#and brian said no cap

[frannyzooey]

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: E (age gap)

Summary: Best friends with younger one, you’ve known the Miller brothers since forever — you’ve wanted the older one for just as long.

a/n: it’s been a while! I’ve been writing over on Ao3, but thought I would pop in and say hi and happy summer ❤️ enjoy! —

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you wonder how much longer you need to stay before it’s appropriate to leave. 

You can’t even remember the name of the person who's talking at you – someone who said they took calc with you or something, back in high school. Brian, maybe? Ben? Picking at the label on the bottle in your hand, you tip the last swallow of warm beer into your mouth, grimacing at the taste. 

“Gimme a second,” you interrupt him. “I’ll be right back.”

Not a fuckin’ chance , you think to yourself. 

Navigating through the crowd of people packed into the Miller’s living room, you make your way towards the kitchen. Needing another beer to get through it all, you head straight for the fridge – only to see someone already there, their broad back facing you. When they straighten and shut the door, you reach out and pluck the beer from their hand.

“Thanks for the beer, Miller.”

Joel huffs, grabbing another one from the fridge. Turning to face you, he leans his hip against the counter. 

“You even old enough to drink?” Twisting the cap off, he takes a long, slow drink, his throat working with the motion. 

You roll your eyes, and his eyes drift down your body and back up again. 

Playing it cool, you clink your bottle against his. 

“Cheers, old man.”

His eyes narrow, and he waits a beat before tipping the bottle against his lips. 

His face has been a fixture in your life for as long as you’ve known Tommy –  a kid you met back in elementary school. Tommy was a few years older than you, Joel even older than him. The fact that you were younger never bothered Tommy –  you were just as daring as any boy his age, and he was more fun than any girl your own. A fixture by his side more often than not, you’d stuck together through middle school and then high school, through boyfriends and girlfriends, through Tommy’s enlistment after senior year. 

The entire time, Joel was there. 

In the beginning, you never paid him any attention. Busy working since he could, you barely saw him. The couple times you did see him at parties, it was only as Tommy’s ride, or showing up when Tommy got in trouble with his mouth. Like he never had any patience for parties or stuff like that; an aged man since forever. Even at their house, Joel had been…around, but he never stuck around for long. Always drifting away to go hang out in the garage, or in his room. 

It was during high school when you started looking at him differently. Started paying attention to him in a way you never did before. Starting noticing things like he never had a girl around –  or at least one that stuck , though you knew he knew his way around them, because you saw him in town sometimes. 

Walking out of a liquor store with a brown bag, a girl sitting in the passenger seat of his truck. 

Pulling open the door of the bar, his hand on the small of another girl’s back. 

Once, you saw him at the movie theater you worked at senior year. You still remember the heat that flooded your face when he strolled up to the ticket booth where you were standing, the broad smile he had on his face for his date, one that turned your insides warm. His arm was looped around her back, his hand resting on her ass with casual confidence. 

You’d never been so jealous of someone in your life. 

You left him behind (not that he ever knew it) when you went away to college. A visit back home after your first year timed with a visit home from Tommy,  Joel is right where you left him, still on the fringes. Only at the party to keep an eye on things, to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand, still keeping to himself. He’s been upstairs all night, only coming down every so often for another beer. 

The mystery of how he spent his time used to consume you back in your school-kid crush days…and it comes back full force, when he leaves you in the kitchen to go back up to his room. 

Leaving the noise of the party behind you, you climb the worn carpeted stairs. The second floor of their house is off limits to party guests, but you also know that doesn’t apply to you. Having been to this house more times than you can count, you know right where Joel’s bedroom is. You’ve never been in it though, which is part of the pull that drives you towards it – along with a slice of light that breaks through where he’s left the door cracked.

You nudge it open with your knuckle, to find him sitting inside. 

At a desk chair, his legs spread wide in his slouch. A beer rests in his hand, the other one holding a book and at your presence, he puts the book face down in his lap. 

He frowns. “Everything okay down there?”

“Yea. Just thought I’d come up and say hi. See what you’re doing.”

“Said hi in the kitchen,” he teases. He lifts the book with one hand. “And I was readin’.”

Used to his gruff sarcasm, you ignore it. “Any good?” 

His eyes follow you as you walk further into the room, sitting down on the edge of his bed. 

“Not really,” he answers. “Just waitin’ for everyone to leave.”

You know that’s not going to happen any time soon; another large group of people had walked in just as you made your way upstairs. 

A golden hue washes over everything, a single lamp burning on the desk, the colors of everything else dulled in the dim light. Shadows pool in the corners of the room, but he is lit, though only parts of him: the chestnut ends of his curls, his tanned skin, the stretch of his jeans across his thighs. The bed you sit on has a rumpled comforter, clearly having been slept in. 

Arousal pools low and heady between your hips. 

Has he ever brought another girl up here? Has he fucked anyone in this bed?

You imagine it briefly: his flushed cheeks, his heavy breathing, his muscles shifting under his skin. Your hand trembles, and you grip your beer tighter. 

“Already sick of bein’ downstairs?” he asks. 

You thumb at the condensation gathered on the bottle, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Yea. Sort of. It’s always a little awkward when you come back, you know?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. Never been anywhere but here.”

Your shoulders slump, and you let out a sigh. “Right. But you know what I mean.”

Suddenly, the weight of exhaustion pulls at you: the smiles you had to force downstairs, the names you tried to recall, the crush of people and the fake enthusiasm. You came here for Tommy, and you’ve barely seen him tonight. Forgetting for a second that you’re not in Tommy’s bedroom, you relax and let yourself fall backwards on Joel’s bed. The second you do it, you freeze – but don’t correct it. 

You’re in Joel Miller’s bed. Lying down. 

You feel the hem of your shirt ride up, but don’t fix it. The sheets smell like him, and you hear him huff. 

You also feel the weight of his eyes on you. 

–

He should be more annoyed that you’re in his bedroom, but he can’t take his eyes off your legs: a mile long in your cutoffs, the slight peek at the curve of your ass in their ride high. The slice of soft skin he can see, between your waistband and your shirt. 

He watches you roll over and prop your head up on your hand, not liking at all how good you look in his bed. 

He’s been watching you since you came back. Watched you even before that, though he’d never admit it. Walking around their backyard in a tiny bikini when you lounge with Tommy by the pool, looking gorgeous as hell all windblown and carefree sitting in the passenger seat of Tommy’s truck, looking so fucking innocent and beautiful swamped in one of Tommy’s sweaters by the bonfires he’s been having at night since he came back.  

The sight of your ass in those shorts as you walk around their house has been imprinted on his mind all week. 

He sits up, clearing his throat. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he lets his head hang down between his shoulders. If he can avoid looking at you, maybe his cock will stop hardening with interest. 

“I think you better get back downstairs.”

“I just wanna catch up,” you reply innocently, looking anything but. 

He looks up, giving you a knowing look in reprimand. “That ain’t all you wanna do.”

He doesn’t know what compelled him to say that to you , but he does know it to be true. He’s seen the look on your face on plenty of women before – women . You’re a girl . One he’s known since forever. One he never thought about until he did, and one he tried not to think about once he started. 

One who is way too fucking young for the things he’s thought about doing to you. 

“No?” you ask. “Why don’t you tell me what you think I wanna do?”

He shakes his head instead. 

The edges of your mouth curl up in a soft, teasing smile. “Joel Miller, a secret prude.” 

His head snaps up, “I ain’t no prude, honey, you’re just –”

“Honey?” Your eyebrows lift, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just what?”

“ Young. Too young.”

“I’m twenty.”

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes and you cave. 

“Almost. In a few months.”

He huffs in disgust, dropping his head back down. “Jesus Christ. A baby.”

He feels you study him for a moment. 

“I missed you while I was gone, you know.”

The confession surprises him, and he looks up to find your face completely sober, truthful. 

“Did you miss me?” you ask quietly. 

The vulnerability on your face pulls at him, and even though he knows what will happen if he gets on that bed, he wants to. If only to tuck you against his chest and reassure you that he did. He really did. He knows you think he never noticed you, but that’s only because he made you feel that way. He couldn’t notice you, for both your sakes. 

“Just come…sit with me, okay?” you ask. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, keeping his eyes on the floor. He feels you wait with bated breath, knowing full well that he should stand up and walk you out of his bedroom…but he can’t bring himself to leave you hanging like that. 

Instead, he stands, and walks over to the bed. 

Your face flashes with surprise that you try to hide, and he smirks. 

There is a look on your face he’s seen a million times — a bolstering sort of lift to your chin, the look of a tough girl that would follow his brother anywhere. A girl who never backed down, even when he could tell she was nervous. 

A girl he knows he shouldn’t want, but does anyway. 

He tests the waters, crawling onto his bed. Stretching out next to you, he sprawls across the mattress, his broad form partially covering yours in shadow.  He can feel the heat gather between your bodies. You look even younger close up, and he leans closer, unable to stop himself from pushing to see how far you’ll go.

He recognizes that same determined look on your face now, only this one is slightly different. This one is laced with lust, and want. So much fucking want it makes him ache. 

“Okay, big girl,” he drawls. “Now what?”

–

It’s his turn to be surprised when you lean in and press your mouth to his. 

You can tell because he momentarily freezes when your lips meet, his stubble brushing against your skin, your lips fitting neatly along the seam of his own.  You kiss him again, this time opening your mouth just enough to let him in and he takes your invitation, the taste of beer thick on his tongue when he slides it against yours. His hand comes up, cradling the curve of your jaw as you tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss and a soft sound that catches in the back of your throat has his fingers flexing, pulling you closer. 

The sheets rustle beneath you when he takes over, his hold guiding you beneath him on the bed. He kisses you harder, longer, a deep groan rumbling from his chest, the light of the room blocked out behind him. His solid body weighs heavy on top of you, his denim clad hips pushing between your thighs with a grind and you open your legs wider, his hand sliding up the outside of your leg to hitch your knee around his hip. 

It’s sensory overload after wanting him for so long. You’ve daydreamed about this a million times, imagined it happening a million different ways, but you never thought it would be anything like this. Lost in the weighted haze of lust, drunk on the way he feels against you, head swimming with arousal, the crotch of your panties already so fucking wet that they slide over your achingly empty core with every rock of his hips into yours. Meeting the rolling grind of his hips with your own, you feel the weight of his cock press against you, his calloused hand covering your breast with a squeeze. His hips rock forward again, the grinding promise of what he’s capable of against the damp seam of your shorts and you are just about to beg him for more when he pulls back, standing. 

In one long stride, he shoves the door shut and locks it. 

Tugging his shirt off with a one handed grip over his head, you take in the sight of his broad, solid chest and the dusting of hair that scatters sparsely just under his collarbones. It’s thicker along his sternum, even thicker still just under his navel, where it leads into the waistband of his jeans. He looks so…big, from where you lay on the bed. Older, masculine in a way you’ve never seen on a boy your age. Your eyes run the length of his body and back up again, the outline of his thick cock pushing against the fly of his jeans making your cunt flutter. 

He opens the drawer next to his bed, tossing a condom down and there is something so arousing about the matter of fact action, the implied sight of it just sitting there, waiting for him. Black, with gold letters. When his hands drop to work open his belt buckle with single minded intent, you reach down to slide your shorts off. 

“Don’t.”

Your hands pause. 

“I wanna do that.”

You don’t even know what to say in response before he’s bending to grab you behind your knees, hauling you to the edge of the bed. Your shirt rides up your back, and sit up enough to tear it over your head, your bra following shortly after as his greedy eyes track every movement. His thick fingers pop open the button on your shorts, hooking under the fabric and he drags them down and off, bringing your panties along with them.  

Then he stands there, his hands on your knees. He pushes them apart, and you try not to squirm as he spreads you for him. 

“Goddamn.” The word pours out of his mouth, saturated with awe, low with lust. 

Your thighs flinch, your knees trying to pull together to hide yourself from the heat of his gaze, but he keeps a firm grasp on them, holding you open. 

“Don’t try to hide it from me now, honey.”

His eyes drop from your face to the gleaming spread of your cunt. He reaches down, his thumb brushing over your opening, and it’s so fucking filthy the way he drags it through the mess you’ve made for him. 

“Especially not when it’s this pretty,” he murmurs. 

He drops to his knees, your breath hitching when he tugs you closer to his mouth and guiding your legs over his bare shoulders, his mouth immediately seeks you out. 

“ Fuck .” 

The word slides into a moan when your body bows off the bed to chase the slick heat of his tongue. It smears wetness over everything, dipping inside you to drag upwards to your clit and then he’s fitting the bottom half of his face along your cunt with a messy, open mouthed kiss. 

He devours you there the same way he devoured your mouth earlier, and the sensation is simultaneously  too much but not enough, your hands finding purchase in his sheets. You fist them, twisting them in your grip as you start to rock your hips and you have never - never - had this done to you before, a tremble pouring sweet and thick down your spine to pool right under his mouth. 

His hands keep your thighs forced open, his shoulders spreading you wider and when his tongue starts to swirl firm, tight circles over your clit, it drags a hoarse moan out of your throat. 

Too consumed to care if you’re being too loud, every thought leaves your head when two thick fingers stroke delicately along  the dip of your opening, before sliding inside you with a filling stretch just as he starts to suck . His whiskered cheeks hollow with it, your words breathless and pleading. A stretch just to take his fingers , you close your eyes and feel your stomach drop when you think about taking his cock.

The thought alone sends you flying over the edge. 

When it happens, he groans into you just as loud as if he’s the one who’s come, and a second wave washes hot over your limbs when you peek down to see the upper half of his face between your spread thighs. His brows pinched together, his eyes closed tight, his white knuckled hold on your thighs. 

The music turns up louder downstairs, a shout of a crowd greeting new arrivals – but it’s lost in the intimacy of the bedroom. His satisfied low groans, your trembling thighs, his damp beard against your skin.  

Pulling back, he wipes your slick from his face with his hand – and then gives your cunt a sharp, flat swat. 

The action shocks you, your eyes widening and the grin on his face is charmingly boyish. Or would be, if he didn’t follow it with a filthy suck of the fingers that were just inside you. He stands, shucking his jeans and briefs off in one movement, and puts a knee on the bed between your legs, reaching for the condom. His large hands rip it open, and though you can feel his gaze rest heavily on you as he puts it on, your eyes are fixed firmly on his cock. 

It’s – big. Much bigger than you’ve ever seen, a grown man’s dick. He fists it lazily for a moment, the weight of it evident in his grip and when he places the condom over the tip and rolls it down to the base, you openly stare. The translucent rubber fits snug and tight, down to the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. 

When you finally drag your eyes up to his face, he looks smug. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’. It’ll fit.”

The amount of times you’ve thought about this moment is nothing compared to the real thing. The man standing in front of you has always been off limits, a complete mystery to you all these years, even as the subject of most of your debased fantasies. The realness of him — the solid width of his frame, the flush to his skin, the amount of bare, firm skin on display. You swallow hard, a bundle of nervous anticipation even though he just fucked you with his mouth. 

He settles his body on top of you, caging you underneath him and the press of his hot skin has all of your nerves scattering, evaporating into need . 

His mouth rests right next to your ear, a kiss brushed against the divot below it. 

“We’ll make it,” he whispers. 

If you thought his fingers were a snug fit, it’s nothingcompared to how full you feel as he slides in. The stretch almost to the point of pain save for how wet he got you beforehand, it still steals the air from your lungs as he pushes inside. You squirm underneath him, shifting to accommodate every single inch and his hand curls around your waist, his hips pushing forward with a final, hard thrust. 

His mouth brushes tenderly along your clenched jaw, letting you get used to it before his hips find a rolling rhythm. Every downstroke shoving you up underneath his hold, you hold on tight, hitching your knees up along his ribs and your feet slide over his tailbone, a whine crawling out of your outstretched throat. 

“This little pussy is so tight ,” he groans, his hot breath gusting over your skin. “So fucking tight.”

His hand shoves itself under your tailbone, angling your hips to take him deeper and his own groan sounds deep over your softer, higher one. 

“Do you have any idea how much I thought about fuckin’ you? How many different ways I’ve wanted to?”

Hearing him utter those words makes your chest crack open, your heart thundering underneath your rib cage. Everything you’ve ever wanted to hear, paired with more than you ever thought you would. 

