#i have decided this is my favourite lew look
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Catch me writing winnix because a denizen of Gremlin Town hit the quarter century today! Happy birthday, pal. Thanks for being in my fandom circle.
@pretty-fly-for-a-sky-guy
--
Dick always knows when it’s three o’clock.
He’s been working at the souvenir shop in the airport for almost as long as Lew has been dropping by at the end of his security shift. It often coincides with a lull in customer traffic, business travelers tending to fly domestic most often, and usually in the morning. Lew has worked 7-to-3s since the end of his first month here, a shift schedule he had once casually mentioned to have bartered from one of his coworkers, despite the fact that Dick happens to know he hates mornings.
“Couldn’t they put you on 11-to-7s?” he asks at one point, when he’s stocking the travel pillow rack and Lew is lounging against the counter next to the postcards, waxing on about the late one he’d had.
Lew’s hesitation is only a fraction of a second. “What, and miss all this?” He waves a lazy hand. “I’ve just gotten the morning crowd figured out. What if someone stole a neck pillow at night? That’s not the kind of person I want to be dealing with.”
“I’m sure the night crowd isn’t so bad,” Dick says, though he can’t say for sure. The kid works the night shift, Joe - rough around the edges but trustworthy with the store keys. He never seems to have any issues, but they do only speak in passing, at shift change. “Fewer families of six heading to Disney World with every single kid screaming, I bet.”
“I’m just not sure it’s worth the risk,” Lew replies, in a tone that makes Dick smile without meaning to.
--
Often as not, Lew comes bearing snacks. Dick never expressly tells him what he likes best, but Lew somehow narrows it down anyway, and over time the snack is almost always a cheese and onion scone from the bakery four stores down.
On the third Wednesday in October, the scone is still piping hot, blotting the wax paper. Dick neatly extracts it, breaking off a piece and offering it to him. “How did you figure out that this one is my favourite?”
Lew accepts the offering, pressing his lips together thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s your favourite,” he says. “I think ice cream is your favourite, but they don’t sell any in this terminal and it would melt by the time I got all the way here from the Dairy Queen by international departures.”
“I think they closed that Dairy Queen,” Dick says. He doesn’t think; he knows. He has accumulated more ice cream related knowledge than most people expect of him.
It doesn’t appear to be a surprise to Lew, who shakes his head with that deadpan graveness he has such a knack for. “It’s a sign,” he says. “Time to get out of here.”
“There’s a four o’clock flight to Chicago,” Dick suggests.
Lew tsks. “Oh, but then who would keep people from stealing the neck pillows?”
“You know, I was worried about that, but I didn’t want to say it.” Dick’s mouth quirks in amusement. “Next time.”
“We’ll go to Chicago,” Lew decides, leaning back easily, his elbows resting on the counter, for all the world as if he’s just watching the world go by until his gaze flickers toward Dick. There’s something oddly and unexpectedly sincere in it. “I’ll take you there.”
“I’ve never had deep dish,” Dick says thoughtfully.
It’s Lew’s turn to look amused. If there is something very faintly relieved in it, as if he had not been sure how his sincerity would be taken, neither of them remark on it. “I’m going to blow your mind when I tell you about rainbow cones."
--
On Thursday, Dick comes out of the back after a long and involved discussion with the delivery guy about the latest order – he’s not getting paid like a manager, but the funny thing about these types of jobs is that he always finds himself taking on the role anyway – and finds a cup of coffee and a scone on the counter. He wonders abruptly at the noticeable flash of disappointment that there’s no one around.
“Your guy left that for you,” Sheila calls, from the magazine stand across the way. They watch each other’s counters whenever something pressing comes up; she is maybe fifty, amiable, and Dick knows about as much about her as anyone knows about a friendly work acquaintance whose last name they’ve never learned.
My guy, thinks Dick. Huh. “Thanks,” he says.
“He looked nice today,” Sheila adds. “Did something different with his hair? And he was wearing a real shirt.”
Dick has no idea what that’s about – he’s never seen Lew in anything aside from his work uniform – but he nods his thanks and pops open the lid on the coffee, letting that life-saving scent waft up toward him.
--
Dick mentions it in passing, after Lew doesn’t say anything about it for three consecutive days. They talk every day, after all; Dick is pretty sure he would've heard about a job interview or a family dinner.
