aka Lulu! Do you want fluffy Saiou? Because this is the QUEEN of fluffy Saiou. I especially rec Behind Pale Gray which I WILL bully her about to finish. :) Cinderous_scrivenings! Aka Sixth! One hit wonder, though I've had the HONOR of reading more than has been posted. Please read What's Yours to Have, you won't regret it! I_Am_A_Ruin! Aka Bee! One of THE most important people in my entire life. I cannot recommend their works more. Bee has such a way of making everything they write whimsical, like you're sitting by an enchanted campfire being told a story. Their brain is so beautiful and massive. Narrowing down my recommended list for them is extremely difficult, but I think I'm going to go with Poor Unfortunate Souls, Bite the Hand That Feeds You(...) (nsfw), and Fluffernutters and Buttons the Bear! Kokichiouma! Aka Hope! Obviously, I'm going to recommend Reaching, THE time loop Saiou fic. But beyond Reaching, Hope is one of the most in-depth minds in the entire Saiou fandom, who has been writing V3 analysis and translation differences for years. I cannot recommend his work enough. Khattikeri! Aka Keri! Has one of THE BEST canon divergent/postgame AUs of all time. Alongside being one of the most talented people I'm honored to call a friend, Keri is brilliant beyond compare. Please read one of my favorite fics of all time, Everyone's Killing Reality. Notchucktingle! Aka Jess! I think now more than ever, Jess' work is not only incredible but NECESSARY to read. He is, in my personal opinion, one of the most incredible authors to read to get an authentic trans perspective and experience. As someone who is too scared to be out, these fics mean a lot to me, and I know they do to other trans people as well. He's also just an awesome writer. You MUST read Come Into the Water, but I think he'd be a little cross if I didn't also recommend his current brainchild Bad Habit, and who am I to ignore good food? ReturnToZero! Has been in this game a LONG time and has so much to show for it. You absolutely get the best of both NSFW and SFW fics with Zero. From Agrypnos and •.¸♡ Dreamweaver ♡¸.• to Wishing it Was You (KISSING PRACTICE FIC!!) and Drop-Dead Gorgeous, you will always find something to read! Thatsrightdollface! is THE current go-to if you want consistent, good works near-daily. How they have the writing capacity they do is beyond me but, genuinely, they are SO powerful. I'll confess that I slept on their works for a long, long time, but on Rov's insistence, I started reading daily and I have not regretted it for a second. My favorites thus far are The Rubber Horse Head Mask Strikes and "Gamest in the Land" even if it HURTS!! Myaami! Whose works are always to die for. Extremely excitedly, they are about to do a raffle for a PHYSICAL, PRITED OUT COPY of their fic Dawn Again, on this Vibrant and Violent Night (and you BET I'm getting on in that), but I'm also going to sneak in a recommendation for Dream with Me, because I LOVE this fic.

And SO MANY MORE!!!!! Seriously. I could list like. 20 more people in an instant.

If I did individual fics that I love??? We'd be here ALL DAY. (I'm working on a doc of every Saiou fic I've ever read, actually). It's impossible to make a top ten, truly. Some days, the honorable mentions are in the top ten, some days, you wake up and a brand new INCREDIBLE phantom thief AU has just dropped and all of a sudden you're talking to one of the newest, most brilliant minds of the Saiou fandom out of nowhere.

If you didn't make the list, please know that I love your writing. Even if I have you muted, even if we have beef, even if you never share your work, I love you for writing.

[gnohomotho-blog]

Just a game

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x fem!reader

Summary: Just you, your wannabe boyfriend, and the start of an encounter that will change your life. With one phone buzz.

Warnings: Mainly a beginning of something more, mentions of stalking and spying, some rude language, mentions of doctors and ignorance of the ethical codex. Please have fun! Responsibly.

"I'd like that very much."

The voice of your companion echoes through the room, flaps against the wall and hits you in the face. It jumps on empty hospital chairs, the doctor's desk, all white and plastic, as dull as whatever the words are dancing on your eardrums with.

You brush your hair behind your ear. All too aware of how mannquine-like and empty the face in front of you looks. Your own head is reverberating. Your lips purse.

"I wouldn't."

The chair under you doesn't move. You wish it would. Carry you away on its little legs. You wonder how chairs could graze freely on some kind of chair-free plane, free from the shackles of architecture---you hear the doctor's words again, and you hear yourself thank them, apologize, plan to take the errant papers and leave the door open behind you. Always planning. Always going away.

"What? Y/N, I...what? Let's talk abou this. Please, stop acting like this! Don't do this to me."

The voice is broken, and you truly do try to care beyond wondering about a chair's natural habitat. Truth be told, all you manage instead of a grand exit is silence. You stand up - silently. You thank the doctor - silently. And you walk out of the door, muttering some native curse words under your breath and pondering whether vending machines truly are as deadly as the statistics say. He made it about himself, again, you think to yourself.

"I can't believe you...no, wait, I fucking can."

You're tired. You feel violated. You would like to crawl into a bed, had you had a safe one to do in. Hug a cat, if you had one. Hug a crow, if you could. Anything.

You mumble to yourself in hushes as you finger the coffee machine, knowing whatever it serves up will just make you feel sick. Your companion is catching up. A tall, imposing kind of boy. Not that it mattered. You never did find pretty boys pretty.

"Boy," you think to yourself. A boy. A boy who can't get his toy to work, and now he's wasted all those friendship tokens and used up all his faces on you, you ungrateful little...

"Y/N, look, what the hell---I really tried, I went all this way, I took you here, I'm just trying to help!"