He picks up pace, his hips a relentless, heavy pound into the cradle of your own, each thrust punching the air out of you – and your fingers claw into his forearms when he sits back on his heels, pushing your knees to your chest to fuck you harder. 

The bed pounds lewdly against the wall, the music from the party covering it up. 

“Joel,” you whine, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. It feels like you’re being used by him, your body a tool for his own pleasure, your pliant, moldable body being positioned just for his use. It sends you higher, thinking about him doing the same for others, right here in this bed. 

You start to tense underneath him, the wave of slick, brutal pleasure pulling you under and when you come, it’s a wordless, breathless thing – your body pulling taut, your cunt squeezing him tight. He groans, dropping forward to cover your mouth with his, his hand sliding up to wrap around the nape of your neck with a grip and he forces himself deeper, his strokes urgent in their snap against you. 

He rests his forehead against yours, and through the haze of your freshly fucked gaze, he recognizes the same look from before. A girl who never backs down, a girl who knows how to hold her own. 

“I already want it again, Joel,” you breathe against his mouth, his heavy pants washing over your lips. “Next time, I’m gonna ride you. I’m gonna sit on your lap and you can watch me take it, okay?”

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips stuttering. They chase the slick warmth of your cunt, his eyes closing tight. 

“You’re fuckin’ trouble, you know that?” he rasps, his fingers threading into the hair at your nape, fisting it with a tug. The motion tips your head back for him, a victorious grin stretching across your face. 

“A pain in my ass since I met you,” he pants, letting out a deep groan. “A sweet piece of ass in my bed.”

You nod, the smile on your face melting into something pleasure soaked when he shifts the angle of his hips. 

“I’m gonna come inside this little cunt, okay? And then I’m gonna do it all over again. You ready, honey?”

“God yes.”

He buries his face in the damp crook of your neck when he comes, he back rounding as his hips still in their push against yours. He’s so deep you know you’re going to feel it tomorrow – more than you’ve ever taken, a stretch you know will make you ache every time you sit down. He holds onto you so tight that you can barely breathe, and it’s a special sort of heaven to be buried underneath the bulk of his body. Your cheek pressed against his curls, your chest compressed under his. Your hips sore from being spread so wide, your cunt still snug around him. 

He lifts just enough to see you, and opens his mouth – right when something crashes beneath his room. 

“What the fuck , Tommy,” he grumbles, and you laugh at his instant change of expression. He slips out from inside you with a groan, his hips imperceptibly shifting forward to chase the heat between your thighs. He presses a quick, hard kiss against your lips and then he’s dragging himself from the bed, tugging the condom off and tying it in a neat knot. 

Tossing it in the trash next to his bed, he grabs his jeans off the floor. 

“I’m gonna go downstairs and see what the hell that was,” he says, sliding them up over his bare ass. Buttoning them, he shoots you a look. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ get dressed.”

You gesture a wordless salute, and he shakes his head, smiling. 

“Smartass,” he grumbles, picking a shirt up off the floor. Sliding it over his head, he opens the door and disappears. 

“Tommy!” 

You hear him shout and a laugh bubbles up from your chest. 

“What the fuck was that?”

Stretching out, you slide against the warm, rumpled sheets and listen to the familiar sound of their deep voices. For the first time since you’ve been back, you feel like you’re home. 

Pressing your face into his pillow, you take a deep breath – and grin. 

[intimidating-fettuccine]

[Texting]

Toby: HI!

Tim: Hey!

Toby: HOW ARE YOU?

Tim: I’m doing great, but why are you texting in all caps?

Toby: YOU SAID YOU HATE SMALL TALK SO I MADE IT BIG JUST FOR YOU! :D

Toby: TIM?

Toby: WHY AREN’T YOU REPLYING?

Tim: Toby, this is Brian. Tim is currently emotionally crying.

[hearts-hunger]

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Under the soft glow of the purple Halloween lights, Danny is sweet to you like he always is. || Sequel to Kitkat and Honeyglow

Pairings: Danny x Reader | Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort | Word Count: 2.4k | Warnings: drinking, smoking, mentions of wacky tobaccy, me not knowing anything actually about tarot cards (sorry)

A/N: Everyone say thank you to @spark-my-nature and go look lovingly upon this Kitkat 'verse Danny fanart she made that made me cry!!! Every Danny and Kitkat fic is dedicated especially to Miranda now :) I have at least one more fic for these two sweeties up my sleeve this spooky season, and I hope you like this short little fic! ♡

“Damn, Jake, how much tequila did you put in this?”

Jake laughed when you winced after the first sip of your drink, clinking his solo cup against yours.

“Beats me, kitkat,” he said. “You know I measure liquor with my heart.”

“Should start measuring with your liver,” you said, taking another drink anyway. “Lordy. I'm gonna be slap-out drunk after one drink.”

He cackled. “Slap out? That's weird. You're funny, honey.”

You grinned at the sloppy kiss he bestowed on your cheek as he went to rejoin the party, knowing Jake was well on his way to being slap-out drunk already. Most of the partygoers were in various states of intoxication, whether from the counter littered with half-empty bottles of booze or the weed that was being “discreetly” smoked in the back yard. One of the boys' friends had planned this bash to celebrate the beginning of the season at the haunted house attraction they worked for; this was sort of their last hoorah before nights and weekends became dedicated to scaring the bejeezus out of people for the next two months. You knew your boys were looking forward to getting back to work, and even though you weren't the biggest fan of haunted houses, you were happy to come and celebrate this year's reign of terror on the folks of your small town. 

You fished a Corona out of the cooler and went in search of your boyfriend, weaving through rooms filled with people talking and laughing and singing along to the Ghostbusters theme song playing at a blinding volume. Some were dressed in their costumes for work, getting in the spirit of things, and you politely sidestepped a ghoul and an undead nurse making out in the hallway. You spotted Danny in the living room, sporting a black hoodie and a backwards ball cap that somehow managed to tame his thick head of curls. He was talking animatedly to Sam, who was giving him a vaguely drunk but comically serious look of attention and consideration.

You'd almost made it to them when somebody in a clown mask started razzing the crowd, hollering and getting up in their faces. They all seemed to like it — it was just another day at the office for them, after all — but you stumbled back a little when he turned to you and held his hands up as if to snatch you.

“Hey, Bri, easy on the fright night with my kitkat.”

Your boyfriend’s kind reminder from behind you had Brian backing off with an applogetic laugh.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, muffled through his mask. “Forgot you weren't into all this. My bad.”

“That’s okay,” you said with a smile, thankful for the quick response. The actors who worked at the haunted house were very good about keeping things light and fun for all thresholds of thrill-seeking, even those as low as yours. Still, Danny's hand on your waist was a welcome comfort as Brian went off to scare somebody else.

“Thanks,” you said, turning to Danny. “I guess I should be used to this sort of thing by now.”

He smiled. “No sweat, kitkat. Brian's just funning you, but it's okay if you don't like it.”

You handed him his beer, and he accepted it with a word of thanks.

“This is my last one tonight, though,” he said, looking at your cup with a wry smile. “Somebody’s gotta drive us home, and if you're drinking some shit Jake made, no way should you be behind the wheel.”

Sam held out his hand for a taste of his brother's concoction, and when you let him have some, he coughed and spluttered.

“God damn, kitkat,” he said as you and Danny laughed. “You’re gonna be on the floor after that.”

“That’s the plan, Sammy boy,” you said cheerfully. You knocked back another swig and shuddered with the acrid taste. “Goes down real smooth.”

Danny chuckled and hugged you close to his side. “Having fun, kitkat?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “Are you?”

He hummed in agreement around a sip of his beer. “It’s fun to be back with everybody. It's gonna be a good season, I think.”

The music crescendoed, almost rattling the windows with the volume of the synth.

“Do you know who you are yet?” you asked.

Danny leaned closer to hear you over the noise. “Do I know what?”

You stood on tiptoe and leaned on his arm. “Do you know what part you're playing yet? At work?”

He nodded. “Ah. Yeah. Werewolf again. It was such a big hit last year that they want to keep it around.”

You gave him a cheeky smile and a kiss. “It was a big hit for me too.”

He pinked a little, liking the compliment and the reminder of how you'd met. 

“Glad you're happy, sweetheart,” he said, a little bashful. 

Some of his friend wanted him to play a game of darts with them, and you stole one last kiss before you sent him on his way. You knew enough of his coworkers to hang out on your own, and the Kiszkas were milling around somewhere; you went to mingle and talk to some of the friends you'd made over the last year as you'd frequented the haunted house in the off season of repairs and updates.

Cindy, one of the girls who’d worked the zombie maze last year, took you by the arm and let you to where she and a couple other girls were messing around with tarot cards in the dining room.

“Your turn, kitkat,” she said, ushering you into the chair at the table laid with cards and fairy lights. “Time to seek your fortune.”

The girl telling fortunes shuffled the cards and fumbled a few with tipsy hands, and you laughed.

“Off to a good start, I see,” you teased.

“Just you wait,” she said with a grin. She laid three cards in front of you, and you watched curiously as she presented the lovers upside down, the tower, and the moon.

Your draw earned a low chorus of “oohs” from the girls around you. You didn't have the slightest idea what the cards meant and looked around at their faces to see what you could glean from their expressions.

“Bad news?” you asked.

Cindy gave you an uncertain gesture with her cup. “Dunno, kitkat. Looks like your love life is gonna get fucked up, your carefully laid plans are gonna get blown to shit, and you're in for some fear and confusion.”

“Aw, what the fuck?” you protested with a laugh. “Gimme some new ones. I don't like those.”

She waggled her fingers at you. “The cards tell all, babe. Better get with it.”

You let someone else have a turn, and though you enjoyed spending time with your friends, you couldn't help thinking about the cards you'd been given. You didn't want your love life to implode; you liked it just the way it was. 

When the girls pulled out a Ouija board, you declined being haunted and excused yourself to find Danny again. He was out on the porch, smoking a cigarette and finishing off his beer; you snuggled close to him in the chilly night air, thankful for his warmth.

“Saw you in there with Cindy,” he said. His handsome features were sharp in the purple lights strung overhead. “What were y’all getting into?”

“The future,” you said mysteriously.

He smiled. “Oh yeah? What'd you find out?”

You downed the last of your drink. “Well, we're about to break up, and then I'm gonna explode and die, probably.”

He laughed. “Well damn, honey. Is that all?”

“That’s all she wrote,” you agreed. 

He leaned his elbows on the railing, looking out at the spooky decorations in the yard, and you hugged his arm.

“Dan?”

“Hm?”

“I don't wanna break up and explode and die.”

He turned his face to yours, nudging the bridge of his nose against your cheek. “We’re not gonna break up, kitkat.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, half-serious. Maybe — certainly — it was the alcohol making your head fuzzy and your emotions wobbly, and you knew you were worried way too much about some drunken tarot reading that none of you had done correctly anyway. But you still wanted reassurance, and as he always did, Danny gave of his kindness and patience very generously.

“Kitkat,” he said gently. He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “I’m sure, sweetheart. I'd have to tear my heart out to ever live without you. You hear me?”

You blossomed under his touch, leaning close. “I hear you. I love you, Danny.”

He kissed you, and you felt his smile. “I love you, my sweet kitkat.”

You shared a cigarette under the soft violet lights, talking about the upcoming season and your plans for your anniversary that was only a few weeks away. 

“I think we should make it official and start a family,” he said.

You blushed, partly out of surprise and partly out of some insane pleasure at the idea. Of course you weren't ready for kids and he was only messing with you, but you didn't mind the thought of starting a family with him one day.

“Little Danny junior, huh?” you teased gently.

He grinned. “Later, kitkat. Let me marry you first. But maybe we could get a puppy and start practicing.”

You laughed. “Okay, honey. I like that idea. And the one about you marrying me.”

He pulled you snug against him. “I’m working on it. But, you know, rings that a haunted house actor and part time drummer can afford are kinda scarce.”

You slipped your hand under the purple lights on the railing and showed him a light resting on your ring finger.

“There,” you said. “Found a free one.”

He chuckled and kissed you. “You sure are silly, kitkat. I love you. And your free ring. It's very generous of you to find one.”

“Just doing my part,” you said, smiling up at him. You untangled your hand from the lights to brush your fingers over the curls that peeked out from his ball cap. “I love you too.”

When you ventured back to the party, you found that most everybody had settled out in the back yard for a showing of some horror movie on the projector. You and Danny found a spot on the grass to watch, and the Kiszkas joined you. You hoped it would turn out to be a slasher, since you were getting braver with that kind of scary flick, but you quickly found out it was something about ghosts or demons; you didn't watch it closely enough to find out. You hadn't quite gotten over your innate scaredy-cat nature to handle that kind of movie yet. Danny was absorbed in the movie and talking to the boys about it as they all enjoyed it, so he didn't notice that you were hiding behind your hands for a large portion of it.

Halfway through, when the movie was paused to let people refill drinks and snacks, Danny did lean over to check on you.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “This one’s not so bad, is it?”

“Um...” You didn't want to spoil something he was obviously enjoying, but you’d just about reached your limit for terror, even on a movie he thought was tame.

His expression softened with chagrin and worry. “Aw, honey. You don't like it, do you?”

His understanding made you brave enough to tell him the truth. “Not... not really,” you said apologetically. “I’m sorry, Danny.”

He shook his head. “You don't have to apologize, kitkat. I'm sorry I didn't notice earlier. We can go home if you want.”

You looked up as he stood. “Are you sure? I don't mind staying if you want to finish the movie.”

He offered you a hand up. “I don't want to stay if it's scaring you, honey. I'm happy to go home if you're ready.”

You took his hand, grateful for his kindness to you, and you said your goodbyes to the Kiszkas and the rest of your friends. The boys gave you some ribbing about still being a scaredy-cat, but you knew it was in good fun.

On the way home, you and Danny stopped to get something to eat and ended up camped out in the living room at the house he shared with the Kiszkas. You divvied up your Taco Bell orders as Danny queued something up on the tv.

“I think this one's a little more your speed, kitkat,” he said. “But you let me know if it’s too scary.”

The opening to Halloweentown started to play, and you nudged your elbow against his ribs and earned a sweet little giggle.

“Sorry, kitkat. I’m only teasing.”

He consoled you with a kiss, and as you sat together and enjoyed the movie that was indeed much more your taste, you found yourself watching him more than your were watching the movie. 

He chewed on his straw. “What?” He offered you his Baja Blast. “You want some?”

You smiled. “No, but thank you. I’m just admiring my lovely boyfriend.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I'm a real hunk eatin’ my weight in tacos and nacho fries.”

You patted his shoulder. “I like a man with a healthy appetite.”

He laughed and gave you a goofy smooch. “Good to know, baby.”

You broke out the candy after a while, grabbing a bag of the fun-sized Skittles and Hershey bars you’d been planning to save for trick or treaters in your more proactive moments. But you could buy more, and the boyish smile on Danny’s face when you tossed the bag in his lap was priceless.

“See, this is why I keep you around,” he said. He fished out a candy for you. “Your special candy, my sweetheart.”

You smiled when you took the Kit-Kat that looked impossibly small in his big hand. “Thanks, honey. I guess it is my special candy, isn't it?”

You broke off half of it and gave it back to him. 

“I didn't mean for you to share it with me,” he said, amused and kind. “But thank you.”

You gave him a quick kiss, candy-sweet and full of the easy love you shared, and he smiled as he pulled you close and deepened it.

“I love you, kitkat,” he said. “You know that, don't you?”

There was no way for you not to know. In his kindness and patience, his selflessness and sweet nature, Danny showed you he loved you until you thought your heart would burst with it.

“Yeah,” you said softly. You smiled. “I know it. I love you too.”

taglist: @viagvf @allieisacrybaby @itsafullmoon @spark-my-nature @anthemheatwave @xserenax-13 @musicspeaks @mountain-in-springtime @stardustsecret @alwaysonthemend @madneedshelp @josh-iamyour-mama @dannythedog @thecoldwind @woyayaofdreams @joshkiszkapunchmeintheface @lostoverseer @jakesguitarpick @heartcannotsow @kissingkiszka @gold-mines-melting @lizzys-sunflower @iluvjoshkiszka @musicislove3389

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[whaleofatjme1920]

Passing Autumn Nights

[Proxies (Toby, Masky, Hoodie) X GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Like, none?]