Or a date.
“Well,” Lew says, after perhaps half a second during which he looks like a deer in the headlights, though it passes so quickly that Dick wonders if he imagined it. “I just thought that you shouldn’t ask a guy out in a shirt that has your name embroidered on it." He never outwardly lacks self-assurance for long; the wry wit is back almost at once. "Call me a die-hard romantic if you want; I can take it.”
Dick’s mouth curves up one side. Oh. Not a date, then. Or not yet. “Not Chicago, I’m assuming.”
That’s not a no, and something in Lew relaxes minutely. “Tell you what,” he says. “I know an ice cream place that has forty-seven flavours. Let’s start there and see how it goes.”
“Forty-seven, huh,” Dick says.
“We might have to go more than once,” Lew tells him. “Just to give them all a fair try.”
Dick has an urge that feels unlike him - to reach out, maybe, even though there are people around. He doesn't, but he must give himself away somehow, because Lew comes over very fond even before Dick says, “Let me check my calendar.”
Lew raps two knuckles gently against the counter. “Check your calendar," he says. “I know where to find you."
Dick is not a person who smiles helplessly, generally. It doesn't feel like giving something up, though, when it makes Lew smile back at him like that. "Same time tomorrow, then."
Lew nods, an endearing tip of his head, like it was a date that needed setting. "Same time tomorrow."
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Shipper Tag Game
Tagged by @4typercent Thanks You! ❤️
This got a bit long... Also some questions where a bit odd? But I tried 😄
What ship were you completely obsessed with as a teenager, but now you don't care about anymore?
Well I didn't really get into shipping until uni, was not really aware of it as a teenager. But one of my earliest ships was Grell x Sebastian and I don't really care for it anymore.
Mostly because I don't really care for Black Butler anymore. The later seasons were bad, and I'm less inclined to look over the problems that were already there from the start.
(A bit sad, there are still good concepts there 😔)
Which ship would you consider your first one?
Not sure, probably Data x Geordi? I strongly remember being obsessed with Data when I first found Star Trek.
Your first fanfic was about which couple?
This one is easier: L x Light from Death Note. (First read)
Do you remember the first couple you saw fan art of?
Absolutely no idea. But the first video edit I saw of a ship was definitely Spock x Kirk.
Have you ever gotten into ship discourse
Probably? I do feel the urge to defend my ships when someone decides they are "problematic"
Oh and I did post hate for that one ship, but I was nice and tagged it with "anti x" and started off my post with "this is anti x, if you like it please keep scrolling" really didn't want to start an argument, I just wanted to rant 😆
Did you use to have any NOTP or have one currently?
Yes I do.
Who were the last couple in the last fanfic you read?
Astarion x Gale. I'm loving Astarion x Wyll, Astarion x Gale and Astarion x Halsin at the moment 🥰 Shipping my vampire boy with all the boys.
Currently, do you have any OTPs?
So, so many.
Is there any couple that, to this day, that you are extremely mad about not getting into?
This is such an odd question, what? Why would anyone care about that? Is there something I'm not understanding?
Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they're kind of interesting?
There are ships I didn't care about in the original source, but then liked when it got a tv-show? Does that count? For example Dream x Hob and Ishamael x Lews Therin.
Do you have any ship that, in the past, would have been considered normal but now you would be cancelled over?
I have multiple ships with haters that say they are "problematic" but they have always had haters. 🤷♀️ So no?
What is your favourite crack ship?
I don't know, Nigel x Antwan was fun?
What is the couple you read the most fanfics about?
Probably still Yuri Katsuki x Victor Nikiforov
What do most of your ships have in common?
That they are a bit stupid about realizing they belong together
What do you absolutely hate in a ship?
Het-Ships where the guy just won't take no for an answer. The whole "don't give up eventually she will say yes" is such a bad trope that is way too common.
Like don't get me wrong, I love Darcy x Elizabeth. That someone says no once and then gets to know the other person better and changes their mind can be done well. But so often it is not, and it just looks like he wears her down 🤮
Tagging: @baba-wodnica @ahopefulsun @deaderthandoubledead @ramsaybaggins @idrisstorey @readingtheentrails @the-scarecrowlover @alwaysawkwardd
No pressure 🥰💕
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Can you write a headcanon where the boys propose to the reader? And maybe with Winters, Lipton, Toye, Christenson and Nixon? Please and thank you😘😘
Hello lovely anon. Thank you so much for the request, I'm sooo excited to write it🤩
Dick Winters
Dick has it all planned out. Like...down to the most minute detail.