He really did sound like a little boy tearing at his mother's skirt. His dark black hair fell into his forehead, his neat sweater leaning a bit to the left. You notice his lips and wonder, whatever possessed you to even begin to think of a future with them?

"Help. You wanted to help yourself. Fix your little broken toy and have something to fuck. Did it get tiring? Pretending to care?"

The coffee machine whirred in what you hoped was something of an agreement. You turn around and face the man, boy, whatnot, and try to look put together. Some old couples begin to notice the commotion. An old lady with a dog in her purse is not doing a very good job of looking disinterested in what, ironically, resembles a lover's quarrel.

"Wow, that's low. Y/N. I was there every time. I did so much for you, you didn't have to ask."

"You insisted. You didn't listen to any 'no thank you'. You dragged me here. Every time. Promising you..."

Your lips twist a little in disgust, but mostly, you don't feel anything anymore.

"Promising you love me, with that big "but" of yours. Well, good thing we have it on paper now - I can't love and I can't fuck, I suppose you've bet on the wrong horse - losing in game and losing in love. Fancy that."

God damn it, not the tears, not the tears, you feel your eyes glisten and your stomach tighten. Hair falls from behind your ear, shielding your face. A tear rolls down.

"There's nothing wrong with me, nothing that you could fix by blunt forcing it. I was so stupid, it's my fault. Really truly my fault. I thought...I thought for a moment it could be something it obviously never could...It was never your responsibility to try or to fix anything, and I was so incredibly naive to think you'd adjust pace to something you obviously have no interest in if you can't violate it in a matter of minutes."

Slug and salt. Fire and gasoline. Lungs and carbon monoxide. That's what you are, you think. You don't realise nor would you know, that the whole time, someone was watching you. Someone noticed the way you held your stomach the entire time you spoke, as if shielding and soothing something vulnerable and tender. The way your eyes shone when you stood your ground. The way your pupils seemed to beckon a new visitor with glimpses of a world beyond this one with its unimaginative hospital corridors and dull white waiting rooms. He watched your legs as you held yourself up, seeing the coffee machine did half the work. He watched them buckle a little bit and you adjust. Your tights reflected the light, just as you did. His eyes trailed up to your skirt, your hands, your waist. Your hands, he found those most beautiful. They spoke with you. They had the fingers of a piano player and the fervour of a boxer losing a match.

Now they rested on your stomach again, shielding. Your body closed off once more. Your voice became more monotone. He could gather from the hushed whispers that this wasn't your boyfriend nor husband, but in a place like this - perhaps an ex? Or soon to be, he smiled the most innocent of hidden smiles before resuming a neutral, dignified expression. A baby's father? You did rest your hand on your stomach quite a bit...but the conversation you had in front of him wasn't enough. Now he was intrigued.

The way your lips pursed and remained a tad open when you thought of what to say, the way your eyes narrowed and your mouth made a perfect tiny shape when you found your words. Things you'd never think about yourself, oh, he was intrigued.

Intrigued by the girl with the long fingers and the gentle touch. The girl with fire in her eyes that draws you into the depths of a frozen river in the middle of the night and never makes you wish to leave.

How convenient was it that some people have the power to pull a few strings and Waltz into the very same doctor's office you walked out of and Waltz straight out again with your full medical records.

..............................................................................................................................

You were walking home when your phone buzzed. You thought you blocked your ex-companion, you checked the messages and yes - his communication, circular and either blaming you or himself were still safely stored in the same blocked folder. No, this was an uknown number that you couldn't even see.

"Seriously?"

You sigh into the cold evening air and adjust your stance for a better look at the phone screen. An odd, jittery, almost chilly feeling envelops you and you shiver - that sensation of being watched washes around you and touches your skin. Going up and down your arms and calves. Stopping at your chest. You look around, but there is only dusk, cold, melted snow. A few lights from other houses. A streetlamp here and there. Nobody. You lean your head into the phone again, stepping away from the road you were walking on.

"How are you feeling, Y/N?"

The chill shot through your calves straight into your stomach and through your ribs to your head. It's him again, just a different number, of course. Oldest trick in the book. You wonder if you should reply, but think better of giving him further attention. Just as you put your phone away, it buzzes again.

"You seem cold."

You turn your head and scan every single shape around you, chills shaking your body as you do. This wasn't funny. This was so far from funny you are actively wondering where you left your pepperspray and whether or not setting a match to your deodorant would do the trick, should it come to it.

"I'm fine, leave me alone, stop texting me from other numbers, I know it's you." You quickly type trying to watch the surroundings more than the screen. It buzzes almost immediately back at you.

"I'm not him. And you seem cold. Tights and a skirt in your condition, walking alone in the dark and the snow. It isn't very wise, is it?"

Although text messages don't convey tone, you can feel the patronising air and boundary tear emanating from your screen. You hurry your legs to get out and back home as fast as you can.

"Please don't run in your condition. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"Fuck off." You whisper and break into a sprint. You don't hear steps or running behind you, you don't hear cars or anything but the sounds of the night. But a calm shrill sound does break the silence the moment you stop to catch your breath. Almost at home, almost--

"And please, if you may be so kind, don't dissobey me."

..............................................................................................................................