[AN: also known as the 'fuck me i just miss autumn' fic and LOVE writing slice of life things.]

[1356 words <3]

Reblogs are appreciated!

Moments like these never last forever. Fleeting, careless, and bittersweet, they remind you of a time long, long passed. The moon is rising and a chill runs through the air. It oddly warms you and reminds you of friends that pass in and out of your life just as freely, though in your past life it might have caused you minor concern. 

You sit on the hood of this stupid car Toby stole. It’s sporting a giant dent in the side, and some of the paint near the tires is rusting but it’s taken care of the four of you so far. In your hand is a pack of cigarettes. You don’t smoke. You tried it once and hated it, coughing up like a crude imitation of a dragon lighting up your first attempt, and never tried again after that. They’re actually Tim’s; he wants you to hold them to help kick his habit. 

Brian says it’s a sign he’s trusting you more and more. After all, no one knows Tim like him, and you trust your right hand’s judgment. 

Laying in the back seat is Brian himself. His forearm is over his eyes to shield them from the harsh overhead lights in the parking lot. He smells like pine, the woods, a bit of whiskey but not too much. He’s got his back windows rolled down as he waits with you for Toby and Tim to finish whatever the hell they’re doing inside the grocery store. You all needed some cash, and Tim has ways of getting it without any suspicion raised. Whole registers, wallets, purses, things lifted without so much as a smile on his face and an oddly friendly, ‘have a nice day’ in response. 

In your hands, you play with the lighter Tim also left with you. You flick it a few times before finally hearing your right hand’s voice. 

“Leave it,” he hums tiredly, not bothering to move his forearm from his closed eyes. “Thing’s low enough.”

You smile softly and cap it before resting it back in your jacket pocket. For a mid October day, it’s only a little cold, which is surprising. You expected it to be chillier. Or maybe that’s just your proxy blood telling you to not register cold the way a human might. There’s scrapes all over your body, some from missions, others from training, only one from The Operator himself. You trace over the heated mark on your clothed thigh and internally wince, remembering when you upset him. “Sorry,” you apologize half heartedly as you run your thumb in slow circles over the smooth box of cigarettes. “Just get antsy waiting.” 

Brian hums again in response as if to ask ‘why’, but makes no further move to press. He just smiles slightly in response to your presence. “You can always ask them how they’re doing,” he says. When you glance over your shoulder to peer at him through the windshield, he tapes at his temple. Head talk, of course. 

You squint a bit across the parking lot and feel a small bout of relief wash through your system as Tim and Toby step out of the store, bags in hand from legitimate purchases, and well, you can feel the things they acquired outside of legal bounds. “No need to,” you say in response to Brian. 

“Get off the hood,” Tim chides you slightly, but he makes no further move to disturb you. It’s said much like an older brother would to a pesky younger sibling. 

In solidarity, and out of a love for annoying his leader, Toby haphazardly opens the trunk of the car, tosses the bags inside which earns a scowl from Tim, and then bounds over to sit on the hood with you. He leans back a bit, resting his tired body alongside yours. “Kinda crowded in there,” he says to you, knowing you’re curious about how it all went. “Bit too crowded for a Thursday at 8pm,” he muses further. He runs his fingers through his chopped brown hair, gazing at the night sky. The moon has always captivated him. Reminds him of simpler times. He likes autumn just as much as you do, and this feels like the best it’s going to get. 

“What took you guys so long, then?” You inquire as you and Toby listen with half attention to Brian and Tim’s conversation. Something about future work, run of the mill proxy lifestyle things. 

Toby rummages around in his pockets and pulls out a handful of dum dum lollipops he lifted. He gives you a toothy grin and nods for you to pick a flavor before he settles on blue raspberry after you’ve chosen. He crinkles the wrapper, shoves it in his pocket and then holds his hand out for you to give him your wrapper as well. He pops the sweet thing in his mouth and savors the taste before shrugging a bit, “you know Tim. That’s how it always is.” He smiles when Tim taps the windshield in slight annoyance. 

“C’mon, get back in the car. We got somewhere to go,” Tim says as he starts the car up. Either you two get in, or he’s driving with you two strapped to the top of the car. 

“Shotgun-!”

“Sh-oh come on,” Toby sighs in defeat as you snicker in triumph and slide off the hood of the car. You pat his shoulder and then round your way to the passenger seat, settling in and feeling oddly warmer despite not registering you were cold to begin with. You watch as Toby slouches his way to the backseat with Brian, who at first, does not want to move for the former runt. When Toby shoves him, Brian only laughs and tells him to ‘not get your panties in a bunch’. 

“So, where are we going?” You ask as Tim puts the car in drive and smoothly leaves the parking lot. You’re always surprised at the places proxies end up. Right now, you’re in southern Illinois right around Ruth’s hometown. You wouldn’t tell her, but you visited her family’s farm and left a small gift. She would say it’s far too much, and even dangerous for proxy influence to be near her folks and younger siblings but The Operator’s always been fond of her. He wouldn’t hurt them. Not while she performs beautifully for him. 

Tim props his left arm up on the sill of the car window, resting his head there as he drives with one hand. He’s very relaxed, preferring driving at night as opposed to dealing with everyone else when the sun is out shining. He won’t admit it either, but he loves autumn nights like these too. He watches the lights of the town start to fade as you head further south. “Stopping in a small proxy town, meeting with EJ, then Jeff is gonna tag along. Something about… a farm? Lotta farms lately,” he chuckles tiredly. “It’s kinda perfect for Halloween - I’ve never seen The Operator so fascinated with a witch before. So, that. He said he wanted us with those two, and we’ll get further directions once we’re at said farm.” 

Brian clears his throat and adjusts his posture so he’s sitting up. “That farm gonna have pumpkins?” He asks. It’s surprisingly out of character for your right hand, arguably one of the most brutal proxies in your team. 

Tim shrugs. “Fuck if I know.” 

You laugh softly, “why? You wanna carve some?”

Some part of Brian’s old world personality shines through. His smile, the crinkle in his eyes despite him being older and no longer a college student but a weathered, jaded proxy is visible as he nods slightly. “Yeah,” he sniffs slightly, gaze now falling out the window at the orange, red and yellow trees visible from the car’s headlights as you pass, only to see them disappear as the four of you roll through. “Always liked autumn,” he says. 

There’s that warm, gentle feeling again. You focus on your lollipop, feeling the presence of something mulled and sweet. This is as good as it’s gonna get. 

“Yeah,” a pause, “me too.” 

[skarsjoy]

Great news! Kristin Bauer told me that she and Deborah Ann Woll interviewed Alexander Skarsgård last week for their TRUEST BLOOD podcast! So glad this is done and cannot wait to hear it. She said she thinks the next season won’t be out until October.

OTD - (July 6, 2014) today is the 10-year anniversary of True Blood episode 7.03 ‘Fire in the Hole’ written by Brian Buckner and directed by Brian Buckner. The episode was full of flashbacks to Eric & Pam in France in 1986.

Photos are from HBO/my screen caps from the Blu-ray and personal set pics from Jessica Tucker (Nan) she shared on Twitter (X) in 2014.

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 21

Executive dysfunction is a bitch and can go to hell. I had something I could have posted yesterday while I was working on this, but no...

I am starting to wonder if maybe I shot myself in the foot with my tag rant as engagement for the last Reconnect AU was WAY down. But oh well. I can only continue to move on and hope I find new people who like my stuff.

All righty, my lovelies. We have gotten to the part where I was going to end it originally before you absolute menaces said you wanted me to continue it through season 4.

But here’s the deal, this story has reached nearly novel length of 40k. So what I’ve decided to do is call this the end of book one. And then I will start up book two, which will be through to the end of the school year and probably through the events of season 3. And then book 3 should take us the rest of the way.

I hope that’s acceptable to all of you. I want to continue it, but I think from here on out the title doesn’t fit Steve anymore and he needs a new one.

Now if you’ve followed me long enough, you know that I don’t start putting out a story until it’s done (if it’s short enough) or if I’m three to four chapters deep. So hopefully by the end of the month (if not sooner) you should start seeing book two.

I will run a poll on how you think I should do the tag list for it. But thank you all for coming with me on this absolutely wild ride. And hope you’ll stick around for the next two parts.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

***

Word had been handed down, Mindy Jones, Ollie Anderson, and Kyle Carver had been suspended with word that Kyle being the instigator might be expelled. For sure he wasn’t going to be able to walk in his cap and gown at graduation.

Steve felt a sense of relief and strangely justice too. Yes, all right suspension wasn’t getting expelled, but the kids had been punished. They didn’t try to hand wave it away.

Steve had heard that Mr Vinke, the math teacher, Mr Cole, Miss Lucy, and Chief Hopper had all gone to the principal and superintendent for all three of them to be expelled.

The suspension was a given, but the school district wanted to do their own investigation and then expulsions might be handed out after it was complete.

Steve didn’t have much hope.

Marty, Gethin, and Janice all sat with the Corroded Coffin boys at lunch, something they didn’t normally do.

“Fuck,” Janice swore. “Why I am more nervous about tonight than I have all week?”

Steve nodded, poking at his food. “I haven’t been this queasy since I took a plate to the head.”

Everyone winced and murmured sympathetic platitudes and other noises of sympathy.

“I think it’s because it’s your last performance,” Gethin murmured. “Your last chance to completely biff it on stage.” Steve and Janice looked at him in wide-eyed fear. He waved his hands placatingly. “Not that I think you will. Just that your brain thinks you will.”

Steve and Janice looked at each other and then nodded.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “That tracks.”

Eddie slid his hand under the table and gripped Steve’s knee. Steve covered his hand with his own and gave it a squeeze of thank you.

*

Steve scanned the crowd the second night. He spotted Jeff and all his family, Gareth and Gethin and their parents, Brian and all of his younger siblings, and what looked like his dad. Wayne shuffled in his seat nervously, having never been to a musical before. But still no sign of his parents.

His mom promised that at least she would be there, even if his dad refused to come. And he held on to that. He managed to make it through the show and held it together.

He went out to be congratulated by his friends and their families. Wayne brought him flowers.

“You did good, boy,” he said gruffly, after giving him a hug. “I looked it up and flowers are the gift you give someone after a well-done performance.”

Steve looked down at the bouquet of wild flowers and smiled. “Thank you. I love them.”

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. “They might be a tad wilted by the time we’re done, because we’re taking you out to eat in celebration.”

Steve teared up a bit. “Thanks, guys.”

Gareth smiled. “You deserve it, man. That was awesome!”

Gethin nudged his shoulder. “We’re just waiting for Janice and Eddie to get done.”

Steve nodded. Eddie had to reset the stage for tomorrow and Janice had to get out of a corset and that took some time.

“Yeah, no problem!” he enthused.

Eddie finished first and came out to meet them.

“Hey, Steve!” he said. “Feeling famous yet?”

Steve laughed. “I’m going to get fat if this keeps up. First ice cream last night and then dinner tonight.”

They all laughed. “It’s impossible for you to gain weight, man,” Brian huffed. “I’ve seen you eat a whole pizza and didn’t even get bloated.”

Steve laughed. “Playing three sports does that to you. Hell, I still life guard at the rec center every summer.”

Brian eyed his lean form skeptically. “I suppose so.”

“Swimming’s fun,” Steve said. “And it’s not just for us jock types.”

Janice finally came out. “Sorry to keep you waiting guys. Sharing with Tammy Thompson is hell let me tell you. I don’t know how someone so tiny can take up so much room.”

“At least you don’t have to share the choir room with twenty sweaty dudes that wouldn’t know deodorant if it bit them in the ass,” Steve grumped.

Gethin shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be used to that from sports?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “At least there are showers after basketball. Can’t say the same here.”

Gethin’s lips curled. “Fair.”

Wayne clapped his hands. “All right, I’ve got us a place reserved, so we need to hustle. Eddie and Steve are coming with me.”

Eddie and Steve filed out with the rest of them and followed Wayne out to his truck.

Steve slid into the middle between Eddie and Wayne.

“Thanks for this, Wayne,” he murmured. “And the flowers, too.”

“You’re welcome, Stevie,” he said. “I didn’t see your parents. Did they show up last night?”

Steve shared a glance with Eddie and then shook his head. “There’s still tomorrow.”

Wayne and Eddie shared a glance of concern over Steve’s head.

“I’m sure that’s the case,” Wayne agreed.

An uneasy silence settled on them as they drove to the restaurant. Wayne parked and turned to Steve.

He pulled him in for a great big hug and then opened the door. “It’ll be all right.”

Steve nodded and slid out after Eddie.

The dinner was just as ruckus as the ice cream parlor the night before. With just as many people. Steve looked around and smiled.

Yeah, 1985 was his year and it was just getting started.

*

Steve looked out to the audience and knew, even in the dimmed lights his parents weren’t there.

“Tell me, Mr Thomson, out of curiosity, do you stand with Mr Dickinson, or do you stand with me?” Vince asked.

Steve could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He held up the dispatch. “I stand with the General. Lately–I’ve had the oddest feeling that he’s been–writing to me…”

He slowly rose to his feet as he sang,

“I have been in expectation Of receiving a reply On the subject of my last fifteen dispatches. Is anybody there?”

His voice cracked with emotion as he stepped half out of the spotlight.

“Does anybody care? Does anybody care? Y’r humble & ob’d’t–”

The drum rolled and Steve looked up into the eagle’s nest where Eddie was doing the spotlight. A single tear ran down his cheek.

Steve looked down at the paper in his hand and then back up at Eddie. And then he exited the scene on cue.

Eddie swore he saw more tears in that moment then for ‘Mama Look Sharp’ that night.

But that performance of Steve’s brought out something in Vince in that moment. Vince’s John Adams bid Hancock good night, but then it changed. All the emotion and fear of not being seen or heard. The loneliness that Adams must have been feeling in that moment, borrowed from the loneliness of both Washington and Thomson.

“Is anybody there–”

Silence.

“Does anybody care–?”

Again, nothing.

“Does anybody see–what I see?”

And then Kenny came on and delivered the line with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.

“Yes, Mr Adams, I do.” As if to banish all the fears and insecurities that John was having in that moment.

And Steve could almost hear it as though it was coming from Eddie. As if it was coming from his friends. The party. Wayne.

Yes, his parents weren’t there. They never were. And probably never were going to be. But that didn’t mean that no one was listening to Steve. That no one cared.

They all cared. Every last one of the dozens of people that showed up the last two nights. They cared. They brought their families. Brought flowers. Thought he was worthy of celebrating. Worth treating.

For the boy with the bat.

The boy that never knew what love really was until he looked up from a god damned garbage can into those warm and friendly brown eyes. A warm hand on his back and a gentle ‘Are you okay?’

In that moment, Steve’s life had become changed. Different. Better. All because a teacher took pity on Steve and chose Eddie Munson of all people to be Steve’s protector.

And he looked up at Eddie in the rafters and though he couldn’t see him, he knew that Eddie was looking back at him. Smiling back at him. Loving him for all his worth.

And if you had asked Steve what his worth was back in December he would have told you nothing. He wasn’t worth anything but being the baby-sitter. But now?

Now Steve was a baby-sitter, chauffeur, groupie, actor, chef, swimmer, friend, brother, and most importantly boyfriend. And maybe if he was really lucky, someone’s son.

***

Fin.

Fuck, rereading this to add back in the formatting made me cry. My apologies if it makes you cry too.

Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @garden-of-gay @anaibis @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites   @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead  @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @lovelyscot @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @jinxjinn @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @estrellami-1 @dangdirtydemons @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

[f10werfae]

Pretty Boy

pairing: Frat!Chris Evans x Girlfriend!Reader

summary: Chris can’t help but drop everything to go see his precious princess, even if it means ditching his frat parties in the process. Once again taking the role of a lovesick puppy, (requested by @fallon-carrington123)

requests are open💌/likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Chris Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist Form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

‘should I text him?’ Y/n thought rolling about on her bed, her lips pouted out at the thought of her boyfriend Chris. She’d seen him this morning since he slept over last night, and the night before that, she was already missing the hell outta him. It was only this morning that he’d kissed all over her body to wake her up, whispering filthy things into her ear to fluster her. “You belong right here, on top of your man”

Today he was out with the rest of his frat brothers, going out shopping and going to eat at their usual restaurant.