He's had the ring hidden in his toolbox for over a month because he's so scared you'll find it and it'll ruin the surprise.
Eventually the day comes and whew, he hasn't been this nervous in a long time.
He sets up a romantic evening picnic in his backyard. He's got fairylights wrapped around the apple trees, a huge picnic blanket with cushions, and all your favourite foods. He's even got a bottle of champagne because well, it's hopefully a special occasion.
He covers your eyes before you get to the door leading to the garden. You laugh and tell him if you fall over its all his fault but he promises you'll be just fine, he'll guide you.
You're amazed at how pretty everything looks, and he grins sheepishly when you pull him in for a kiss.
He's prepared to ask you there and then, but he doesn't want to rush anything. He wants you to enjoy the picnic first.
After you've eaten you stand up to take a closer look at the fairy lights on the trees and he knows this is the right time.
He gets down on one knee, and of course he's got a whole speech ready.
"I can't imagine what my life would be like without you," he starts emotionally, "you're the light of my life and I don't ever want there to be a day where we're not together. Would you do me the honour of being my wife?"
Youre crying, and he's got tears welling in his eyes which he can't stop from spilling over when you say yes.
He slides the ring on your finger gently and then puts his hands on your cheeks and kisses you sweetly.
Carwood Lipton
Lip has been planning to propose to you for awhile, he's just not sure about the best way to do it. He wants it to be special but he also doesn't want to do anything too public or cliché.
He decides that when the right moment comes, he'll know it.
So he's taken to carrying the ring box around with him everywhere you go together.
One evening you're cooking dinner together, laughing and joking and enjoying each others company.
And Lip decides in that moment that the best time to propose is when you're both just enjoying yourselves together, that's what makes it special.
So he gets down on one knee there and then in the kitchen; no fanfare and no fuss, just the way you two always are.
"I've been trying to find the right moment to do this, but I figured that every moment spent with you is special so it doesn't matter when I do it. What matters is that I love you and want to spend the rest of my nights cooking dinner with you and watching crappy movies with you and falling asleep beside you. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, will you marry me?"
Its the most perfect proposal you could ever have imagined, and you can't stop smiling when he puts the ring on your finger and hugs you close, leaning down and kisskng you lovingly.
"I think the mash is burning," you murmur.
"Don't worry about it," he smiles, "we've got the rest of our lives to worry about burnt mash."
Joe Toye
Joe has this idea that a fancy dinner proposal is the best way to go.
So he takes you to the nice restaurant that you only go to for birthdays or your anniversary.
He says he needs to go go the bathroom, so he can sneakily meet the waiter and explain to him what the proposal plan is. The waiter is mkfe than happy to help.
All through dinner you're badgering him to find out what's the special occasion, but he says there's no reason.
Desert comes out then and he clears his throat and pointedly looks at your plate.
There, sitting beside your slice of cake, is an open ring box. You stare across the table at him incredulously as he leans across and grabs the box from your plate.
He stands up and smooths down his shirt nervously, before kneeling in front of your chair.
"As far as I'm concerned, I'm the luckiest man in the world because I've got you. But I'd be the luckiest man in the whole damn universe if you'd do me the honour of marrying me. So, what d'ya say? Will you marry me?"
Everyone else in the restaurant is staring at you two I'm awe and excitement, waiting for your answer. But you don't notice any of them because you're so focused on the man kneeling in front of you.
"Of course I'll marry you," you grin, and you're both delighted when everyone around you bursts into applause.
He hugs you so tight, and you're both so excited you can barely even finish your deserts.
Pat Christensen
He wants it to be romantic but personal to you to two.
So he takes you back to the place you first said you loved each other.
You walk around and talk for awhile, and he's stalling because he's a little nervous but eventually he gets his nerves together and gets down on one knee.
"This is a special place for our relationship," he starts, "its where we first said we loved each other. And I wanted this to be another special moment so I thought this was the perfect place to do it. I love you more than words could ever express, and I want us to grow old together and have all the wonderful things life has to offer. Will you marry me my love?"