In-ho wasn't omnipotent nor could he predict your movements, listen in on your thoughts, or stalk you without issue. He knew he'd lose you if he gave himself away. He knew he'd scare you if he revealed all he knew and he was enough of a gentleman to understand the basics of what constitutes harrassment and stalking. In-ho was also in control. Always in control. Of people, of power, of his surroundings, of the entire games. And of course. Of himself. And if he wasn't, and he started to slip, he would relinquish that control by any means neccessary. As he told himself now, it's nothing. Just a game. Just a bit of back-and-forth and fun. He's not enamoured, he's simply interested. It's not attraction, it's a need to study. It's not need, want, feeling - no, it is cold, simple fascination and control. Cat and mouse. Nothing more. And he's comfortable in this role, of course. Watching a player from up top, sipping his drink of choice. This is exactly the same. But why does it feel so very different? His heart. Racing. His hands. Typing. Erasing. Typing. Oh, he wants to show you he knows everything. He wants to show you the plans he has for you. He wants to take you from the cold street and hold you so tight your breath and heart belong to him, even as you struggle. He wants to make you yearn for his gloved touch more than the cold air outside and beg for a touch of his skin, his caress, his own body against yours. He wants you to instinctively shield yourself again, just so he can catch your wrist and hold it down, exposing you to him, defenseless and his.

He wants you to yearn for it. Shiver. Fear. Need. Beg.

He wants those beautiful, deep eyes to gaze up into his and drown.

[myloveforhergoeson]

hi friends

as i said in this post, it's well overdue the btr bloggers on this site had some time where we just flat-out told each other how much we appreciate each other!

whether you share your own thoughts about the show, write, draw, make edits, or simply lurk - we all make this small fandom go round! and i'd love it if this SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1ST - we took some time to let each other know!

below the cut, please find some messages you can copy and paste to leave in the ask box, the comment section, someone's dms, etc of your favorite btr creators/mutuals/followers/accounts. ideally, this doesn't even stay on tumblr, regardless if other fans don't know about it. take these messages to ao3, Instagram, wattpad, bluesky, anywhere where you follow someone who posts btr content you appreciate!

and finally, every fandom could use a day like this honestly. i do not care if someone copies this entire post and spreads it into their own circles. in fact - PLEASE do!

thank you for listening - everything you may need is under here!! <3

hi again - a quick note from me: please find a handful of copy and paste messages to send to your fav btr creators... but more than anything i encourage you to send your own kind words and praises to them first!!! i know that words can be hard, and sending something to someone you don't know can be scary, so if you do so require, using the templates is just fine :) i'll break them up into content sections below. if i missed any, or anyone has some of their own to share, please add on!!

general

got a fav btr blogger and you just don't know what to say to them? look no farther, i've got you covered! starting out from basic statements and going on to more specific with some fill in the blank elements :3 - hey! i love your btr posts, they always make me laugh! - i need all your btr posts on my blog IMMEDIATELY!!! - your btr posts have helped inspire me to make my own! - your btr headcannons are so interesting, they've helped me understand my favorite characters in a new way! - [SPECIFIC BTR POST] lives in my head rent free! - [SPECIFIC PIECE OF BTR CONTENT] is awesome! - your post about [SPECIFIC BTR HEADCANON] really got me thinking... do you have any more thoughts to share? i'd love to hear them! - reblog your fav btr posts again!!!!

for fic writers

someone's btr fic leave a lasting impression on you? love someone's analyzed a character and their dynamic? put your favorite character in a Situation? written ship content? or oc content? or x reader content? doesn't matter if it was written when the show first came out or if it was written yesterday - let them know either here or on their preferred writing platform! - i always look forward to your next writing project! - [SPECIFIC STORY] is one of my favorite btr works ever! - i love the way you write [CHARACTER/DYNAMIC/SHIP ETC] - i'm subscribed to all your writing platforms - i never miss a story! - this [LINE/PARAGRAPH/THEME IN STORY ETC] in your [WORK] really spoke to me! - your [CROSSOVER/AU/CANON-DIVERGENCE] was so interesting! i loved seeing the characters in a new setting! - writers love questions about their work... ever wonder why they wrote something a certain way or diverged from canon to make something true? ask them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! - reblog and share links to your favorite stories on your own blog!! - has someone ever made something for one of YOUR written works? let them know how much you appreciate it too!!

for editers

from videos, to gifs, to fanmixes, to posters, to meme makers and soooo much more, there are no shortage of wonderful editers in our circle!! ever wanted to tell them how much you loved their stuff? now's your big chance!!!!!!! - can't stop thinking about that [CHARACTER/SHIP/ETC] edit you made! the clips and song you chose matched them perfectly! - the gifsets you posted of [SCENE/CHARACTER/SHIP/ETC] were beautiful! i can tell you put a lot of time and effort into making them - i am obsessed with your [CHARACTER/SHIP/ETC] fanmix!! the songs were well chosen - i've found some new favs through the playlist!! - your btr edited memes always make me laugh! - reblog your favorite works to you blog again! - if you have questions about the programs the person used, what inspired their choices, how long it took them - ask!!!!! ask!!!!!!!!!!!!! - someone ever make an edit based off of something you said or made? be sore to let them know how much it meant to you!

for artists

be it from the basics of pencil and paper all the way up to some fancy digital program, we love our artists regardless of their medium!! someone make a piece of fan art you love? comics you can't get enough of? drew your fav in just the right way? or depicted an oc or self-insert you adore? they deserve to know!!!!! - your artwork is so beautiful! [SPECIFIC PIECE] is my favorite! - this artstyle is so unique - i love seeing my favorite characters drawn this way - you depict [CHARACTER/SCENE/SHIP/ETC] so well! it's gorgeous! - the time and dedication you put into your craft is clear - your artwork is incredible! - want to learn more about this artist's choices or medium? ask!! - be sure to reblog your fav pieces to your blog again! - has anyone made a piece of art based on something you've made? tell them how thankful you are for it!!!!!