“There’s no harm in texting him, yes, i’ll just do that” Y/n said to herself, grabbing her phone from her bedside table, snuggling deeper into his college hoodie she was wearing.

Y/n: Missin you so much baby boo, what time will you be home?”

Laughing and drinking beer with the others Chris picked up his phone and felt his heart quicken at her text. Instantly putting bills onto the table, putting his cap back on and grabbing his car keys from the table. The other brothers looking up at him confused, they’d only just finished eating?

“Woah where you going man?” Josh asked,

“Y/n texted so i’m gonna go back n' see if she’s alright”

“Bro you’re so whipped, what a simp. What happened to bros before hoes?” Brian said from down the other side of the table, the other guys cackling and hitting their chest from the amount of laughter.

“Haha, keep laughin it up, wait till y’all are in a relationship with a hot, sexy, caring and loving woman like Y/n. That’s right I said sexy, cause my woman is fine as fuck and you’re all just jealous” Chris snarked back flipping Josh’s hat backwards jokingly before leaving the restaurant hearing their shouts of excuses for being single.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Chris what are you doing heree?” Y/n said now feeling shy leaning onto her dorm door, her frat boyfriend just smiled at her and picked her up, closed the door with his foot and set her down gently onto her cotton sheets.

“Gah you smell so good bubby, jus wanna eat you all up” He growled nuzzling his head into her neck, feeling her fingers play with the hairs on his nape. “Thought you was out with the guys today huh?”

“I mean I was, but then I saw your text and I just can’t let my baby stay here all alone can I?” He pouted placing a small kiss to the corner of her lips before standing up straight and removing his football jacket, leaving him in a tight black t-shirt and some grey sweats. “Well come on in then” She said wiggling her eyebrows at him.

Y/n giggled lifting up the blanket and opening up her arms, a big groan leaving her as Chris practically jumped on top of her and shimmied up the massive hoodie she was wearing. Yes they were extremely close squished. If anything Y/n treasured the fact that she had managed to turn a campus frat boy into a committed man so quickly; it’s actually sickening how much they’re into each other.

“Can you even breathe in there pretty boy?”

Y/n asked peeking down the shirt, seeing Chris sloppily kiss the top of her breasts, his hands fondling her hardened nipples. “Don’t need to breathe baby, trust me” He sighed kissing her chest once more before just setting his head down onto it and slowly closing his eyes.

“Ya can’t sleep in there babe, come outta there” Scoffing Chris pulled his head out, his hair sticking in all sorts of directions leading Y/n to comb it back with her hands, accompanied with a peck onto Chris’ forehead.

“Are you tired bab? Cause I am” Chris said sitting upright suddenly and throwing his shirt to the floor, Y/n’s hands immediately went up feeling her man’s body, a smirk making its way onto his face as he noticed her gawking look.

“You tired yeah?” Chris asked again, this time cupping her cheeks and kissing her squished lips cutely, Y/n nodded in his hands pulling up the covers over them both as she cuddled on top of him.

“Now isn’t this a bit unfair? I’m more naked than you are” Chris groaned pulling back a bit,

“But what if I get cold?” Y/n snarked back giving him a side glare as she felt his hands holding onto the hem of his hoodie she was wearing. “Then you’ve got me baby, come n' get some of your mans very own natural body heat”

“You’re so stupid” Y/n chuckled letting him take off her hoodie with a sly smirk on his face, his eyes clearly trained on newly exposed flesh. “Oi eyes up here mister”

“I know and you have lovely eyes my love, as well as beautiful tits, and a sweet pus-“

“Chris jus go to sleep already n’ stop teasing me ya meanie”

“Awk i’m sorry baby, ya know I love love love you don’t ya?” Kisses were being thrown everywhere from her shoulders to her neck, to her jaw and finally to her lips. Her creased brows falling relaxed once she felt how soft his lips were against hers, his fingers threading through her hair as his tongue dominantly played with hers.

Reminding her of the times he’d show up out of nowhere at her lecture halls and just pull her into a tiny corner, smashing his lips onto hers until they couldn’t breathe or were told off.

Or the time when they had their first argument and Chris stood outside her window with a big poem proclaiming his love for her, his frat brothers holding up an ‘I’m sorry’ sign behind him. PDA was definitely a major part of their relationship, not because they wanted to show off, but because they simply could not keep their hands off each other.

“I know you do, I love love love you too”

———

Taglist Tags (Taglist is up there^^): @emvebee @annajustwrites @pandaxnienke @patzammit @ilovereadingfanfics @stormcloudss @vrittivsanghavi @dumb-fawkin-bitch @chrisevansdaughter @cevansgurl @marvelgurl @evanstanwhore @taramaria @mirikusashes @mysticfalls01 @hallecarey1 @misshale21 @mischiefsemimanaged @thereisa8ella @uwiuwi @bval-1 @diyabhanushali1 @angelmather1 @lastwandastan @ravenhood2792 @feltonswifesworld87 @fdl305 @bluebellsn @mdpplgtz03 @alexxavicry @bookfrog242 @alina02 @roofwitty779 @aerangi @s-void @oliviah-25 @nikkitc0703 @meetmeatyourworst @girl-of-multi-fandoms @imboredat2am @mansaaay @adoreyouusugar @ilovetaquitosmmmm @caps-shield1918 @xoxokiaraaxoxo @royalwriteroftheuniverse @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chrisevansangel @tinyelfperson @madebylilly @bxdbxtxh15 @tojisbabymomma @kimhtoo17 @itsaylayay1213 @mrspeacem1nusone @wintasssoldier

[storiesforallfandoms]

history repeats itself ~ gwilym lee

word count: 2836

request?: yes!

“hey, i saw you wrote for Ben Hardy so I was wondering if you would write for Gwilym Lee? If not ignore this lol. I was thinking something like he meets the reader on set and they immediately hit it off, and the resemblance of her to Brian May’s wife is uncanny (let’s pretend he’s had just the one) and it’s kinda like a history repeats itself thing? idk if that made since. maybe Brian and Roger noticing and just being so amazed seeing that happening in front of them? thank you, and obviously since i have no explanation skills take complete control!”

description: when she gets cast to play the wife of a rock legend, everyone realizes how similar she and her on screen husband look to the originals

pairing: gwilym lee x female!reader

warnings: swearing, rpf

masterlist (one, two, three)

It was such a small role, one that didn’t even have any lines. But to me, it was huge. It was a small role in a massive blockbuster movie: the Freddie Mercury biopic. It would be the biggest job of my career. Up until that point, I had only been an extra in a few sitcoms. Having a small, silent role as Brian May’s wife in a Freddie Mercury biopic may seem like a small step up from what I’m used to, but the scale of the movie made it a massive deal for me.

I wasn’t sure if I’d get the role. There were hundreds of other actresses just like me - desperate for even the smallest roles in such a big film - were lined up to meet the director and casting director. It was such a small chance of getting it I thought. Until I walked into the room and both of their eyes widened when they landed on me.

“Holy shit,” the casting director breathed. “She looks just like her.”

I was cast on the spot. I nearly sobbed in happiness. I managed to keep the tears in until I got to my car and could call my parents to give them the news.

A few months later, I was preparing for my day on set. It was a party scene that was taking place at Freddie’s mansion at the height of their career. The other band members - Brian, Roger, and John - were there with their wives/girlfriends. The scene mostly required us to sit by our assigned on-screen husbands while they conversed. It was an easy day, and it was only going to take one day of filming, but I was still nervous. I had already met up with the director and some of the cast involved in the scene, but today I was going to be meeting the main four actors and two members of Queen.

I was just finished with wardrobe and was on my way to hair and makeup when I came across one of the main actors, Gwilym. I had been told about him after being cast, since he was the one playing Brian May, but I hadn’t met him yet. I suddenly felt nervous as I approached the hair and makeup trailer, where Gwilym was stood outside the door also waiting. He looked up as he heard me approach and smiled.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I said back. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Gwilym. Nice to meet you.” He reached out and shook my hand. I hoped he couldn’t feel how my hands were shaking. “You’re playing Brian’s wife, right? Well, my wife I guess.”

I chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m getting all dolled up for my one day on set to film my one, dialogue-less scene.”

“Hey, there’s no such thing as small parts remember.”

I made a face at him. “You sound like my old theater teachers.”

Gwilym cringed. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want.”

I laughed. The door to the hair and makeup trailer opened and two other extras came out. The stylist greeted us and told us to come in. I sat in one chair while Gwilym sat in the one next to me. I watched the stylist grab a long, brunette wig and place it next to Gwilym.

“I’m gonna have to do Gwilym’s wig firs since that’ll take the longest,” she told me. “So, sit tight, and try not to mess up your wardrobe too much.”

I nodded and gave her a thumbs up.

I watched the process of applying Gwilym’s wig. It really did take a long time. First, a bald cap had to be applied to Gwilym’s head. Then, the wig was placed on his head in a few different ways to figure out the best placement. Once that was figured out, the wig had to be pinned down in a way that made it look natural on his head, and not like a wig.

“So,” Gwilym said, trying his best not to move his head. “Since we’re going to be here a while, and since we’re playing a married couple, I suppose we should get to know one another.”

“Sure,” I said with a laugh. “What do you want to know?”

“Is this your first movie?”

“It is. Until now I was just an extra in a few sitcoms. I had one line once, that’s the extent of my career.”

“Well, extras are important. Without them, a scene would look so stupid if it was just the main characters.”

I shrugged. “I know that, and I know every actor has to start somewhere, but I’ve been doing this for roughly five years. Performing Arts schools are expensive and I sometimes worry I made a mistake persuing acting.”

I saw Gwilym’s eyes quickly look over at me before looking back at the mirror in front of him. “It’s never a mistake to chase your dreams. It just takes time. You have to play the small parts in order to get experience for the big ones.”

“You’re right. It’s just taking so long. But I’m here now, so that’s a step up.” I shook my head. “Anyways, away from my career insecurities. Tell me a bit about you.”

We talked throughout his wig applying process. We exchanged embarrassing childhood stories, talked about how we got into acting, general details about one another. I had forgotten about the fact that I was waiting to have my own hair and makeup done by the time Gwilym stood from his chair.

He looked at himself in the mirror before turning to me. “How do I look?”

I tilted my head as I looked up at him. “Scarily like Brian May.”

He chuckled. “That’s good, then. They won’t fire me anytime soon. I’ll see you on set?”

I nodded and watched him go. I felt a little disappointed by the fact that he was leaving. I had really enjoyed talking to him. The next time I’d see him would be on set for the scene, where we wouldn’t be able to talk, and then once that ended I’d never see him again.

The stylist started going my hair and makeup. She showed me a picture of Brian and his wife in the early 80s, which was when the scene was set, as the inspiration for my look in the scene. It was subtle, but it was clearly 80s. It didn’t take as long as Gwilym’s had, and soon enough, I was on my way again.

I stepped out of the trailer just as Gwilym was walking up again. He was now in his costume, looking so much like a young Brian May that it was scary.

“Right on time,” he said. “I was coming back to walk you to set.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” I said, but I was touched by the offer.

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to, so I am.” He offered an arm to me, like a gentleman. I took it and we started walking to set. “Besides, it’s a big scene with a lot of people. It might be nerve wracking to walk on set by yourself with all those people.”

“It is. Especially with meeting the rest of the main cast at the same time.”

“Oh, they’re all a bunch of wankers, you don’t have to worry about meeting them.”

I giggled. “You can’t say that about Brian May and Roger Taylor, though. And they’re going to be on set, too.”

“No, you’re right. But they are very kind. You don’t have to worry about meeting them. I’m sure everyone will like you. Even if they didn’t, who cares? You won’t have to see them again after today.”

He had a point, but it was still sad to hear out loud. I had been preparing for this day for so long, excited for my first big project. And now, within a matter of hours, it would all be over. I’d be sent back home, waiting for the next role to come up, hoping that maybe this movie could help with that role being a bigger one than just an extra. Back to my normal, boring life.

Saying goodbye to Gwilym.

I had managed to shock myself with that thought. I had only known Gwilym for maybe an hour and a half, but the thought of only having this day with him brought on a bit of sadness. He was so kind, and he seemed so genuine. I had never been on a set where the main actors even acknowledged that the extras existed, let alone be nice enough to walk one to set after talking to her for some time.

Not to mention he was extremely handsome. Especially when he smiled, like he was smiling at me now.

God, don’t develop a crush on the guy you’ll never see again after today.

My heart rate jumped the second we walked on to set. Gwilym wasn’t lying when he said there was going to be a lot of people in the scene. The mansion set was packed with people, so full that there was just barely enough room to move around. I was hoping this was the only amount of extras that were set to be in the scene, or else I think my nerves would go into over drive.

The director spotted Gwilym and I almost immediately and led us over to where we were set to be for the scene. Rami, Joseph, and Ben were already sat around having a laugh as we walked up. They happily greeted Gwilym, and he then introduced me to the lot of them. They were very nice and welcomed me in almost immediately, but it was still pretty surreal to be there with them. Especially Joseph, who I had seen in Jurassic Park when I was just a kid. I almost felt out of place there, but I could tell I wasn’t alone. I introduced myself to the other girls who were playing Ben and Joseph’s on screen love interests, who also looked just as out of place as I felt.

We were all sat around together when the buzz in the room suddenly turned into a hush. It wasn’t hard to know what had just happened: they had arrived.

Brian May and Roger Taylor themselves.

Rock and roll royalty.

I looked over and my heart leapt into my throat at the sight of them. It was hard to believe that they were actually real. I had been listening to Queen’s music all my life, but it wasn’t until this moment that I truly realized that these legends were actual real people.

Actual real people who were walking towards us.

I jumped when I felt a hand on my arm. I looked over to see that it was Gwilym’s hand. When I looked at him, he smiled. I couldn’t help but smile back, the nervousness in my stomach being replaced with butterflies. His hand moved down my arm and squeezed my own. I squeezed his hand back.

“My God.”

I looked up to see Brian and Roger stood over us. I tried to put on my best smile, hoping it wasn’t as obvious as I felt it was that I was shaking. Brian was looking between Gwilym and I, a look in his eye that I couldn’t quite place. Reminiscent, maybe?

“They did a spot on job casting for this movie,” Brian commented. “It feels like I’m looking into a mirror with you two.”

“If there mirror were about 50 years younger,” Roger teased.

“You speak from experience, don’t you old man?” Brian retorted. I couldn’t help but chuckle at their banter. Years of friendship and knowing one another, and they were still cracking jokes and poking fun. I hoped to be like them with my friends when I got older. “What’s your name, love?”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. In fact, there was nothing going on in my head at all. It was like I had completely forgotten every little thing I had ever learned in my life. How does one continue to function after Brian May calls them “love”?

“This is (Y/N),” Gwilym said, saving me from my colossal choke.

“Yes,” I finally managed. “Sorry, my name is (Y/N). I’m a little nervous.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, darling,” Brian said. “You already have the look of my wife down. And it seems you and young Gwilym here have already gotten quite acquainted.”

I didn’t realize that Gwilym and I were still holding hands. I expected him to let go at that moment, as if he were just realizing as well, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept hold of my hand, giving it another reassuring squeeze. I wondered if the blush on my face was noticeable under the makeup.

The director called for places, so Brian and Roger took their places off set. I let out a sigh of relief after they were gone and moved into place with Gwilym.

“See?” he whispered to me as we were passed glasses of fake champagne. “They’re not that bad.”

“Their presence alone is a little terrifying,” I whispered back.

“But you got through it. Seems Brian’s taken a liking to you. Although, that’s not surprisingly considering how lovely you are.”

I was convinced this was all some sort of very long, very detailed dream. I was going to wake up at any given moment.

The scene went by very smoothly. It wasn’t hard to just look between the boys as they spoke, smiling when I was supposed to smile, offering a sour look when Rami arrived, acting as a rather rude Freddie. It felt like Gwilym was moving closer to me with each take that we did. First we started off sitting in separate chairs, until the director asked if we would switch and sit in the couch that Joseph and his lady friend had been sat in. Gwilym had moved towards me at the start of that take, and by the final take of the day our bodies were touching and his arm was around me. I was glad I didn’t have any lines, or else I would’ve likely forgotten every single one of them.