You're so busy trying not to choke up that you can't even get the words out but you nod and he stands up and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around and grinning excitedly.
"Oops, almost forgot about this," he laughs as he slides the ring on your finger and admires how perfect it looks on you.
Lewis Nixon
Lew doesn't do things by halves; he goes all out, and proposing is no exception.
He sweeps you off to Paris, and treats you to the most wonderful weekend.
He books the nicest suite in the nicest Hotel, he takes you shopping on the Champs-Élysées and buys you the most gorgeous dress to wear to dinner that night.
Of course, he takes you for dinner on the Eiffel Tower, and the view of the city and all the lights is absolutely perfect.
Once dinner is over you walk around the balcony and admire the view, and when the tower starts to sparkle he gets down on one knee and takes your hand in his.
"I brought you here, to the most beautiful city with the most beautiful buildings and views, to tell you that they pale in comparison to you. You're the most beautiful, wonderful, shining star in the world, and there would be no greater honour for me in this entire world than to be able to call you my wife. Will you marry me?"
Its the most romantic thing he's ever done for you, and you're completely overwhelmed. You nod vigorously, tears brimming in your eyes.
He stands and slides the ring on your finger, sighing in relief when it fits.
He wraps his hands around your waist, one sliding up your back, and kisses you passionately, all of Paris at your feet.
I had a lot of fun with this one (especially Nix ngl), hope you enjoy it 💕
Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @geniedocroe @generousdreamlanddestiny @sunsetmando @cagzzz107 @howunexpectedlyso @alejodi0nysus @sunflowerchuck
#band of brothers#bob#dick winters#carwood lipton#joe toye#pat christenson#lewis nixon#band of brothers fandom#hbo band of brothers#band of brothers imagine#holdingforgeneralhugs#birthdayweekbonanza
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EOTW: Earlier: Ravens and the Prologue
I am fully committed to liveblogging through my reading of WOT and considering there's so many books it's gonna be a ride. So let's start with the prologue and the prologue prologue (why are there two?)
General thoughts:
The POV switches are a little weird? Like in Ravens first we just have this super limited perspective from Egwene and then in the final paragraph it switches to an omniscient narrator? idk, im probably the only one bothered by this
The foreshadowing in Ravens is very funny
The prologue is so interesting and so different from the scene in the show, I'm absolutely intrigued by Lews and the power of the Dark One.
Egwene my beloved
Specific thoughts under cut:
Ravens:
no but seriously, I love that this earlier thingy is from egwene's pov, i already love her so much and it's interesting to see how ambitious she is, she wants to be the best water-carrier ever haha
"In contrast, most of the men and boys went coatless, some even had their shirts unlaced. Egwene did not understand why they were allowed to do that. The women's work was no cooler than the men's." yeah egwene, neither do i
honestly i am already so intrigued by the gender relations and stuff in this book and how it contrasts to the show
i will write a thing on it i have decided
Mat: "I want a story with adventures! (...) I want Trollocs, and...and...and a false Dragon!"
Egwene is already my favourite, she has so much ambition, like girl same
i love that we get to live in their world for a little bit, see what two rivers is like
Prologue:
okay okay so just Lews Therin Theramon is so interesting and i genuinely feel very sorry for this man already
the thing where they say he wore the Ring of Tamirlyn and the dude was in the high seat like that is loreeeeee and i am liviinggggg
i also really look forward to rereading the prologue after reading the books, because it genuinely don't make sense to me right now for the most part
also the aes sedai being not limited to one gender AND how they're not really being portrayed as good the way they are in the show initially is great and i love it
#lilli reads eye of the world#wheel of time books#if any bookreaders read this they will probably laugh about all the things i don't know yet#like being able to read this back in the future is really exciting to me#anyways#enjoy my ignorance#wot: eye of the world
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Jersey Love (Part 5) : I Lost a Friend
Warning: this chapter includes references of suicide so please do not read if it will trigger you. Here for anyone who needs to talk <3
Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy it, I’m struggling with part 6 atm so please be patient with me :) love you all so much and I know I saw it all the god dam time but your support truly does mean the world to me