i know there are MANY more categories of fandom blogger out there, but i believe this covers the main types. please feel free to add on your own categories if you feel so inclined :3

while these are all intended for the ask box, dms, or comment section, if you want to make a post, be sure to tag the specific people you want to appreciate!! and if everyone uses the tag:

#btr creator appreciation day 2025

we'll all have a nice collection of everything everyone shared (on tumblr at least!)

that's all i have for now, so i'll step down off my soap box. see yall SATURDAY FEBRUARY 1ST!!!!!!!!!!!! <333

(tagging those who seemed interested: @icegirl2772 @fiyero3305 @happinessismagicc @partiallypearl @day-dreams22 @naquey @invadericee @uncarved-turnip @elitheidiot1 @cant-get-enough-btr-forever @bunnyfern)

[thefoxholecast]

Hey guys! Been loving listening to the podcast so far! Up until now, you've primarily focused on the contents of the work, but I was wondering if you guys were also gonna spend time discussing the form? People often criticise the "poor writing" and frankly, not all of it is stellar, yet I feel like a lot of Nora's writing is very evocative, especially the way she describes embodiment and movement. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, since this is the stuff I love to dwell on while reading!

Hello! Thanks for listening and writing in!

Short answer: Yes, we will Absolutely be discussing Sakavic's form and style and the writing itself as we make our way through the books. (Our classically trained English major hearts wouldn't have it any other way!)

Longer answer: We agree with you that there are plenty of examples of both good And bad writing choices. The books can be very silly at times, but we definitely want to give credit where credit is due when we get to some iconic parts later. (For example, when the narration switches from Neil to Nathaniel in the third book, which is chilling and genius and super effective.)

Note from Nate: I have been withholding some nitpicks bc I thought that would be annoying but if people do care then I shall stop withholding.

Question for the class: What are some examples of form/style* choices in Sakavic's writing that you find super effective?

*E.g. word choice, sentence structure, tone, point of view, etc.

[codysmonsterstuff]

Привет, Человек-мотылек!

My aunt introduced me to Astonishing Legends a couple nights ago, and so far I really like the podcast it's great, I watched all of the Mothman ones so far (that I knew of, I found out this morning there's a part 5) and while listening started drawing this lil fella.

I thought the whole thing was super interesting, I loved all the tangents, and most interestingly I tried to look into the 2013 show they mentioned, following the similar stories in Dalnegorsk. They mentioned it being entirely in Russian and hey, whaddya know, I'm trying to learn Russian anyways and figured it would help since I'm already interested in this topic and it would keep me engaged. Couldn't find it (I searched as well as I could, maybe I was using the wrong keywords, I couldn't find it in their show notes sadly, if you happen to know about it/have a link or something I would be thrilled to know) but I did make this art so! That's cool! I wanted to make him a little more detailed but also wanted it to kind of speak for itself? So I stuck with this.

Because I drew this up while listening, I very much took after the descriptions I was hearing with this design. He's kind of like a bird-man?? In a lot of the descriptions??? So I tried to combine bird and moth traits here. I love the neck fluff, any day I don't have to draw a jawline is a good day in my book, and I believe as they were going through the Dalnegorsk story one account mentioned bird-like feet with one toe on the back. Originally I actually skipped that, but it came up as I was doing the lineart so I went "oh that's a neat detail," and yeah, it looks better. At like the very end I gave him a second pair of little mothy arms on his back because they're cute and I figured moths have six legs Mothman can have four arms. Every description I saw specified big muscular legs, not skinny bird legs, So of course, I did my best.

Definitely in the Dalnegorsk part, they mention he just, gave them a sad look and it compelled them to back off, which didn't do much for the art in truth, but I found that very very interesting and sort of entertaining to think about. You got this big scary bird fella and instead of attacking them or scaring them he just pulled at their heartstrings, because he could.

Also complaining about folks exploring the mountain was kinda funny

Admittedly, I have a very love-hate relationship with drawing bird feet, because on one hand they don't come very easily to me, but on the other, they look really cool and I enjoy when they turn out good. This is one of those cases, at least in my opinion, where I do think they look nice.

All in all I love how this turned out, very big fan. Regarding the Russian up top, I also saw Молерот used for Mothman as it's shorter, but looking for more context almost everything I did see using it was Fallout-related, so I figured I'd just use Человек-мотылек as it at least seems to mostly bring up stuff about The Mothman Prophecies and some other stuff at least somewhat related to him. Not that the Fallout stuff isn't, I suppose, but that feels more like an offshoot in my mind.

If you have any tips (or learning resources that don't involve me paying for a subscription I'll hardly use- books, free stuff, etc) I'd be thrilled to hear it. So far I'm not having too hard of a time, though, the hardest part is the special characters so far but otherwise I'd say I'm doing well by my own standards.