When the director called cut and said it was a wrap on the scene, I tried not to let my sadness show. The extras started to file out of the room, going to get read for a different scene that they were filling for. Not me, though. I was going to wardrobe to get my outfit taken back, and then I was going home. If I was lucky, I would be invited to the premiere, otherwise I would never see any of these people again.

I wouldn’t see Gwilym again.

Ben, Joseph, and Rami were kind enough to give me a hug and tell me they were happy to have met me. I told them likewise and started my way back to the wardrobe trailer.

“(Y/N)! Wait!”

I turned to see Gwilym rushing up towards me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your next scene?” I asked him.

“Yes, but I wanted to talk to you before you left,” he said. “Look, I know this is a bit presumptive to ask because we only really spoke to one another for that time in hair and makeup, and I have no idea if you’re even single so maybe I’m about to make an ass out of myself, but I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go out this evening once I’ve finished on set.”

Everything in my brain? Gone.

Every last bit of it.

Gone.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. It had to be a dream, right? There was no way it was real. I would’ve pinched myself if it wouldn’t have made me look like a total idiot in front of Gwilym.

“Yes,” I said. “ I mean, yeah, sure, I - I would love that.”

His face lit up. “Yeah? Okay. Here, let me give you my number.”

We both realized we didn’t have our phones, so we had to do it the old fashioned way - Gwilym found a pen and paper, and wrote down his number for me. I took the paper and shoved it into my pocket.

“I’ll text you once I’m no longer part of the 80s,” I said, gesturing towards my outfit.

He chuckled. “And I’ll do the same.”

We both stood, just looking at each other for a moment. It wasn’t until Gwilym was called back to set that we finally, reluctantly, broke away to go out separate ways. I put my hand in my pocket and closed it around the piece of paper containing Gwilym’s number. I smiled to myself, having to restrain myself from skipping happily towards wardrobe.

I guess history really does repeat itself, I thought with a laugh.

[ludmilachaibemachado]

The Rolling Stones Rock And Roll Circus', London, Intertel Studios, December 1968. The Rolling Stones Rock And Roll Circus', London, Intertel Studios, December 1968🪷

''Rock'n'Roll Circus' was quite a waste: on the first day of recording at Olympic on 8 December the soundtrack was conducted by Tony Visconti with a full symphony orchestra - Jimmy Miller and Glyn Johns producing. Costumes selected from a wide variety of locations promised a truly extravagant spectacle: 400 ponchos and hats for the audience, a Jean Harlow crepe dress for Marianne, a red silk top with trousers and cap, black and red socks and boots for me, a wizard's cape and hat for Brian, a rainbow-coloured suit and shoes for Charlie, a military uniform for Keith, a playground inspector's costume, plus two jumpers, a sequinned dress, a cape, a fake cape, trousers and tailcoat for Miku, an acrobat costume for Keith Moon, and even a long beard...for Anita!🌱

Cowboys on rodeo horses, aerial gymnasts, skeet jugglers, midgets, a fire-eater, a strongman - they all had to join an audience of 800 invited spectators at Wembley Studios where we started filming on 10 December. "We decided to finance the show ourselves this time so we could have complete control. We've never had to produce a show before. If we don't like the result, we'll bin the whole thing," Mick said🌹

Via @brianjonessatisfaction on Instagram🍁

[kp777]

By Maya Goldman

Axios

Aug. 5, 2024

Conservatives are targeting the hundreds of billions of dollars infederal spending that's led to the highest insured rate in U.S. history — and no program is more in the crosshairs than Medicaid.

Why it matters: The Affordable Care Act expansion of Medicaid for low-income adults helped drive enrollment to nearly 75 million people as of April.

But the safety-net health program now costs more than $800 billion annually, with the federal government footing about 70% of the bill.

State of play: Former President Trump's presidential policy platformis conspicuously silent on Medicaid while he's pledged not to touch Medicare or Social Security.

Still, conservative groups from the Republican Study Committee to the Paragon Health Institute to the Heritage Foundation want to turn Medicaid into block grants, impose work requirements or reduce the federal share of program costs for states where coverage has been extended.

The conservatives' beef: The ACA opened up eligibility for able-bodied, working-age adults and offered states extra money to do so, driving up program costs that are swelling federal deficits.

A playbook from Paragon, co-written by former Trump administration economic adviser Brian Blase, would phase out the 90% federal share of Medicaid costs for the expansion population, giving states the same federal funding for all Medicaid enrollees.

Under the plan, only households below the federal poverty level could still qualify for Medicaid, while those above the poverty level would instead be eligible for tax credits to buy coverage on Affordable Care Act exchanges.

The changes would save the federal government between about $252 billion and $530 billion over eight years, depending on how states respond. But states' costs would increase by at least $110 billion over that time — likely forcing some to pare benefits or enrollment.

The Paragon blueprint is a contrast to Heritage's Project 2025, which would cap the federal Medicaid funding available to states. However, Paragon's document says the think tank will release future briefs examining options to set fixed federal Medicaid rates.

The latest: The Trump campaign remains mum on its plans. As president, Trump backed an ACA repeal bill that called for $880 billion in cuts to Medicaid.

Campaign spokesperson Karoline Leavitt told Axios that Trump wants to "end the financial drain on our health care system and ensure that our country can continue to care for American citizens who rely on Medicaid, Medicare and Social Security."

Reality check: Overhauling Medicaid isn't necessarily a political slam-dunk for Republicans, said Chris Jennings, a Democratic consultant.

Republican candidates not explicitly raising Medicaid cuts "suggests that they're already beginning to get concerned that it may not be easy," he said.

Nearly 9 in 10 Medicaid enrollees said in a recent KFF poll that the program should stay largely the same as it is today. More than 70% of adults overall agreed, including more than half of Republicans surveyed.

North Carolina's adoption of a Medicaid expansion plan last year brought the number of states with expanded programs to 40, making a major overhaul more complicated.

The other side: Medicaid changes floated by conservative think tanks "would have a dramatic effect on beneficiaries' access to health coverage and to needed health care services," Edwin Park, a research professor at Georgetown University's Center for Children and Families, told Axios.

Park called the notion that Paragon's proposal would protect vulnerable Medicaid beneficiaries "preposterous." States that keep Medicaid expansion under the plan would have to cut other parts of the program or other state spending such as education, according to a blog post he co-wrote.

Expanding Medicaid to able-bodied adults earning up to 138% of the poverty level improved access to health care, and has been linked to better health outcomes and better health care system finances.

Meanwhile, Democrats used last week's 59th anniversary of the program to showcase Medicaid as a campaign talking point.

"This November, Medicaid is on the ballot. … That's why we must elect Democrats up and down the ballot and protect Medicare and Medicaid from Republican extremism," Democratic National Committee chair Jaime Harrison said in a statement last week.

[tinybookgirl]

Can You Forgive Me If You Don't Remember What I've Done?

This is actually one of the most difficult things I've ever written. It was supposed to be about both Martin and Timballisto but now it's really just about Timballisto and his trauma. This is also me experimenting with trying to make my prose more eloquent because I always feel like it's so plain and everything else I read is so beautiful. Unfortunately I could never in a million years matches Brian Jacques amazing style, so I can only hope I at least got the characterization correct. I find Martin very difficult to write but we've tried.

Timballisto had scars on his wrists. Thick bands of scar tissue wrapped all the way around, only now finally given the time to heal properly, but the chains had cut deep over the seasons. The fur had been scraped away, dug deep through his skin leaving heavy indents and even now it almost seemed as though the chains were still there.

He didn’t bother hiding them. Some of the slaves freed from the Bloodwake had left, rejoining the shrews or heading off to see what was left of their old homes, or maybe build themselves a new one. Still, many others had stayed with the woodlanders in Mossflower. Timballisto was far from the only creature in Brockhall to bear the scars.

Martin had scars on his wrists. Not so thick, not so deep. If he brushed his fur the right way he could almost hide them, the grooves where the fur would never grow back nearly disguised. Enough at least that one might not notice if they didn’t bother to look. 

Timballisto had seen them as Martin had pulled him onto the deck of the Bloodwake. What Timballisto had long suspected, but long since given up hope on getting an answer for, finally confirmed. 

They weren’t deep enough for Martin to have been a galley slave, Timballisto was certain of that. At least Martin had escaped that fate, suffered by Timballisto and the rest of their tribe. There was no doubt about it, though. Martin had been kept in chains.

*

It was nearly a week after waking, long after the battle with Tsarmina, that they realized she had left Martin with more than mere physical scars.

It was Timballisto who realized it. Martin was still confined to bed in Brocktall, no matter how much he insisted to Abbess Germaine and Columbine that he was more than fine. It only took a single glance to make it clear that was not true. Just sitting up in bed was an effort, the heavily bandaged wounds still prone to reopening and bleeding if he moved too much. Even simply being away too long was a chore.

Yet, Martin continued to insist that he was fine, repeating that he had been through worse. The statement made Gonff laugh, but filled Timballisto with nothing but guilt. 

Both Gonff and Timballisto were reluctant to leave Martin for long, the Abbess having had to force them out of the room more than once when she and Columbine needed to attend to him. For now though, Martin was awake, Timballisto seated on one of the chairs next to his bed while Gonff stood on the desk, in the middle of telling a rousing tale about one of his trips to the Kotir larders.

Timballisto laughed as Gonff pulled his cap low over his eyes, grabbing an old quill to mimic a sword.

“Martin,” Timballisto said, “do you remember, I think you were maybe four seasons or so? And Vurg and Twoola had-”

Martin frowned, “Who?”

Timballisto straightened instantly. “Vurg and Twoola?” He repeated, a note of desperation entering his voice. “They were in our tribe… Vurg was your father’s best friend. You… Martin do you really not remember them?”

Martin’s brow creased, struggling through the fog both the pain and the medicines left in his mind.

Something was wrong, Timballisto realized. There had been other things too, Timballisto remembered. Little things, things they had put off to nothing more than the coma, the injuries, the medicine. 

Martin staring at the Abbess for far too long before managing her name. Martin simply nodding and going along when Gonff mentioned parts of their adventure, adding no memory of his own to the tale.

When, three days ago, Martin had woken up and nearly panicked, unable to remember where he was at all.

This could be nothing more than that. He had lain at the gates of the Dark Forest, after all. Surely it was all normal? Surely, struggling with things as simple as names and places and events was normal after all Martin had just been through. 

Timballisto couldn’t shake the feeling that something much worse had happened to his friend.

Upon realizing they were no longer watching him, Gonff trailed off. He tilted his hat back onto his head to see them properly. “Everything alright, matey’s?”

Timballisto was staring at Martin. Martin glanced between the two of them.

“Yes,” Martin lied, “you- you said… you said Cludd almost spotted you?”

“Martin-” Timballisto said, but Martin cut him off.

“I’m fine,” Martin insisted. No one in the room, including Martin himself, looked convinced, but Gonff continued with his tale anyway.

*

The firelight was bright and warm, the shrew’s celebration in full swing for the return of those thought long lost, the former slaves of the Bloodwake.

It couldn’t last forever, of course. Martin still had a job to do, they were nowhere near Mossflower and still had days of travel ahead of them. They still have to defeat the wildcat Martin had told him about. For now though, Timballisto would allow himself to enjoy his newfound freedom as much as he could.

Timballisto joined Martin, leaning comfortably against a fallen log in front of one of the fires. Martin’s paws were running over the hilt of his new sword. Timballisto set a plate piled high with food between them. 

“I quite literally don’t think I’ve ever had food this good,” he said. They had always managed to keep the tribe above starving, even after Luke and his crew had left, even on the harsh coastline where so little. There had been enough to live on, but never enough to cook like this, never enough for as much as you really wanted.

“You’ll make yourself sick if you eat too much,” Martin said, choosing a chunk of cheese studded with nuts from the plate.

Martin had his sleeves pushed up against the warmth from the fire, and the scars on his wrists, the ones Timballisto had seen when Martin first pulled him from the galley, stood out stark. Timballisto picked up a scone that looked to be more fruit than bread, dripping with honey. “Good.”

Even as night was falling the festivities continued around them. Gonff was entertaining a group of shrewbabes with magic tricks, Dinny helping a shrew at one of the cooking fires. Even Log-a-log looked happy, holding tight onto the children whose lives he had missed out on so much of.

Something panged harshly inside Timballisto. He forced himself to finish the scone, pulling the last of the crumbs from his whiskers. Martin was right, it was making him sick.

“Martin, that wildcat you told us about,” Timballisto said, “you’re going to kill her.”

“Yes,” Martin said. He pulled the sword from its sheath. The firelight bounced off the blade, making it glimmer like pure gold. It was a far cry from the blade Timballisto remembered. Martin, only a few seasons younger than him, dragging the sword about wherever he went, always leaving a furrow in the sand from the end of the blade. It had rarely been hard to find out which tracks in the sand where Martin’s.

That had been sturdy sure, a good blade no doubt. But it had been old as well, and starting to show its age. This one… well, it was hard to imagine a blade more impressive. 

“Have you killed before?” Timballisto knew the answer before Martin said it. It was the way Martin carried himself now, the determination and strength that now sat behind his eyes. 

“Yes,” Martin didn’t look at him.

The silence stretched between them like a gorge. Martin sheathed his sword. Even tucked away, the pommel stone glinted.

“What happened?” Timballisto said. “When you- we looked, Martin. I swear, we tried, but-”

“I don’t want to talk about what happened to me,” Martin said, his tone leaving very little room for argument. Timballisto argued anyway.

“Luke left me in charge, Martin,” Timballisto begged. “Please, what happened?”

“I can’t talk about it, Timbal,” Martin said. He was staring into the fire, arms resting across his knees, the scars on his wrists still on full display. Timballisto couldn’t look away. He placed his paw over Martin’s wrist, Timballisto’s freshly bandaged by the hares from Salamandastron.

“Please.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Martin pulled his arm away, clasping his friend's paw in his own instead. He looked up. “We’re free now. Both of us.”

It wasn’t a lie, but Timballisto knew it wasn’t the full truth. Martin wouldn’t really be free until the wildcat was dead.

Timballisto didn’t feel freed either.

*

“Something is wrong with Martin,” Timballisto said.

Columbine looked up, busy grinding herbs for another set of medicines, not only for Martin but for those who still carried injuries from the battle. “What do you mean? I changed his bandages yesterday, he shouldn’t be bleeding again-”

“Something’s wrong with his mind,” Timballisto clarified. “His memories.”

Columbine frowned, setting the mortar and pestle aside. She wiped her paws on her apron. “Memory loss can be common after severe injuries, especially ones as bad as Martin’s. And the medicines we’ve been giving him for the pain sometimes cause the same issue. Usually they return in time.”

“And what happens when they don’t? What if something more than just memories is wrong, what if- what if Tsarmina clawed his brain or something?”

“I highly doubt she clawed his brain,” Columbine assured him. “As for the memories… I’ll have to ask the Abbess, she knows more about it than I do. What makes you think something is wrong?”

“Earlier today, I mentioned- something. Something from when we were children, but he didn’t remember it,” Timballisto said.

“Are you certain?” Columbine said, “All I mean,” she said, forstowing any argument on Timballisto’s part, “is that it would have been quite a long time ago. Are you sure this isn’t something that it would be normal for someone to forget?”

“The event itself, maybe,” Timballisto agreed, “but that would have been fine. He didn’t remember the others from our tribe that I mentioned either. And I know he would. Something is wrong.”

Columbine tilted her bowl of herbs into a small pot. “The Abbess is more adept with things like memory loss than I am. I’ll speak to her, see what she thinks we should do.”

Timballisto sighed, relieved, “That’s all I ask.”

*

Martin was no longer in danger of death, but he had yet to awaken, and Abbess Germaine had cautioned them all not to leave him alone in case he was to take a sudden turn for the worse. Timballisto had barely left his bedside since Martin had been moved into Brockhall. There was no telling when he might wake, and Timballisto had heard Abbess Germaine whispering of the chance that he never would.

He hoped desperately that she was wrong.

Martin was wrapped heavily in bandages and blankets. He had seized muttering in his sleep the way he had been in the beginning. If not for the bandages one could almost think that nothing was wrong with him at all.

“What happened to him?”

Timballisto looked up to see Gonff leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest.