Tag List: @harrysthiccthighss @thereisa8ella @magdelen69 @henrythickcavill @hc-geralt-23 @kissthatlifeaway @darkbooksarwin @august-w-princess @speakerforthedead0 @pixie1484 @constip8merm8 @tigerbroadwaybaby @agniavateira @summersong69 @aestheticallywinchester @stephartrave @al-wiisa @henrycavillfanpage @intenselikes @anat2507 @ellixthea @aguspalazzo @1ookatthestars00 @wintersoldierslut @michelehansel @cavill-sass @thecavillstache @xelizabethvalentinex @sesamepancakes @tumblnewby @thefangirlsblog @sugarmelonwater
(if you would like to be added to my tag list, feel free to message me, if you are new to my blog then I post Henry Cavill fanfics and make Henry Cavill fake Instagram posts, my requests are open so feel free to request anything and I will try my best to make your vision come to life. Edit: requests are still open but there might be a delay as I am working my way through the current ones and all other stories I am writing)
Part 1: Durrell Challenge
Part 2: Coffee Date
Part 3: Life With You is a Walk in the Park
Part 4: Movie Night
It was Saturday night and you had been invited to a karaoke night with your friends, you had invited Henry so he could get to know your friends better. You were getting ready, you had decided to curl your hair and apply a little bit more makeup than usual, not too much, it still looked natural but you had darker eyeshadow on than usual. You opted to wear black skinny jeans, a striped deep-neck blouse and toeless heels. You couldn’t stop thinking about last night and the events that occurred, you wondered if Henry was thinking about it as much as you were.
You had text Henry to meet you at the pub, planning to get there earlier than your friends, you ordered a cab whilst you got your things ready, ensuring your cats had everything they needed. The cab arrived shortly after and took you to the pub. You walked inside, greeting the staff as you entered, you sat down at a booth big enough for all of you. Henry arrived shortly after, dressed in black jeans and a grey cotton shirt, his chest hair on display which made you have to take a deep breath trying to compose your thoughts.
He waved at you a huge smile on his face, he came over to you sliding in next to you and hugging you tightly.
“Hello gorgeous” he says, pecking your lips making you blush.
“You look hot Henry” you said, which got the reply of a deep cough and chuckle.
“So do you” he said, his eyes flicking down to your chest making you and him smirk.
“Keep your eyes up here Hen” you joked, making him smile.
“Want a drink?” you asked “yes please” he said. “Guinness?” you asked, making him say yes please again. You left the booth and Henry couldn’t help but check out your bottom as you walked, he thought about last night as he did. You caught him as you turned your head round slightly, making him look into your eyes and shrug as if to say “I don't regret it”.
You ordered a Guinness and a pint for yourself, carrying them over to the table. Sitting down next to Henry his hand immediately panting itself on your thigh as the other arms hooked around your shoulders on the headrest of the chair.
“How are you?” you said, your own hand resting on his thigh, which somehow looked bigger in his tight jeans.
“I’m very good, how are you my love?” he smirked, placing a kiss to your neck where he could see the bruise he planted yesterday.
“I also happen to be very good. Coincidence?” you said making him chuckle.
“Hmm, maybe” he said his lips still moving against your lips.
“Henry people are looking” you said, your hand threading through his hair at his neck as your eyes fluttered closed.
“Let them look” he said, beginning to suck against your neck when you heard someone across the room cough awkwardly, making him pull away.
His timing was impeccable as you heard the door of the pub opened and in walked Lewis.
“Hi guys.” he said nicely, shrugging his jacket off when he made it to you.
“Hi Lew. This is Henry” you said, standing up to hug him before gesturing to Henry, he stood up and shook Lewis' hand.
“Nice to meet you mate. Yn has told me a lot about you” Henry said, smiling and sitting back down. Lewis sat on the opposite side of the booth.
“You too mate” he replied before the both of them said “good things I hope” at the same time making them laugh.
“No I bitched about both of you” you said, all of you laughing, the pub door opened and Amy walked in with James and Liam.
“Oh shit, I forgot to tell you that Emily can’t make it, she had to look after her sister's kids for the night” Lewis said, all of you standing up as they walked up.
“Hello gorgeous girl” Amy said, hugging you tightly, squeezing her as she did, placing a friendly kiss on her cheek, her eyes flicked down to your exposed neck and she wiggled her eyebrows at you, making you chuckle and flick your hair in front of your neck to cover it..
“Nice to see you again” she said, leaning over to hug Henry too.