[stunfiskz]

What're your hopes/predictions for rouxls I'm the next chapters? I know what you hope for and what you're actually expecting to happen are kinda different questions really so I'd like to hear ur thoughts on both!

for what i think will actually happen:

i fear i’m kind of too deep in the rouxls brainrot mines to wager an actual guess for something like that. there’s plenty that i think would be really cool if done with him, but at the end of the day when it gets to the point that im thinking deeply about things like the pros and cons of headcanoning him as having organs or not i’m kind of in too deep to pull out and look at what i think his real relevance will be at the end of the day.

that said, one thing i would really like and am confident will happen in chapter 3 is on screen interactions between him and lancer. it’s going to be really fun to see how they’re actually written, since a lot of the fandom portrayal of them is really only based on a handful of lines of them speaking about one another.

as for things i think would be cool slash funny slash entertaining if they happened:

-i’ve said this a million times but it would be so fucking funny if he tries being lanino and elnina’s third. i’m going to be so sad when it most likely doesn’t happen because it would be funny

-in a similar vein to that, in general, i do like the idea of him trying to suck up to more future evil rulers slash authorities. i think that the thought is really funny (i do think his dynamic with queen would be the one that is brought back the most in this case due to the connection with lancer, but i think he’s not nearly as committal as some people think LOL)

-continuing fake accent and costume bits. also with this, just him being a reoccurring presence in future dark worlds as well. anime nun costume rouxls for church dark world #itsgonnahappen

-if there is an actual instance/plotline where he is a serious part of it, i would love for him as a useless darkner to lightners to be expanded on more. doesn’t necessarily have to be him getting gasterpilled, just looking more at what exactly it means to be useless and unable to fulfill a purpose when your entire world is based around you being useful to others. it’s pretty much the place i start with with any sort of serious look at him as a character and something i really do hope is looked at

also i hope you can cut rouxls’s head off.

[kirlicues]

Lot Previews and Build/Buy Mode Mods I use

Finally! Pretty much everything I had on my old Simblr has been reposted here! Thank you for your interest in these homes. I hope they continue to bring a smile to your face as you play with them. 😊

Here are some previews of the lots I've been polishing up recently. Fun fact: 90% of these lots started out as houses I built for my kids' sims families when they were young (ah how the years fly by!).

These will eventually get uploaded at least that's the plan as I have more time.

Here's where I could use your feedback though:

I love to build and landscape, but decorating the insides...not quite as much.😅

I'd be able to put these lots up faster if you're ok with furnishing and decorating them yourself. I'd add things like kitchens and bathrooms and place beds in the bedrooms.

What do you think? Scroll through and let me know!

I am using Reshade 4.91 for the images that you see. That link will take you to Reshade's official repository folder for Reshade 4.0 series downloads.

Other than cropping and resizing, this is how they look in my game. I'm blessed enough to have a machine that will let me play with this beautiful custom LUT I configured. It helps to see bright, happy colors, especially in winter. 😎

So now a few words about the mods or hacks I use to make building a whole lot more fun, considering I play with very little CC in my game.

I use a number of building cheats such as 'allow45degreeangleofrotation true', 'boolprop snapobjectstogrid false', "setquartertileplacement on", and of course, "moveobjects". If you notice an object blocking something feel free to move/remove it. Grab this mod to allow your sims to sit in chairs placed at 45 degree angles.

I use a lot of shiftable decor mods: shiftable wall lamps, ceiling deco made shiftable, shiftable wall decor. The other day I ran across this mod that allows you to shift just about anything up or down, so I may switch to this in the future.

I also use a few default replacements:

CuriousB's Lush Terrain

Peppermint & Ginger's Shrub defaults

TVickie's Phlox default replacement

PineappleForest's Spiderlily texture default (along with a number of other defaulted things).

Fway's Default Garden Plot

Less saturated BG flowers (I can use the poppies finally!)

Lunatech Lighten Up Ceiling Light Placement Fix

I do use a few other things but these are the primary ones.

And as far as CC goes, these are the only items you'll have to deal with (Use Sims 2 Pack Clean Installer to remove any of these things if you don't want them in your game):

Anything Maxis "Lost and Found", preorder "Bonus" items, or items that were offered on the Sims 2 website. I'll label this in the lot post.

Functional Washer/dryer

Maxis Match Wall Cabinets by CTNutmegger at ModtheSims 

Maxis Match Chimney Recolors: Brick, Stucco, Southwestern Style Stucco, Masonry

So there you have a short list of things I have in my game that you may already have in yours, but if not, you now know where to find them. :) I'm looking forward to hearing your feedback on what I should do with the lots (since my time is pretty limited by real life responsibilities). 🎉😄

[vigilante-3073]

Could you please write an imagine reader is an intern/resident same time and house and they train together and grow closer and start dating. Maybe when he’s away on the conference in which he meets Wilson reader flys to see him and meets Wilson as well and they become a notorious trio and maybe house and reader end up married?

Spontaneity

Gregory House x Female Reader

Summary: House met Y/N when he enrolled in his final year of medical school at the University of Michigan and it was love at first sight. Will a boring medical conference in Louisiana add another member to their dynamic duo?

TW: House being House, mentions of medical school/internships/residency, one lil make out, mentions of marriage and children.

Y/N sat in her bed as she read through her medical textbooks in order to prepare herself for her residency in Obstetrics and Gynecology. She wanted to be well prepared, but no amount of studying was able to calm her nerves.

House laid in the bed beside her, flipping through the tv channels as he searched for something to watch. When the television failed to interest him, he sat up and shifted closer to Y/N.

He reached out, shifting her hair out of the way before placing his lips on the side of her neck. House pressed gentle kisses over her skin, his finger slipping underneath her bra strap and sliding it off her shoulder along with the material of her tank top.

Her eyelids fluttered, "Greg, I can't," Y/N murmured, trying to resist him.

"You're ready. Burying your head in that book is just gonna make you second guess yourself," House said, sucking a dark bruise onto the skin of her shoulder.