“You saw the battle,” Timballisto said, “same as I did.”

“And,” Gonff pushed himself off the door lintel, leaning his paws on the back of one of the other chairs waiting empty by the bed, “I saw the lashes on his back.”

Timballisto looked away. They all had when his wounds were being dressed. None of them had said anything about it. There had been no point, Martin couldn’t answer their questions, not while still trapped at the gates of the Dark Forest.

“I don’t know what happened,” Timballisto said.

“Because Martin told me,” Gonff continued, swinging himself around to sit. “That he simply wandered down south on his own. Knew it was a lie the moment we shook paws, of course. Wandering doesn’t get you those,” he inclined his head to indicate the scars on Timballisto’s own wrists.

Timballisto crossed his arms. “I don’t know what happened,” he repeated. He was no longer sure if it would be better or worse to know. 

“If anyone knows, it’s you.”

“If Martin didn’t tell you, maybe he doesn’t want you to know,” Timballisto said. One could only just see Martin breathing, his chest rising and falling slowly under a mound of blankets. As long as he breathed, he was alive. As long as he breathed, maybe Timballisto hadn’t lost everything. 

Gonff didn’t answer. He simply sat there, watching Timballisto expectantly.

“He disappeared,” Timballisto said finally. “One day, Martin and his grandmother were both gone. The only other thing missing was Martin’s sword.” He shook his head. “We didn’t find them. We didn’t find where they might have gone,” he lied. He found himself unable to admit what had really happened, unable to place the blame where it truly belonged. “We just knew… they hadn’t left on their own. We knew they wouldn’t be coming back.”

Gonff studied him. Timballisto tried not to squirm under the mousethiefs gaze.

“That’s all?”

“That was the last I saw of him,” that at least, was the truth, “Until he pulled me from the Bloodwake.”

“He was a slave,” Gonff said.

Timballisto couldn’t look at Gonff, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Martin. “I know.”

Gonff braced his feet on the bed, tilting back on the legs of his chair. “Any warlords up north?”

Timballisto whipped his head around to glare at him. “Martin was my friend first. If I knew anything else I would tell you. I don’t. That was the last time I saw him, and he never told me more.”

Gonff’s chair landed heavily on the floor. “Then I suppose the only question left is for when he wakes up.”

“And what would that be?”

“Do we ask him?”

*

Brockhall was lovely. Timballisto couldn’t argue with that if he wanted to. It was warm and homey, the ceilings were high and the rooms were huge. The place had been built for badgers, after all. As winter approached the fireplaces were always lit, effectively blocking out any chill from Mossflower itself.

Timballisto didn't really… like it. Or, it wasn’t that he didn’t like it. It was that being underground, without daylight, sometimes reminded him far too much of the searats galley.

Which was ridiculous, he knew it was. Brockhall was warm and comfortable, it was never stinking and stifling. He could go anywhere he wanted, never chained down. There was all the food he could eat from the kitchens, never starved and waiting for whatever scraps were thrown at them. It wasn’t the same at all.

It didn’t stop him from feeling as though the walls of Brockhall were closing in on him, that he might never be able to escape.

So, Brockhall was fine. It was. He simply would rather spend his time outside in Mossflower when he could. For the past few days, more often than not, that had meant aimlessly wandering. Sometimes gathering firewood or helping with foraging parties or whatever other work needed to be done. Mostly, however, it meant trying to avoid thinking about the fact that he had done nothing but avoid Martin for days.

Abbess Germaine and Columbine had confirmed it. A large portion of Martin’s memories were lost, the longer ago the more that was missing. Anything before his arrival in Mossflower was nothing more than a blur.

Timballisto hated being right.

He was chopping wood alone, more for something to do than any actual need for it, when he heard footsteps. It hadn’t begun to snow yet, but a thin layer of frost still lay across the woods. It cracked under Martin’s paws as he approached, wrapped in cloaks and leaning heavily on a wooden crutch.

“Need some help?”

Timballisto split one more log, looking at Martin only long enough to confirm it was him. “Are you allowed out?”

“Under supervision,” Martin nodded towards Gonff, watching them from just out of earshot.

“I think,” Timballisto said, struggling to sound as though nothing was wrong, “The Abbess would have my hide if I handed you an axe.”

Martin laughed, wincing as he slowly sat himself down on a nearby tree stump. He rested the crutch next to himself. “I’ve been trying to talk with you.”

They hadn’t been alone since the extent of Martin’s memory loss had become clear. Although, Timballisto wasn’t sure they had been alone since that first night after the Bloodwake had been taken. At least, not while Martin was awake. 

Timballisto stared at the axe in his paws to avoid turning to look at Martin. Finally he spoke. “Do you remember me?”

“I know you,” Martin said.

“But you don’t remember me.”

“No,” Martin admitted. “I remember rescuing you from the…” he faltered, “... from the ship. But nothing before that.”

Timballisto nodded. He grabbed another log, splitting it in half with one strike. One thing being an oar slave left you with, even with the starvation, was plenty of arm strength. “You don’t remember anything about our tribe? Our home?”

“I know… I know you,” Martin repeated. “I know my father’s name. I know my sword was his. But, it’s not like remembering. It’s simply knowing. Germaine said some things will be like that. The same way you know how to breathe or walk or speak.”

“So what do you remember?”

“It’s all jumbled. Germaine thinks the things that I do remember will become clearer over time, though perhaps not perfect. Especially if someone else can tell me about them.”

“Except,” Timballisto said, filling in the unspoken implication, “that’s for the things you can remember. What about the things you can’t?”

“Germaine think’s they’ll stay that way.”

“So,” he was out of logs to chop. He picked up one that had already been split and split it again, “even if I tell you everything I know, everything I remember, you still won’t remember it.”

Martin didn’t answer. Timballisto dumped the axe by the woodpile. “I’m going back to Brockhall.”

Martin grabbed his crutch, getting stiffly to his feet with no small effort. “Are you angry with me?”

“No!” Timballisto hadn’t looked at him since Martin had first sat down, and he didn’t look at him now. “I’m not angry at you.” His paws had curled into fists.

“What did I do?” Martin said. “If I did something- I don’t remember-”

“That’s the problem!” Timballisto snapped, finally turning to face his friend. “You don’t remember! Finding you again- seeing you alive- you rescuing me was like a dream. I had…” he shook his head, struggling for anything at all. “You were here! You were alive and- and I- and you could- I had you! I had- I could tell you- I had you and now you’re gone again!

Martin’s face turned to stone. “You think I’m not myself anymore?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what you said.”

“I can’t talk about this,” Timballisto turned away. “You should know what that’s like.” That was cruel and he knew it. “I’m going back to Brockhall.”

Martin didn’t follow him. Timballisto wished that he would.

*

Timballisto ducked into the central cave. 

“Windered, I was hoping you-” he frowned. It was empty. Odd since Windered was usually there preparing for dinner by now. It was normal for her to be alone in the cave, getting a start before the rest of the tribe, but it was strange for no one to be here at all.

Maybe she had simply been caught up in doing something else. Surely, that was why the cave in question was empty, the fire put out and the ashes long gone cold.

Timballisto let the curtain fall back over the entrance. “Twoola!” He called, spotting the old mouse tottering along the sand. “Have you seen Windred?”

“Not since this morning,” Twoola said, pausing. “She’s not in there?”

“I’m- I’m sure she’s fine. I was just going to- you know, it’s not important anyway.”

Twoola raised an eyebrow but nodded, returning to his walk. Timballisto scanned the beach. A few were tending to the struggling crops up on the clifftops. Two mice were busy repairing one of the curtains used to hide the cave entrances. Another group was braving the cold shallows, gathering mussels and shellfish and whatever else they could find.

Windred was nowhere to be seen. Even more alarming, Timballisto realized, neither was Martin.

Trying very hard to not run, Luke had placed him in charge, it wouldn’t do to look distressed, Timballisto made his way to the smallest of the caves.

It had lain mostly empty since Luke and others had left. More than enough weapons had been prepared in case they were needed, so there was no need to spend time in there making more. There was plenty of more important work that needed to be done.

The firepit in the center was cleaned out, stacks of javelins, bows, and arrows all lined up neatly along the walls. It wasn’t uncommon to find Martin in here, swinging Luke’s sword about where Windred wouldn’t find him and tell him off for nearly taking some beast’s eye out.

Except Martin wasn’t here.

When had he seen Windred last? This morning for certain. She had insisted he actually sit down for breakfast and he had brushed her off. There was too much to get done. He remembered grabbing a slice of bread and heading out as quickly as he could. He remembered Martin running out after him. He had brushed Martin off too.

“I don’t have time to play warriors with you, Martin.”

“I don’t want to play warriors, I want to help!”

Timballisto had stopped, looking down at Martin. Timballisto had his growth spurt last summer and was now over a head taller than Martin. Martin, however, was still young, Luke’s sword at his side, creating a furrow as the tip dragged across the sand behind him.

“You’re too little Martin,” Timballisto told him. “Go ask your grandmother.”

“You’re not that much older than me!”

“No, but Luke put me in charge. If you want to help, I’m sure Windred has something you can do.”

Martin kicked at a stone, skidding it towards the waves. “I can do more! When my father comes back I need to show him-”

“Luke’s not coming back, Martin,” Timballisto said harshly. Martin was the only one still under the impression that he would. Everyone had known the moment the Sanya sailed past the horizon. They wouldn’t be seeing it again. There was no point in wasting time thinking about what would happen if it ever returned. 

Martin’s face fell. Timballisto sighed. “I’ll figure out something you can do tomorrow, okay? I have to go, we’re running out of firewood and I need to make sure we have enough for the next few days.”

*

The Brockhall kitchen was empty except for a young mousemaid, another of the rescued slaves from the Bloodwake. Timballisto found Lissy busy chopping fruit for a pie filling, the counters coated in a thin layer of flour and fruit juice from her work. The kitchen already smelled heavenly.

Lissy smiled at him as he entered, her face stretched out and lopsided from the thick scar that stretched across it. An old result of a searats rapier, Timballisto had been there when it happened. It was nearly a miracle she had even survived it, trapped as they were with no possible medical care aside from rinsing it in seawater when they could.

“It’s nice to see you inside for once,” she said, still chopping away.

Timballisto sat across from her, snatching a slice of apricot. She swatted his paw away playfully.

“I’m inside plenty,” Timballisto said. “What are you making? It smells delicious.”

“Apricot and plum pie now,” Lissy nodded towards the oven, “but I have a nut loaf baking as well. And I might make biscuits.”

Lissy had a clean white bandage around one of her wrists. She had been scratching at her scars again. Timballisto had seen her when she was distressed, trapped too deep in horrific memories. Clawing might be a far more accurate description.

“Lissy,” Timballisto said, “are you feeling alright?”

She paused, the knife trembling in her paw. She returned to work with more force than strictly necessary. “I’m fine. What about you?”

Timballisto leaned back. “I don’t know. It’s… Martin. He’s lost a lot of his memories,” Timballisto said. He stole another apricot.

“I heard,” Lissy set the knife aside, sweeping the fruit into a bowl. “But the Abbess said it should get better, shouldn’t it?”

“No, yes. More recent memories, yes. The older things are going to be harder. She thinks…” he shook his head. “Most of before he came to Mossflower is gone. It’s unlikely it will come back.”

Lissy had started rolling out her pie dough. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding him?”

“I have not been avoiding him!”

“Yes,” Lissy said, “you have. Before he woke up you were with him all the time, by his side all hours of the day. And now it’s been days since you’ve even seen him.”

Timballisto was silent for a long time. Lissy didn’t push him. He watched her rolling out her dough, adding her filling, and carefully cutting out shapes for a decorative crust on top. It was only when she slid it into the oven, taking the nut loaf out in return that he finally spoke up again.

“He doesn’t remember me,” Timballisto said. “He doesn’t remember our home, or our tribe, or- or anything. He doesn’t know that…”

Lissy sat next to him, “Know what?”

“That..” Timballisto couldn’t look at her, “He doesn’t know that what happened to him is my fault.” He leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling, the twisting roots that formed the roof. “What would you do, if you met someone from home again? What would you do if you’re responsible for something horrible happening to someone, but they don’t remember it? They don’t know… they don’t know that they shouldn’t be acting as though nothing is wrong because everything is wrong?”

“I think those are two separate questions.”

“Fine,” Timballisto rephrased, “what… what if you met your brother again? The one who sold you to the searats? But he didn’t remember what he did and expected everything to be the same as it was before?”

It was Lissy’s turn to be silent. She quickly stood, grabbing a fresh bowl and a fresh sack of flour.

“I’m sorry,” Timballisto stood up as well, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset, Tim,” Lissy assured him. “I’ve just… I have been thinking about it. My brother. A lot lately. And what I would do if I did see him again.” She looked up, locking eyes with Timballisto. “I think I would take the nearest weapon and kill him with it. But what happened to me and my brother is not the same as what happened with you and Martin.”

“You don’t know what happened with me and Martin.”

“I don’t know Martin well,” Lissy agreed, “but I do know you. My brother was only thinking of himself, and didn’t care what happened to me. He was selfish and cruel and he had been that way our whole lives. But you? Timballisto, you are one of the best creatures I have ever met. And you can’t make me believe that you ever, in a million seasons, would hurt Martin on purpose.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Timballisto said. “I would never have done that on purpose.”

“So what did you do?”

Timballisto sunk back into his seat. “Nothing. I did nothing.”

*

There wasn’t enough of the tribe left to risk sending out anymore than one search party, just Timballisto and two others.

The tracks ended where sand became stone. They scoured the rocky coast for anything that pointed towards Martin and Windred. The light was dimming quickly, but they were reluctant to light tortures. If someone had captured them, they didn’t want to bring attention to themselves in return, and by extension the rest of the tribe. Over the seasons they had all learned the dangers of the northern coast far too well. They knew better than to risk shouting either. The only remaining option was to hope they could be spotted.

“Timballisto,” Caitir, one of the searchers, a bowl and arrow slung over her shoulders, motioned him over to where she and Resta were ducked down behind a ridge. “You’ll want to see this.”

Timballisto was instantly on alert. Caitir pulled him down next to them, pointing towards the beach. “Look.”

It was a ship. Crashed onto the rocks, smashed far beyond repair. It hadn’t been there long Timballisto was certain of. At the very least it hadn’t been there the last time a foraging party had gone this way.

Even from here, Timballisto could see what Caitir and Resta had truly been concerned about. It was a galley ship, the oars smashed and tossed aside on the rocks, the rusted chains still attached to them glinting red and orange in the light of the sunset.

“We have to go-” Timballisto tried to stand, only to instantly be pulled back down by Resta.

“We can’t,” Resta said.

“Martin and Windred only disappeared this morning, they can’t be far,” Timballisto snatched his arm from her grasp. “A crew like that can’t move fast, we can catch up with them and-”

“And what?” Caitir said. “You know very well the three of us cannot take on a whole crew of searats.”

“We need to get back the caves,” Resta said. “They may be coming this way next.”

“You want to just leave them?” Timballisto couldn’t hide the tremble in his voice. It wasn’t very becoming of someone who was supposed to be in charge. He struggled to regain a semblance of command. “If they have Martin and Windred-”

“If,” Caitir shook her head. “Even with the whole tribe we couldn’t fight them. Timballisto, you know we’re right.”

“Luke left me in charge!” Timballisto snapped. “Not you! We can’t just leave them captured- or worse-”

“Luke left you in charge,” Resta said, “Because he trusted you to do what is best for the entire tribe. And you know what that is.”

He didn’t want it to be. Timballisto looked back to the ship. It was large, perhaps not the size of the red ship that had terrorized them so long ago, but still far larger than the Sanya had been.

Even if every member of the tribe could fight, which was far from being the case, there was no guarantee they would be successful. Resta and Caitir were both right, and Timballisto knew it.

Timballisto sunk down behind the ridge, his eyes closed. Resta and Caitir were watching him. 

Maybe they didn’t need to take on the whole crew? If all they needed was Martin and Windred they could sneak into the corsair camp once night fell and simply grab the two of them and get out before anyone even noticed they were gone? But surely they had other creatures enslaved as well and it would take more than three of them to get them all? Did they have time to go back to the tribe and gather everyone who could fight? What if the corsairs didn’t even stop for the night? What if there were more guards than expected? Even if they got Martin and Windred out, what if the corsairs tracked them back to the caves? What if they got themselves captured as well? Resta and Caitir both had children waiting back with the tribe, could he risk leaving those children orphans?