“You too.” Henry replied.
“This is Henry” you said, introducing him to Liam and James who both shook his hand. They all sat down but you remained standing.
“Drinks?” you said, to which they all replied quickly with what they wanted.
“I’ll get it” Henry offered, making you shake your head and place a kiss against his cheek making him blush in front of your friends. You walked over to the bar ordering everyone else's' drinks, you leant against the bar, turning your head back to the table, Henry was laughing with your friends which was a good sign, he was sat next to Lewis with Amy, Liam and James on the other side of the booth, a space next to Henry for you to sit. The barman came back a short while after with all of the drinks.
“Cheers mate” you said smiling to him as he placed the drinks on a tray.
“Need a hand?” he said, being friendly.
“That’s okay, I’ve got it” you said, carrying the tray effortlessly to the table. You placed it down and sat next to Henry a round of “thanks” and “cheers” being heard.
“For someone as clumsy as you I’m surprised you managed to carry this back without getting it all down you” James said making everyone including Henry laugh.
“Ha Ha” you said sarcastically, taking a sip from your drink.
You all then began talking between yourself, your friends asking kind and interesting questions about Henry and his career, helping him to be comfortable around them which you appreciated.
“How long have you been together?” Henry asked James who was holding hands with Liam.
“4 years” he replied, smiling at each other which made you and Henry smile.
“They are so cute. They got moved to different sections at work because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other” Amy said, making everybody laugh.
Little to your knowledge, your friends had put your name into the hat that was being passed around the pub, you hadn’t known this as you were getting another round, so when your name was called you were shocked.
“I hate you guys so much” you said, putting your middle finger up to them as you were prompted to go on stage. This karaoke night had a machine but also had a guitar and a piano which you could play. You walked on stage, still hating your friends, Henry smiled at you as he was laughing along with your friends.
“May I?” you gestured to the piano making the karaoke man nod.
“Introduce yourself and the song” the man said, making you smile.
“Hi everyone. This is super awkward, my friends put me up to this and I hate them for it. But um, my name is Yn, this is I Lost a Friend by Fineas” you said, making your friends and Henry cheer at you.
“She plays piano? Is she any good?” Henry asked Lewis.
“You didn’t know. Oof sit back and enjoy Henry” Lewis said making Henry confused. You began playing the first chords of the song and soon after your voice filled the room. Henry was instantly blown away by your voice, it was beautiful and he looked to your friends who were smiling at you.
youtube
I lost a friend
Like keys in a sofa
Like a wallet in the backseat
Like ice in the summer heat
I lost a friend
Like sleep on a red-eye
Like money on a bad bet
Like time worrying about
Every bad thing that hasn't happened yet
You sang, your fingers easily drifting over the keys, your eyes closing as you got into the song.
I know I'll be alright, but I'm not tonight
I'll be lying awake counting all the mistakes I've made
Replaying fights
I know I'll be alright, but I'm not tonight
I lost a friend, I lost a friend, I lost my mind, and nobody believes me
Say, "I know that he don't need me
'Cause he made a little too much money to be 20 and sad"
And I'll be fine without 'em
But all I do is write about 'em
How the hell did I lose a friend I never had?
Never had
You continued singing. Henry leant forward in his chair, everything around him seemed like it disappeared as he heard you sing, every new piece of infomation he learnt about you he loved but he thinks this might be his favourite. Why doesn’t she do this for a living? he thought to himself she’s truly amazing. This song was sad and you sung it with so much emotion, the room went completly quiet, everyone on the edge of their seats, listening carefully to every word that fell perfectly from your mouth.
I'm on the mend
Like I'm wearing a neck brace
Like I'm sleeping in my own place
Like I'm pulling all the stitches out of my own face
I'm on the mend
Like I'm icing a new sprain
Like I'm walking on a new cane
Like it's been a couple days
Since I slipped and said something sorta like your name, I know I'll be alright, but I'm not tonight
I'll be lying awake counting all the mistakes I've made
Replaying fights
You sung, swaying slightly in your chair, really getting into the song. Your friends started swaying too which made you smile.