Y/N turned her head and House quickly pressed his lips to her's, pushing the textbook off her lap and onto the floor. His hands found her hips, turning her around and lifting her body into his lap as he moved his lips over her's.

Y/N moaned softly against his lips as his hands slid under the material of her top, his hands feeling hot against her skin. He released the clasp of her bra and she pulled away, resting her forehead against his.

"I need to study," She said, breath coming out in soft puffs against his lips. Y/N reached behind herself, redoing the clasp of her bra as House let out a disappointed huff.

"You don't have anything to study for. You just need to relax," House said, giving her hips a gentle squeeze.

"I love you, but you are distracting me," Y/N smiled.

"Good, that's my job," House said.

Y/N breathed a soft chuckle, "You're gonna turn me into a slacker," She teased.

"Can't be a slacker if there's no more work to do," House said, pressing his lips to her's again.

Y/N rested her hands on his chest, pushing him back down to the mattress gently.

"We graduated, that's the hard part. Residency is light work," House said, hands settling on her thighs.

"Says the genius," Y/N teased.

"You're gonna be good," He said.

"Not great?" She questioned.

"You're too tense to be great," House stated.

"And spending the night doing the horizontal tango with you is the way to solve that?" Y/N asked.

"You wanted experience in your field. I can definitely teach you how babies are made," He offered.

Y/N laughed, "That's a gross offer," She smiled.

"What if I made a different offer?" House questioned.

"I'm not up to hearing any more of your offers tonight, honey," Y/N said.

"I think you're gonna like this one," House said.

"Alright, fine. What is it?" She questioned.

"I found an apartment and I want you to move in with me," House said.

"Are you serious?" Y/N asked.

"Yeah, they accepted my offer this morning. Princeton-Plainsboro is a fifteen minute drive from the place," House said, hands squeezing her thighs gently.

"I'd love that," Y/N nodded, leaning down and pressing her lips to his.

House wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close as he moved his lips against her's. His fingers tangled in her hair, rolling them over so that his body could settle between her thighs.

House pulled away, "I love you," He said.

"I love you too," She replied, cradling his cheek in her hand.

...

House decided to attend a medical conference in Louisiana before he started his residency. Y/N was working consistently and he found himself growing bored in their apartment.

Y/N wanted to go with him, but knew that her schedule wouldn't allow for it. She encouraged House to go, he deserved a break after the whirlwind that his last years of schooling had been.

House quickly spotted a young man at the conference that piqued his interest. The man had been carrying around a package from a divorce attorney since the beginning of the conference. House found himself following the man around the venue, he hadn't put the package down one time, but he also hadn't opened it.

House stood with his back leaned against the wall, staring at the man from across the room. He was curious. House being curious was never a good thing.

Y/N made her way into the venue, looking around before quickly locating House. She made her way over, stopping beside him and standing on her toes as she tried to follow his line of sight.

"What are we looking at?" She asked.

House turned to face her, "What are you doing here?" He questioned.

"I traded a few shifts," Y/N shrugged.

"Look at you, slacking off and skipping town. I'm proud of you," House smiled.

She swatted his stomach gently, "Don't make me second guess myself or I won't be able to sleep," Y/N scolded softly.

He rested his hand on her back, "I can't make any promises," House said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"So, what were you looking at before I interrupted?" Y/N asked.

"That guy over there," House said, tilting his head towards the young man.

"What about him?" Y/N questioned.

"He's carrying around divorce papers. He has been since the beginning of the conference," House said.

"Poor guy," Y/N muttered with a frown, "He looks pretty young," She said.

"I'm curious," House muttered.

"No, Greg, you either go over and talk to him now like a normal person or you leave him be. I can see the wheels turning in your brain and I don't like it," Y/N said.

"It'll be fine, I'm just watching him," House shrugged.

...

The man that House had been watching at the conference was named James Wilson. House wound up bailing him out of jail after he drunkenly threw a bottle into an antique mirror at a bar.

House didn't realize that Billy Joel could push a man over the edge like it did. He was honestly impressed, Wilson didn't seem like the type to have a genuine outburst like that.

Y/N didn't agree with it, but allowed House to bail Wilson out of his bind. He was clearly down on his luck and needed some friends right now.

Wilson had been charged with vandalism, assault and destruction of property, but House was able to get it taken care of for him.

The trio spent the rest of the weekend together and Y/N found herself feeling grateful for House's impulsiveness. Wilson was a smart and incredibly nice man who was going through a rough time. After some conversation, it was discovered that they would all be completing their residencies at Princeton-Plainsboro. All in different departments but at the same location which was definitely a surprise.

The trio kept in touch throughout their residencies and eventually settled in to their roles at the hospital as doctors. They even became department heads as their careers progressed.

Their many years of friendship had been based on House's morbid curiosity and outlandish ideas. All because House saw a man carrying around a package at a convention.

Wilson had quickly became one of Y/N's closest friends, he was House's best man at their wedding and even served as a godfather to their baby boy. Wilson was the best uncle around, showering their son with gifts and always willing to lend a hand wherever he could.

Wilson and Y/N had always acted as a counter balance to House. House tended to take things to the extremes, pushing boundaries and going against every rule that ever existed. Cuddy had her hands full with him and his bizarre nonsense almost every day, trying desperately to stay one step ahead of him at all times.

It had become common practice that Cuddy would call Y/N to help her get control of House when he was being particularly unruly.

Y/N was his best friend, aside from Wilson, and the love of his life. House pushed his limits, but never with his wife.