Timballisto wasn’t Luke. Resta and Caitir would not follow his decision simply because he was the one to give the order. If Timballisto was to make a decision, it had to be the right one.

Two creatures weren’t worth the whole tribe.

Oh how he wished they were.

“He’s Luke’s son.”

“Then,” Caitir said, “it’s a good thing Luke will never know.”

Timballisto opened his eyes, taking one last look at the crashed ship. “We’re going back. We’ll disguise the caves, wait a few days to make sure no one comes back this way.”

He had to protect the rest of the tribe, didn’t he? Even if it meant leaving some of them behind?

*

"Why are you avoiding Martin?”

Timballisto looked up to see Gonff, leaning casually against one of the nearby beds. Of course the mousethief had been certain to corner him in one of the Brockhall dorms, when there was no one else was around, and Timballisto was standing too far from the door to make a quick and easy escape. Gonff was far more clever than some would give him credit for.

“Will everyone stop saying that?”

“Maybe when it stops being true,” Gonff laid back on the nearest bed, his paws behind his head, his eyes closed, the picture of relaxation. Anyone would think he wasn’t even listening. But Timballisto knew better than to think he would be leaving this conversation without an answer.

“So,” Gonff said, “why are you avoiding Martin?”

“He nearly died,” Timballisto said, “and yet I’m the one he’s worried about.”

“That’s Martin for you,” Gonff cracked open one eye. “Germaine put him back on bedrest, so he doesn’t have a lot else to do. And you won’t visit him.”

Timballisto crossed his arms. There had to be some way to get Gonff to leave. “I’m not angry at Martin.”

“Good. So why are you avoiding him?”

The silence stretched on. Timballisto uncrossed his arms, only to cross them again a moment later. “If I tell you I have something very important to do, can I leave?”

“No.”

“If I tell you I’m going to visit Martin, can I leave?”

“Of course, but I’m walkin’ there with you.”

There was more silence. Finally Timballisto, deciding his options were either run for the door at breakneck speed or attempt to form an answer, he attempted to form an answer. “He doesn’t remember.”

“So? That means you aren’t mates anymore?”

“No!” Timballisto shook his head. “It’s not about him. It’s- it’s about me.” Timballisto sat heavily on one of the beds. “I can’t see him.”

Gonff rolled onto his side, propping his head up on one paw. “Go on.”

There was another very long silence, made worse by the fact that Gonff was now actually looking at him, instead of his previously feigned disinterest.

“It’s my fault,” Timballisto said finally. “I’m the reason Martin disappeared.”

Gonff sat up like a bolt, any and all traces of civility gone. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t hurt him!” Timballisto clarified quickly. “Not on purpose or anything. But… when Martin’s father left, he put me in charge of the tribe. I should have been watching him or- I was in charge. And when Martin and his grandmother disappeared… I called off the search. If I had kept going- maybe we could have gotten him back. Maybe we could have-” Maybe he could have saved Martin. Maybe if he had been able to save Martin he would have known how to save the rest of the tribe as well.

Martin and Windred had been his first failure in leading the tribe, but they had been far from his last.

“How long ago was this?” Gonff interrupted. 

“What? Um, I don’t know.” Timballisto had long since lost track of how many seasons had passed while on the Bloodwake. “A while ago?”

“So, how old were you when you got left in charge?”

“Uh,” Timballisto shook his head. “Ten or eleven seasons maybe? I’m not sure.”

“You were ten seasons old,” Gonff said, taking the more generous estimate, “and you were put in charge of the entire tribe?”

“Luke took everyone who was old enough to fight with him,” Timballisto explained. “And it wasn’t a very large tribe, so there weren’t too many of us left. We didn’t have enough to go after Martin-”

Gonff held up a paw. “There was no one else who could have been in charge?”

“I suppose there was,” Anyone would have been a better choice than him, Timballisto thought now. They would have known what to do when Martin and Windred had left. They would have known what to do when that winter Timballisto hadn’t planned the crops out right and they got hit by an early frost so there wasn’t enough food to go around. They would have known what to do when the searats landed on their shores and tore down every defense they had ever made. “But it doesn’t matter. Luke chose me. I was responsible and I let Martin disappear, I let him get captured, and- and then I let the entire tribe get captured and I couldn’t do anything to stop it!”

 Timballisto leapt to his feet. “It was my tribe! They were my creatures and I let all of them down and now Martin is-” his rant began to falter, the anger that had been in his voice a moment ago fading, “If I had Martin again, maybe I hadn’t failed. Maybe I could fix it. At least… at least I wouldn’t have failed all of them. Except I don’t have Martin anymore.”

“You want Martin to forgive you.”

Timballisto sunk back to the bed. “I was supposed to protect him,” Timballisto said softly. “And I failed. I failed Martin, and his grandmother, and Luke, and the entire tribe. How can I-  how can I be around Martin- how can he be around me if he doesn’t know? If I can’t… if I can’t apologize?”

It seemed like a pathetically small gesture, but what else was there to do? He couldn’t change whatever it was that had happened to Martin. He couldn’t change what the rest of the tribe had suffered. If he could apologize, if Martin could forgive him then… well, then maybe he could at least live with himself. Maybe he could at least look Martin in the eyes without thinking of all the ways he had failed.

Gonff leaned forwards. His expression, for once, was solemn. “Martin doesn’t blame you. With or without his memories.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know Martin,” Gonff pushed himself to his feet. “You won’t believe it from me though. So, go talk to Martin.”

*

It took another day before Timballisto actually managed to work up the courage to visit him. But he couldn’t avoid Martin forever. Maybe he could?

No, he couldn’t. Not unless he was willing to leave Mossflower and somehow that felt like a worse option.

Martin was awake when Timballisto arrived. He was propped up in bed, sketching something out on a parchment alongside Abbess Germaine. Martin looked up, setting aside the parchment the moment he noticed Timballisto.

“Tim!”

“Can I speak with you? Alone, if that’s alright, Abbess?” Timballisto asked. He had one paw clinging to the doorframe. He could still leave. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to know the answer. Gonff had told him not to worry, sure, but the worst outcome wouldn’t leave Timballisto’s mind. 

What if Martin didn’t forgive him?

Abbess Germaine stood, looking to Martin, who nodded. 

“I’ll be back later,” Abbess Germaine smiled, patting Timballisto on the shoulder as she left. Timballisto only just managed to free his paw from the lintel as the door clicked shut behind her. He didn’t move any closer to Martin’s bed. He wasn’t sure he could say it if he did.

The second between the door closing Martin speaking felt as though it lasted an eternity. Martin looked incredibly young. He was strong and hardened and grown now, still heavily bandaged, but propped up under pillows and blankets, with the parchment and charcoal staining his paws Timballisto couldn’t help but think of Martin when they were children, before everything had gone wrong.

Timballisto supposed he himself had been a child too, but it had never felt that way. You were always old, you were never a child, and those younger than you were always children.

Martin hefted himself into a slightly more upright position, “Timbal-”

“Stop,” Timballisto said quickly. If he didn’t say it now, he wasn’t sure he ever would, “I need to go first.” He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you. I’m not upset that you can’t remember our past. Well,  I am, a little, but it’s not you I’m upset with. It’s… I need to tell you, because you don’t remember, but I can’t keep going around like everything is normal when-” he was rambling now, Timballisto knew he couldn’t allow himself to stop, “I tried to talk to you about it, after the Bloodwake, but you didn’t want to talk about it, so I assumed that was fine, you had a lot happening, we can talk about it later, but then you were injured and there wasn’t a later because you were injured and when you woke up- there wasn’t a later anymore.

“It’s my fault,” Timballisto said, speaking so quickly the worse almost ran together. The space between the bed and the door may as well have been miles between them. “Whatever happened to you between when you disappeared from the tribe and when you arrived in Mossflower. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, and I know that saying I’m sorry doesn’t do anything, I-”

Martin just shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is,” Timballisto insisted. “Luke left me in charge. It was my choice not to keep looking for you and your grandmother. I was in charge, and I let you disappear. I let you get taken.”

“Whatever happened to me,” Martin said, “is not your fault.”

“How can you say that if you don’t remember?”

Martin didn’t answer at first. He was looking down at his wrists, running one of his paws over the other ones. “I’ve been trying to remember. I can’t.” He looked up, “I never told you what happened to me?”

“No,” Timballisto said. “I tried to ask. You said you couldn’t speak about it.”

Martin nodded. He paw continued to hold at his wrist. It was one of the few wounds on his body that wasn’t currently wrapped in bandages. It didn’t need to be. Unlike so many of the others, these were long scarred over.

“I know you,” Martin said. “I know how I felt when I saw you on the Bloodwake. I remember that I had never thought I would see you again. I…” Martin frowned, his brow furrowed, struggling to sort through whatever memories remained. “Whatever may have happened to me, I never blamed you for it.”

Slowly Timballisto stepped across the room, sinking into the chair by Martin’s bed. The first few days after the battle the chair had never been empty. Either Timballisto or Gonff had been seated in it more often than not. The few times they were kicked out, to eat or bathe, or to simply not be in the way while his bandages were changed, Columbine or Abbess Germaine had taken their place instead.

“It’s not just you,” Timballisto wiped tears from his cheeks. He wasn't sure when he had started crying. “The rest of our tribe is lost because of me. I failed you, and I failed them. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t… I shouldn’t have been in charge.”

He shouldn’t have been in charge, Timballisto realized for perhaps the first time. There had been others more adept at leading the tribe. Windred, Caitir, even Twoola. Anyone who had more life experience than a ten season old orphan who was only alive because he was good at rock climbing. 

Luke had made a terrible choice in who he left behind.

“No,” Martin took Timballisto’s paw. “What happened to me is not your fault, nor is what happened to the rest of the tribe. The only creatures to blame are the vermin who cares nothing for the lives of other beasts. Gonff told me you want me to forgive you.”

Timballisto let out a choked laugh, his throat thick with tears. “Of course he told you. Hold on, did you tell him to talk to me?”

“You wouldn’t talk to me!” Martin laughed, he had tears in his eyes as well, “And Germaine wouldn’t let me out again. But all he said was that you were worried I was the one angry with you. Timbal, I can’t forgive you because there is nothing to forgive.”

More tears poured down his cheeks. A weight he had never even realized was there had been pulled from his shoulders. Timballisto clutched Martin’s paw tighter. “Our entire tribe, Martin. And we’re all that’s left of it.”

Martin didn’t let go of him. He moved the parchment he had been working on back onto his lap. It was blueprints for a castle or fortress of some sort. “Then we can make certain that what happened to our old tribe cannot and will not happen to our new one.”

[cieric-of-chaos]

I know it's just fiction and it's not that serious but I can't take it anymore I am tired of negative conversations about Wanda's kids and people comparing her to other characters sorry if the English is bad...just woke up from a short nap

they always bring this "Super-Strong-super-smart famous-character" blah blah and they’re like “well this Character is so smart and good at fighting and complex he can solo Wanda" or sometimes the repetitive "Wanda have fake kids they just have to say that to defeat her wah wah" it's so annoying...like Wanda's children is not just "fake" if you actually watch WV you would get what I mean, SHE GAVE BIRTH TO THEM, she feels them growing in her belly, they are Alive and...she raised them and celebrate birthdays with them, cook for them...they are real to her she loves her sons and they loved her.... that's why she's so sad and affected when they disappear....like what would you feel if the person you love just disappear and people tells you that they are "fake they don't matter" and also stop saying that you could defeat Wanda by just telling her that her "children are fake" your literally just gonna make her angry. Also the reason her children disappear is bcuz their physical body can only exist inside the hex, they have a soul and they probably got reincarnated like in the comics.

And also why are y'all so normal and calm about making abusive jokes on children? They are kids played by real kids... like why do you want to hit children so badly? I agree that the "song" that they sings is awkward and cringe but is it really needed for you to make disgusting abusive jokes??

Fuck you Kevin feige for Ruining everything you should have just leave wanda's character alone fuck you Michael Waldron for writing that shitty script fuck you Brian Michael bendis for writing that shitty comic storyline and fuck you John Byrne all of this started because you can't draw babies

Wanda Knows hand to hand combat, she's not that physically weak...sure yeah Natasha or Clint could beat her in hand to hand. it’s wanda. She’s not a Martial Artist. but i hate that people like to say that she's weak and "cant fight" she's not like daredevil or Cap but she CAN fight (watch infinity war or the deleted scenes) and also she's not DUMB she's not Just a regular human with powers she's part of the avengers and she study the book of the damned in her cabin for months or years(not sure about the gap between WV and dsmom)SHE'S IS NOT CLUELESS about magic she literally know how to dreamwalk and did it too without the book, she managed to outsmart Agatha, she summons gargantos and that ribboned demon and managed to kill defender!strange and if it weren't for her kids snapping her out of her murderous rampage she would have won she literally defeats herself... Both America and strange literally said they can't defeat her....Stop underestimating and undermining her..so just you could make your fav look good...I don't care about her being the most powerful but you do and if it's bother that's not my fault... Why are u are so insecure.... she's dead already please leave her alone and I don't care about her being popular or ur fav being more more....I want Wanda to become underated again...I miss the days where the scarlet witch fandom is quiet....

sorry again... the English is bad and its jumbled and rushed i just woke up after having a bad dream and also I can't stop thinking about some of the disgusting comments I read on YouTube bout her kids.... grown man hating on children for acting like normal...children I am so annoyed and disgusted.

[royalwriteroftheuniverse]

Baby gazing part 2 The weekend

Just fluff mentions of pregnancy, babies brief mention of changing diapers and some good-old nature fooling 18+ just incase . Chris wvans as a father if that's a warning Comments Welcome and reblogs welcome to not repost translate or publish anywhere

Part 1 here

With our little one on my hip I poke Chris awake with one foot.

He groans

But the minute she giggles his head pops up

"Is that a giggle my little Oh come to daddy:

He holds his hands open then its like he sees her on my hip and freaks instantly so:

"You shouldn't he hold her like that give her to me, come on."

"Chris I-"

"Give her to me and you sit relax."

"Chris I have to chang-"

"I'll change her you sit there relax I'll bring her back to be fed then ill make us breakfast. just relax"

"No buts I got her baby." He kisses me on the forehead

"Ok."

"You ready to get changed all cleaned up baby? yea we gunna dress you cutie hu? ill put you in a cap. shirt." He bounced her as he walked out of the room.

Why argue when he wants to do everything? I could get used to this again. He hasn't been like this since the first few weeks after bringing her home but to be fair we are both sleep deprived and now were gunna be more so because- shit I had to make sure things were ready for Miles. But they won't be here till 2. Though ah no worries its easy just an extra.

Baby we'll tag team.

Chris comes back in with her and while I. Ferdinand her he comes back with a huge breakfast.

Did the fridge break or something.

"No I just wanted to make sure we had enough food here. It's not just you, you have to worry about."

He wrapped his arms around me and then petted her on the head she looked up at him and then smiled as much as she could. Which is unusual as she doesn't like to be disturbed when she is eatting.

So much fruit and sweets my brian is wanting the sweets but the baby- God she'll be too hyper with sugar from the fruit. Maybe some will be ok.

When she was done Chris took her back

Chris wa-

Let me hold her

Chris

Babe no I'm holding my baby

"She's my baby too" I pouted

"You always hold her let me"

"I want to"

"No, please babe," he gave me this sad woe is me look.

"Fine fine but if she has to be changed."

"I'll be all over it."

"Oh you will?" I thought." I've been eating broccoli the past two days and boy is Chris in for a surprise.

She kept reaching for me but Chris said no she tried to crawl but nope daddy dragged her back to his side. He had 2 girls who aren't happy right now. Both of us pouting and fo once I wasn't going to try and make her laugh she has good reason to pout- daddy has to learn.

He insited on putting her down for her nap and me taking a nap- who was I to argue with that. Ill take any nap. Then the glass alarm woke me up leaving me to wonder what he did to our guard-baby now....Then he came running in with her

"Ok it's ok see look mommy is right there" he came standing right next to the bed but wouldn't give me her. I'm wondering where the tissue box is so I can knock him over the with it then she had screamed so loud and high

"Here here here's mommy" he has never handed me the baby so fast in her life. The second I brought her to me she quieted down.