I know I'll be alright, but I'm not tonight
I'm on the mend, but I lost a friend, I lost my mind, and nobody believes me
Say, "I know that he don't need me“
Cause he made a little too much money to be 20 and sad
And I'll be fine without 'em
But all I do is write about 'em
How the hell did I lose a friend I never had? I'd apologize if I thought it might make a difference
Or make you listen
I'd apologise if it was black and white
But life is different
Just try to listen to me now, I know I'll be alright, but I'm not tonight
I lost a friend, I lost a friend, I lost my mind, and nobody believes me
Say, "I know that he don't need me
'Cause he made a little too much money to be 20 and sad"
And I'll be fine without 'em
But all I do is write about 'em
How the hell did I lose a friend I never had?
Never had
You continued to sing the song until the end and everyone applauded you when you had finished, making you blush deeply.
“I wasn’t expecting that, that was amazing” the karaoke man said as you stood up making you laugh.
“Thank you” you said, smiling at him before walking back to your friends, sliding in next to Henry.
“I really hate you guys” you said laughing, you felt Henry staring at you so you looked to him as his hand rested against your thigh.
“Oh shut up, you were amazing” Amy said, making everyone nod.
“What?” you said, tucking your hair behind your ear, he leant in and kissed you firmly making your friends coo which made you blush.
“You never told me you could sing or play the piano. That was amazing Yn” Henry said making you kiss him again.
“What can I say? I’m full of surprises” you said, using the phrase you and him always said as a joke, your elbows on the table, leaning against the palm of your hand.
“You truly are” he said, leaning forward to place a kiss against your forehead as his arm rested over your shoulders.
You looked to your friends who were smiling at the both of you.
The night carried on like that, all of you laughing, singing along to the songs people went up to sing, drinking and having fun. Henry fit in well with you friends, there was never any moments of awkwardness, his hand rested constantly on your knee or on your thigh, occasionally wondering up (whether intentional you don't know) and every now and then he'd turn and smile at you, placing a kiss against your cheek or lips.
It was now later on that night and you had invited Henry back to yours, you entered your house, your cats nowhere to be seen, probably on your bed. You threw you keys in the bowl next to your door, hanging your jacket up, Henry doing the same. Little to no words were exchanged but it was a comfortable silence. Henry looked around again, he really did love your house, he had only been in your living room and kitchen but still.
“Bare with me while I go get changed okay?” you said, making Henry nod and walk to your living room. You got changed into a black pair of sweats and a loose top, cleaning your face of all makeup. You walked back downstairs into the living room seeing Henry stroking one of your cats.
“Ooo, you like nice and cozy, how are you still so pretty without makeup?” he said, making you smile, he sat back against your sofa, pulling you into his lap, his hand running across the soft fabric of your sweats which covered your legs.
“How do we always end up in this same position?” he said making you chuckle
“Hmm think yesterday looked a little like this” you said, swinging your leg over his thighs so you were straddling him again, you both laughed this time though, liking how this position didn’t always have to be sexual.
“You were truly amazing this evening Yn, that song... so good, very emotional, almost cried, I can’t lie” he said, you smiling at how sweet he always was.
“Thank you” you replied, pecking his cheek.
“I want to hear you sing more now” he said “You’re so talented, you know you could do it as a career right? I know you love conservation but it's true” he said, a crimson blush arising on your cheeks as he spoke
"Can I show you something?" you said as if reading his mind, your voice came out in a whisper and he nodded. He stood and you jokingly wrapped yourself around him like a koala, slowly dropping yours legs to the floor, taking his hand in yours leading him upstairs into a large room, you turned the lights on and Henry smiled at the sight. It was a studio, guitars were framed on the wall and an old standard size piano was placed at the back. Across one of the walls was a glass panel and a door which led to what looked like a recording booth. Brown leather sofas furnished the room and a coffee table was placed in front of them, sheets of paper lying across it, Henry picked one up and saw song lyrics.
"Wow" was all he said, sitting down on the sofa.
"Spent my first three paychecks on this room” you laughed “I don't really come in here anymore" you said, wiping some dust off your piano before coming to sit next to him. Henry didn't say anything, he knew it wasn't the time, it was the time to let you talk and for him to listen.
"There's something I haven't told you Hen, I was really scared too. I hadn't really told many people, only my family knows and Amy and Lewis" you said making him not.
"It's okay, take your time" he said kindly, you nodded and took a breath before talking again.