Their relationship was quite interesting to people who met them. House was sarcastic, manipulative and impulsive while Y/N was the complete opposite. She was kind, soft-spoken and planned for absolutely everything, which is why House often stressed her out. He flew by the seat of his pants, making decisions in the moment and it drove his wife crazy.

Y/N hated how spontaneous he was, but his quick decision-making is what led to their relationship with Wilson. Which was one of the best things that has happened to them.

So it couldn't be that bad, could it?

[starry-bi-sky]

finally giving fem danyal her own au and fulfilling my 'danny is an animal whisperer' agenda at the same time: mother of monsters danyal 2.0

i say "2.0" because TECHNICALLY 'mother of monsters danyal' is an au I made back in June for Dark fem!Danyal (who I promptly named Layal). However, I haven't posted much for her yet, and I like the "mother of monsters" premise too much to leave it only to Layal. Plus Danyal in that au was going to become the mother of monsters anyway, just with significantly less world domination and mass extinction.

'Animal whisperer' Danny has been something I've been thinking about since my latest DP 'wolfpack au' post and it's! So fun to think about, and who no better to assign the idea to than Danyal Al Ghul? Who comes from a family infamously known for their love of animals and nature?

Fem Danyal is just purely self-indulgent. *gestures wildly at her* i just lomvb,,, her,,,, I've only really mentioned her in context of the 'Things in Threes' au/my first Danyal al Ghul au with the facial scar, but she's!!! I love her. She deserves her own au <33

So kill three birds with one stone! Make a post about it.

Anyways, Danny has a large lair. Similar to cult leader danyal, her lair is a giant mountain region resembling nanda parbat with a big temple/palace-like area built into the mountain. It's large, it's overflowing with natural flora, with its own mini-floating islands hovering over some areas, and it's also completely empty.

Danny takes one look at her lair upon first meeting, -- noting that it looked relatively smaller from the outside -- and promptly, with the elegance of an Al Ghul, goes "What the hell??" Because yes, while she does enjoy her own solitude and privacy, this is a bit ridiculous.

For heaven's sake, there's even a massive lake in there! What's she going to do with all this space? Can she make it any smaller? Why is it so big in the first place? This looks borderline like one of the mega-islands!

She finds out later that apparently, the amount of ectoplasm a ghost has can have an effect on the size of their lair. And since she has such a large core, her lair reflects that. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, it's bigger on the inside so it doesn't take up "too much space" on the outside. Don't worry about it too much.

Danyal isn't totally opposed to having such a large lair, she's just... a bit baffled by it. It feels like so much wasted space is all. All this flora and no fauna to enjoy it with. It's practically eerie.

She decorates her temple-palace area, transforming rooms to match her needs as she sees fit. In the center of the inner gardens is a massive tree that she likes to climb, with twisting, winding branches. Sam and Tucker have honorary rooms, even if they can't safely leave the specter speeder for long periods of time, even with proper safety equipment. So does Jazz. Ali (Dani) has one too, but he can actually use that one, and Danny brought him to her lair so he could decorate it himself.

She has a personal garden, but for the most part she lets the flora exist as it is. Too much space to cultivate it en masse anyways.

Skip to a few weeks later, on her next visit to Clockwork. She developed a habit of going to see him semi-regularly just because. She enjoys his wisdom, and he has a lot of stories to tell, and when he's not being the cryptic and esoteric timekeeper, he's a bit goofy.

(pushing my dadwork agenda here,,, i think Danny deserves to go 'hey, Lord Clockwork, do you want me to buy you something' while she's at walmart, only to receive a singular glowing sticky note that says 'cucumber gatorade'.)

(She insists on referring to him with his proper titles even for the most mundane of things because it's proper, but Clockwork sees a future where she eventually calls him "Cee" and by all things in existence is he determined to get there. Anyways,,,)

On her next visit to Clockwork, just as she is about to leave, Clockwork stops her and goes; "Ah, I have something for you. Hold out your hands."

Danny does as such, and Clockwork doesn't give out things often, so her curiosity has spiked to the highest levels. He turns away from her for a moment, using his staff to summon whatever it is he needs, and when he turns around.

He drops a fish into her hands. Granted, a fish in a small glass tank. But a fish nonetheless. A small one, roughly about the size of her finger, with a blue-black, eel-shaped body and four sets of glowing eyes. She can see thin, almost translucent, but spiny fins down its back and the start of bioluminescent markings. It's swimming around in circles in its small container.

"Lord Clockwork." Danyal says all too calmly.

"Yes, Danyal?"

"What is this?"

"That is an adolescent leviathan, Danyal." She’s transfixed onto the tank, but she doesn’t need to see Clockwork’s face to hear the smile he’s stifling.

The myriad of emotions that runs through her all at once threatens to overwhelm her, and she can’t tell if the feelings are negative or positive. So she carefully closes her eyes to breathe in through her nose.

“Clockwork.”

“Ah, I see you’ve dropped formalities.”

She ignores that.

“Why have you given me an adolescent leviathan?”

She's expecting the trickster to look amused when she opens her eyes. Instead, he just looks endeared. "I know you're fond of animals," he says, "and you always look amazed when you come across an animal of the realms. So I thought you might enjoy taking care of the young beast, it's mother is dead so it has no one to care for it."

Oh.

"But, if you don't like it," Clockwork's hands reach out for the tank, "I can simply take it back--"

Danyal shifts the tank out from his reach and hugs it possessively. "I never said that. How do I care for it?"

And so clockwork gives her a list, and when Danyal returns to her lair, she sets up a large tank in her room for the leviathan to swim in -- it's much too small for the lake right now, she thinks. She'll feel better if it's somewhere she can find it. She names him Suhā.