"I hope your happy your made your baby girl cry."

"I wasn't trying to I just-"

"It doesn't matter"

"But I"

"right now she wants her mommy all day she's been wanting her mommy"

"Honey but... look Let's just lets all lay down ok."

"Ok"

Then He slid his hand to support her belly and her and was able to move her enough to that a lot of her weight was on him and not me. I still didn't get it but hey he wants her butt in his face let it

He he was rubbing her butt, which is also his way of checking her diaper, then she shot him a dirty look and shuffled towards me more ans layed her head down on my chest. Her favorite pillow. I couldn't help but laugh.

Not like that I smacked his shoulder

But the rest of this day he was going crazy not letting me get up. I had to sneak to make sure we had stuff for Miles.

"What are you doing"

I jumped hearing Chris voice behind me hold our baby who had reached for me but Chris put her arms down.

"Chris what are you doing? Give me my baby!"

"No you're supposed to be resting-"

"Christopher Robert Evans I swear-"

The door bell rings. Great it's gotta be Jamie and Kyle and Miles.

"This is not finished" I point. pushing past him and walking to the door.

"No honey whose here? you shouldn't be around people its flu season." He comes after me.

"Hey guys"

Miles reached out for me.

"Hi Miles,"

"Someone got an admirier" Jamie said handing him to me

"Who wants a baby biscuit?"

His face lights up. This is going to be an easy weekend.

Nah I just give him cookies. I found it works on dogs and men. Uh that's not what I meant," I chuckled

"Babe no what are you doing?"

he tries to take Miles from me.

"Chris stop what are you doing"

"You shouldn't be holding him"

" What come on."

"Fine gime me her-"

"No."

"Chris we have company "I say through my strained teeth.

"But you still shouldn't be holding him. Think of the baby."

They look at me.

I shrug my shoulders. I

"fine but put her down please."

"Its fine I can handle two. i'll have to get used to it anyway."

Kyle and Jamie give me a look my shoulder goes up and down. I'm completely lost.

"Alright its just the weekend."

"Exactly"

"Ok he is expecting a baby biscuit it is in the pantry ill get it"

"No you sit I don't want you straining"

"Chris"

"Go"

"Ok ok"

Chris puts both of the babies down in the play pen and then to go get then thier cookies.

"Come on you guys sorry about him I wish I had an excuse he's just acting nutty today."

"You guys want coffee" He yells from the kitchen. They both nodd thier heads.

I reply "3 coffees"

"Nice try"

"That man is pushing me right now. I'm allowed the odd coffee while breast feeding and right now I need it or he'll need a new place to live. He driving me nuts Won't let me hold her at all."

"Are you- He's acting like you're pregnant again"

"Oh you have no clue I mean the breakfast me made it was so huge and -oh god."

"You aren't"

"No no I made a joke last night I totally forgot it was about watching miles that we'd have 2 babies in the house I made a joke hed have less than 9 months who knew he'd not realize this morning we have everything ready for miles I swear just-Wait a minute this could work."

They look at me

"I get a weekend off and Chris plays daddy for two babies oh this would really work. You think I can pull this off all weekend?"

"Oh yes," Jamie nods "You have to for women everywhere."

Chris comes back in to give the babies their cookies in the pen and then returns,

"two coffees and a non caffeeinated slightly sweetend ice tea for you."

He sits down and puts one hand on my stomach. Yep he thinks I'm pregnant.....

This is going to be a fun weekend.

Taglist (sorry if I missed you let me know if you want to be added

@nana1000night @sapphire-rogers @sparklybarbarianninja @patzammit @coltrainbat @hawkeyes-queen

[jungle-angel]

The Animal Doctor Is In: Part 5 (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett definitely weren't counting on the new arrivals of the week, but despite the hardships, it's always a pleasure

Warnings: Animal birth, mentions of animal neglect etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @hederasgarden @attapullman @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia

Rhett leaned against the porch railing, drinking as much water out of his Yeti as he possibly could. God it was hot, way too hot for anybody's own good. Royal had told the hands that they absolutely had to take frequent breaks for a dive in the pond and to do what they could to keep cool. The Amelia County Steiner School where Amy and Rose Hawk attended farm camp, had called and emailed all the families of the students to let them know that camp had to be postponed until the heatwave had let up and it didn't look like it would be any time soon.

The baying of two hound dogs suddenly reached his ears along with the sight of a truck and trailer pulling up to the gate. "Napoleon! Shut the fuck up! Jeez you and Lafayette are menaces!"

Napoleon, the big bloodhound, trotted up to Rhett along with his partner in crime, a basset hound named Lafayette. He sat right at Rhett's feet, his big droopy features curling into a canine grin.

"Ya'll are more trouble than you're worth," Rhett laughed.

Lafayette started baying again a minute later as you shut the storm door behind you, the hinge hissing before it clicked. "The hell are ding and dong barking at?" you asked.

"I think Brian's back," Rhett answered as Napoleon tried to put his paws up on Rhett's shoulders. "Not sure with what but he's got the trailer."

You and Rhett squinted in the bright sunlight to find another pickup truck behind them, a dark green Ford f150 belonging to Pastor Jim. "Weird," Rhett thought aloud. "The hell's Pastor Jim doin up here?"

"Lets go find out," you said, slipping your sandals onto your feet.

You and Rhett headed down to the pasture where Brian and Pastor Jim were busy unloading three new dairy cows, all of them in terrible shape.

"S'happenin Jim?" Rhett asked the pastor.

"Ain't lookin too good Rhett," Jim answered, adjusting his Budweiser baseball cap on his head. "Not sure if they're gonna even make it to the barn tonight."

"Where'd they come from?" you asked.

"The fuckin Cranston farm up the road," Pastor Jim said with pure and utter disgust. "Roped to a post, standin in mud up to their knees and nothin in the trough for food. Water was greener than a turtle turd. Oldest one's pregnant too."

"Jeez!" Rhett exclaimed. "Please tell me Burl's goin to jail for this."

"Yep," Jim said. "Judge doesn't tolerate shit like this. He's a repeat offender too."

You and Rhett watched as the cows were unloaded, the first being a red and white hereford cow with obvious welts and marks all over her from neglect. Poor thing was so thin that her ribs were showing and her hooves a painful oozing mess.

You and Rhett immediately set to the barn to try and help them, especially the hereford. She looked at Rhett with her sad, dark eyes, her ears twitching and her sides large with the calf she was carrying. "Oh God honey," he sighed. "You're a mess, ya know that?"

You and Rhett gagged when you saw the terrible state her hooves were in. He liberally poured on the antiseptic liquid that Royal used when any of them had an infected hoof, the poor girl mooing in pain as you and Rhett cleaned away the greenish ooze.

"Should we name her?" you asked, running the flea brush over her fur.

"I dunno darlin," Rhett sighed. "She ain't lookin too good and I don't wanna get too attached to her."

You gave her a few scritches under her chin, her head coming to rest in your hand. "Maybe we should call her Muggy since it's so hot out," you chuckled.

"Nah," Rhett chuckled. "She kinda reminds me of Ma's older sister, Maggie."

All of a sudden, the heifer's head lifted, her eyes meeting yours for the briefest of seconds. "I know that look," Rhett said, smiling.

You laughed with him as you finished up with Maggie. The other two had chosen their own names as well, you and Rhett laughing at the fact that neither of you two would be able to escape naming your menagerie of critters after Disney characters.

That night, a thunderstorm had rolled into Wabang with you and Rhett sticking close to the barn just in case something came up. You were so deep in sleep, that you hardly noticed the pained mooing coming from Maggie's stall.

"Aw shit," you hissed. "Rhett! Rhett!! Wake up!"

Rhett jerked awake. "S'matter?"

"I think it's time."

Rhett hurried to the stall and sure enough, you were right. "Alright darlin, it's go time," he chuckled.

He rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed in, just as he always did. You helped keep Maggie calm while Rhett worked his magic, reaching in to help turn the calf. "Aw jeez Maggie, you're really takin your time with this," Rhett mumbled, his words strained from trying to keep a good grip on her calf.

"C'mon baby, c'mon, ya gotta help me out and push," Rhett encouraged.

You kept stroking Maggie's fur, encouraging the heifer to push while Rhett helped her along. "God she's fuckin tight!" Rhett strained.

It was one long strain of sucking in breaths, f-bombs and pained moos before the calf finally emerged and fell into the hay. "Looks like we've got a girl darlin," Rhett proudly announced, drying her off with a shitty old towel.

"Oh my God she's adorable!" you squeaked.

Rhett dried her off and cleared away all the slimy fluids before she started breathing. Maggie helped take care of the rest, licking her baby before the calf stood on her knobby little legs and latched onto her mother's udder.

Once you and Rhett had cleaned up and put everything away, you kept a close eye on the two of them. "You think she'll do ok?" you asked.

"No doubt darlin, this one's one tough mother," Rhett joked.

You kissed your husband, the two of you laughing as you watched mother and baby and the storm finally clearing over Wabang.

[rhaenall]

Warning, this is super long but I think the reason so many people think of Shiv as the favorite is more about how "favorite" is defined and from what perspective we’re examining “favorite.”

I think there’s a pretty solid argument that, in-universe, the Roy’s generally see Shiv as Logan’s “favorite” where favorite means the child he “likes” most and treats “preferentially.” As a preface, Brian Cox has pretty consistently said Shiv is Logan's favorite in interviews. While fans and viewers are free to take or leave an actor’s extra-textual viewpoint as they wish, I think it has both been influential from a fanon perspective and provides a view into Logan’s thought process.

What I mean by that is that Logan probably thinks of Shiv as his favorite, partly because Logan's views towards Shiv are (at least initially) less complicated than his views towards his sons. As Shiv said in Episode 3x09, Logan thinks there’s something wrong with Roman and he has a dichotomous love-hate relationship with Kendall. By contrast, Logan thinks of Shiv as his little Pinky, there’s nothing competitive about the relationship because she’s not another Man coming to usurp him and he can’t comprehend the whole of her as a full and complex person due to his own misogyny. As the only girl, his relationship with her is inherently unique and, I’d argue, in some ways inherently limited by her gender. Shiv is someone he can afford to let in because she’ll never be a Son and therefore, will never really be a rival (or a disappointment as a Man).

I think we get a bit of a sense of this in Episode 2x08, where Logan seeks out Shiv’s assurance that he’s making the right decision about announcing Rhea. There’s a kind of emotional reliance there that Logan can show Shiv that I don’t think he could have really show Kendall or Roman by virtue of their being men. It’s not dissimilar to how he relies on Marcia earlier in the season. It almost gives the illusion of tenderness, but in other ways simultaneously dismisses Shiv as a potential Heir herself, even though that’s the whole paradigm she’s been operating under this season.  That reliance and psedo-emotional closeness (as well as Shiv being out of the company for the majority of her life) allows for their relationship to function differently then any relationship he has with his other children and potentially to connect with each other (see Shiv’s speech that same episode where it’s clear they really do get each other in a way).

By virtue of this unique relationship, I think the rest of the family (mostly Roman, Kendall, and Caroline) view Shiv as Logan’s “favorite” as well.  This is potentially evidenced in some of Kendall’s lines in Episode 1x02 (I say potentially because everyone is speaking from places of mixed motives haha). Thus, by certain in-universe metrics, Shiv is Logan’s favorite.

As viewers however, our view of “favorite” may differ from those of the characters in the show. If we think of Logan’s “favorite” as the child Logan lets in the most re the business, or thinks about the most, or spends the most time with, or brings into his inner circle most frequently – then the “favorite” may be Kendall.

I think it’s pretty indisputable that Logan has uniquely weird relationships with all of his kids but at least where Kendall is concerned there’s an intense kind of possessiveness involved. Putting aside how wild it is to tap a seven-year-old as the future CEO of a public company that will have a market cap in excess of $40b, Logan seems super interested in involving himself in basically every aspect of Kendall’s life. We see in the pilot episode that he’s always trying to get his kids in the company (and exercise some level of procession that way), but it extends beyond that with Kendall (see for example all of Season 2 and large parts of Season 1and 3 haha).

At least until the start of the show, I think the implication is Logan has been dedicated to molding Kendall in his image as his heir, largely without meaningful competition from his siblings. However, one of the things that I think keeps Logan from thinking of Kendall as being his “favorite” even though he holds the title of Heir, is that Kendall is a massive disappointment to Logan because he can never live up to that title. Part of this is just, no one can live up to Logan’s standard because it’s a constantly changing standard (he is after all a human gaslight) but the other part is that Kendall is, at his core, a vastly different person from Logan. They don’t think the same. And on top of that, because Kendall has been trying to absorb and learn how to be whatever it is Logan seems to want, he keeps either attempting to emulate Logan poorly because, as stated, they’re different people, or he tries to grow and do his own thing which Logan inherently dislikes either because it’s not Logan’s way or he views it as competition which is unacceptable from one of his children.

To me, in many ways, Kendall is Logan’s great contradiction – love and hate in equal measure with a toxic co-dependance swirling throughout due to the sheer amount of time and energy that’s gone into molding Ken to be more like Logan and Kendall’s desperate attempt to shove himself into a mold that doesn’t fit.

Now for how this further fits into the “favorite” discussion, I don’t think Kendall views himself as the favorite. I think this is in part because the grass is always greener and from where Ken is standing – Shiv’s pasture looks far nicer than his (and Roman’s but that’s a whole other thing). However, I also kind of think that because Kendall is so constantly in Logan’s orbit, he doesn’t really think about this favorite thing too much (or at least not in those terms).

From Shiv’s perspective though, I think she’s much more keyed into the reality that Logan’s view of her is not in fact “better” but a massive disservice to her potential and I think she does clock that there’s a connection with Kendall that she cannot be part of in a way that makes any favoritism she gets meaningless. All of which is to say, I think Shiv understands she’s in a unique position with her Dad as the girl and the baby, and that to some extent others view her as a Daddy’s Girl. But I think she also has identified that Ken is the one who’s got Daddy’s attention more than not and although she may be called the “favorite” in many ways, Ken gets to “matter” in a way she can’t.

 So all of this to say…I think Shiv is technically the “favorite” but that Kendall is practically the “favorite” or the one who “matters– it’s all about how you define it and which perspectives you’re adopting.

(Also, one final note on Logan’s feeling around Shiv – there’s also probably some deeply mixed-up subconscious association between Rose, the younger sister he lost and carried guilt about for forever, and Shiv, his only daughter (and the only child that seems to physically take after his side of the family) that may also be at play here. I’m still kind of thinking through how all of that fits together…)

WHO SEND THIS?€;&::&&: (/positive)

I appreciate it, I read it all. Really lovely thoughts and ideas.

I didn’t know about Brian Cox’s thoughts on this matter. I think I am only aware of Jeremy’s and Sarah Snook’ thoughts on their characters/season 4.

But yes I can definitely see why there is conflicting answers about the favorite.

Thank you, anon! This is Appreciated

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

to what 'weird on paper' john and paul quotes you are referring to?

I was thinking of this specifically (the last bit without audio was going around and it just really sounds different from how it reads imo).

But this kinda applies across the board. A lot of Lennon Remembers and Playboy – while still not being super kind a lot of the time – sounds decidedly less unhinged than it reads. And a lot of things Paul said are IMO more lighthearted than they read (part of the reason why I'm highly skeptical of the tinhat reading of "in bed".... I suspect it was a joke and the print isn't getting that across.)

Another example off the top of my head for John is the "it's irrelevant" tirade. I do find that moment telling, specifically the fact he felt the need to clarify that Brian was in love with him not Paul, but sometimes people quote it in all caps, for instance, despite the fact John was very calm and composed when he actually said those things.

To be clear: it does to me seem like the concept of Brian being into Paul irritated him, but he wasn't fuming or anything. This is less about people reading things entirely the wrong way and more that the voices in our head add emphasis and emotion not present in the original statement (mostly entirely subconsciously! And I've definitely done this as well!) and this contributes to a sort of fictionalization of these people.

For whatever reason I find John and Paul highly susceptible to this. Something in their wording makes people read a shitton of tone into it.