Suhā grows quickly, and by the end of the mortal month she transforms one of the rooms into a large pond for him to swim around in. He's a very loyal beast, recognizing her as it's mother of some kind. Danyal takes great care ensuring that her beastie gets quality care, and Suhā swims to the surface to see her when he senses her in the room.

It spirals from there. Somehow, Pandora catches wind that Clockwork gave her a leviathan, and so the next time Danyal visits the Greater Athens, she gives her a baby chimera. It's eyes are still sealed shut, Danyal can't bring herself to say no. She names the little beastie Firas.

Frostbite hears about it too, and not to be outdone, gives her an animal she's never even heard of. Infinite-realms born, apparently. A fox-like creature with two small horns like an impala, four eyes, and tall legs. The name isn't something she's quite sure how to write down, and she's positive that her friends won't be able to comprehend it. She names her Eira.

Getting the three of them used to each other was... interesting. Suhā tried to eat Firas when Danyal first introduced the two, and they've hated each other ever since. Firas and Eira are seemingly getting along. Her island already feels full enough with the three of them on it.

Of course, that's not the end of it. With her luck, she begins stumbling across other monsters. Realms-borne or otherwise. An injured hydra in the Grecian islands that, through lots of trial and error, Danyal is able to rehabilitate and heal. It routinely comes to visit her afterwards.

A griffin with a broken wing that she moves permanently to the island that likes to keep to itself, but tends to come down when she's near. It gets along best with Firas.

A panther-like monster from the Shades Woods that had six legs and three tails, with ends that reminded her of a venus flytrap. It stuck around the heavy foliage and she can only make out where it was when she saw its golden eyes reflect.

She befriends a young indrik with its leg injured, and much like the hydra it follows her back to her island, and stays there in the mountains. It comes out when she's alone, much like her other beasts.

She receives two more leviathan -- one from clockwork, and one she finds herself while exploring the deeper and darker recesses of the Ghost Zone. It was huddled against the carcass of its mother, and she managed to befriend and get close enough to it to bring it back to her island. Suhā is fully grown by then, with a head bigger than Danyal herself and he still likes to stick her head out of the water for nuzzles when she's near.

He's not very happy with his new siblings, but he's not trying to eat them when she's not looking. So she calls it a win in her book.

And it's not just large beasts either; smaller animals begin popping up when she's not looking. Bird-like creatures and small mammals, and she swears she saw a doe (or something resembling a doe) grazing in the forest while she was walking by.

She takes back with her a lone snake egg once, and it grows so big it wraps around her island and sleeps with its massive head on the mountain beside the temple, like some smaller breed of Jörmungandr.

And on and on it goes. Some of the beasts she comes across never step foot onto her island, some of them follow her back, while others she has to carry back. Not all of the ones that follow her stay, and Danny rehabilitates the injured and releases them when they're fully healed.

It's hectic, and busy, and frankly she loves it. Some of her rehabilitated beasts return to visit her, or to have their children somewhere on the island, or whatever it is they need to do.

She becomes a bit infamous for it. She goes to visit Dorathea once, and as she's walking through the streets she can hear some of the denizens whispering while she walks past.

"Is that her?"

"Her highness' friend? Yes--"

"--that's the one--"

"--Mother of monsters--"

Danny's not sure how to feel about that.

Although, she can't say she's opposed.

Danyal Al Ghul, Mother of monsters, raiser of beasts. It has a nice ring to it.

[demaparbat-hp]

Zuko looked up and locked eyes with his cousin, who was struck speechless. Then, ever so slowly, Lu Ten's lips twitched upwards. And then he smiled. And then he beamed. And then he nodded proudly once, just once, and vanished.

Lu Ten comes back in For the Spirits Chapter VII: Take Me South, only to leave Zuko with more questions than answers. Just how much is he truly aware of? When will he return? What is Zuko going to do now?

(What will the South bring?)

[xinnamonbun]

Payjay Wedding! :3

@pencilgutz here's your fooooood :3

This was genuinely SO fun to draw. At first I was obsessed with trying to make this really polished since I was kinda making it as a gift- but around halfway through I kind of realized that I was having a blast just...doodling! So the end product ended up being a bit messy, but I think it ended up making it look more different. I'm not even going to lie the lack of people in the chairs was genuinely laziness on my part. But you can just say that this is a wedding photo that was taken after the ceremony.

Alts!

Some headcannon stuff for the wedding below the cut!

Venue stuff:

Genuinely, I think it would be hilarious if all of this happened right behind the hotel- just getting married right outside your house. TBH it would also be a pretty good excuse for most of the Inanimate Insanity contestants to come.

Roles?:

Grooms: Paper and OJ (duh)

Best man: Knife (paper)

Maid of Honor: Soap (oj)

Ring bearer: Cherries

Flower girl: Yang (he volunteered)

Groomsmen: Pickel, Bomb, Baseball, Silver Spoon

Groomsmaids: Candle, Taco (if post show) (idk who else-)

Groomsmate(s): Paintbrush

Photographer: Trophy

Caterer: Suitcase and Balloon (I love you guys but I swear; FLOUR NOT FLOWER-)

Drama (at this point it's like a mandatory thing at weddings): Salt. SALT.

After-party:

Knife and Baseball have to drag Salt out for wearing white (among other things). Test Tube catches the bouquet. She wasn't even trying to it just landed on her. You can decide if Suitcase and Balloon ACTUALLY make the cake properly.