"Back in London, I was engaged" you said, he didn't gasp, he didn't get angry, he just nodded, trying to be as understanding as he possibly could.
"We met at University, he was studying to become a Marine Biologist, we became friends pretty quickly and we both loved music. Us and a few of our friends made a band" you said smiling at the memory which made Henry smile.
"We weren't huge, but we were quite popular around campus" you laughed "we performed in local pubs and clubs and at uni events."
"His name was Adam, he was the lead guitarist in the band. We left university, we moved in together, he proposed and I said yes. We were so happy" you said, a tear running down your face.
"Umm... One day, I um... I came home and Adam had taken his own life" you said, as you began crying. Henry didn't know what to do but he pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you, it was just what you needed.
"So the band broke up... And I began travelling the world, doing conservation, occupying myself with work. But every time I would go back home to London I hated it, I was reminded of everything about him. It got easier as time went on but I was hardly ever in London, always on the road, working for different conservation projects. I finally started to be happy again, I loved Adam and part of me always will... But I couldn't let it stop my life, he wouldn't have wanted that, he always said to me “we’re here for a good time baby, not a long time, you’ve got to make the most of your life”. I realised that I couldn’t spend all my time thinking about him and what happened, I had to accept that I loved him but he’s not around to love me anymore. I have to make a new life for myself. So when I got the job here, it was a blessing, I had my dream job, somewhere I could start a new... I made amazing friends and now... Now I have you" you said, now crying happy tears. Henry's hands resting against your face.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner" you said, making him shake his head and place a sweet, gentle kiss on your lips.
"It's okay. It's okay. I'm glad you told me now. I'm so sorry that happened Yn, I really am" he said, kissing you again.
"I'm happy now though" you said smiling.
"I'm glad. Me too. Me too" he said, pulling you into his chest.
You got up, staking a guitar off the wall, walking over to Henry, sitting down next to him.
“This was Adam’s” you said, your fingers hovering over an engraving on the guitar which said “Those we love never truly leave us” which you got engraved.
“Tell me about him” he said, making you smile, you placed the guitar back on the wall before joining Henry, he moved you so your legs were draped over his, his hand holding you against him, beginning to play with your hair as your own hands landed on his chest, your head rested against his shoulder.
“He was a really nice guy, a good guy. He wanted to change the world. He always told me that I was too kind for my own good, but he was the king one” you smiled, making Henry smile too.
“He was an awesome guitar player, really good at singing too and writing songs” you continued.
“What did you do in the band?” he asked kindly.
“I was the lead singer, played keys and sometimes played guitar” you said, making Henry smile.
“What happened to everyone else?” Henry asked.
“After everything happened, the band broke up, we all went our separate ways for a while, just trying to move on from what happened, heal y’know” you said, making Henry nod.
“Just before I moved here, we all met up again, and it was like it was before, we all spoke about Adam, with nothing but love, we were no longer sad. I know that sounds bad, but why ruin his image with negativity?” you asked Henry who sighed and kissed you.
“You’re perfect” he whispered against your lips.
“What’s everyone up to now?” he asked.
“Louie was our drummer, he’s a musical teacher, Ollie played guitar too, he’s got his own band now and Gemma, she played bass, she’s a full time mum now” you smiled.
“They’re coming to my birthday party, Amy has organised Ollie’s band to play, they live in London but are going to come for it which is really nice” you said, making Henry nod.
“It will be nice to meet them.” he said, making you smile.
“Thank you for being so supportive Henry, you’re the best” you said, resting your head against his warm chest. He held you in his arms, placing kisses against your head, his warmth radiating off him, into you, sending you into a gentle slumber. Henry picked you up bridal style, carrying you to what he assumed was your bedroom, he placed you down on the bed, tucking you in and placing a sweet kiss against your forehead.
He didn't look around your bedroom, he didn't feel comfortable doing that whilst you were sleeping. Instead he walked downstairs, grabbing a piece of paper and pen from your kitchen writing you a note.
“Good morning my sweet love. I hope you slept well and had wonderful dreams. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, I tucked you into bed and went home. Thank you for sharing that with me last night, it means more to me than you will ever know that you trust me like that. It makes me sad that you went through that but I understand now how you are the strongest, most amazing person I know. I realise it more and more everyday, the more I learn about you, the more I realise I need you in my life - Your Henry” he put the pen down, grabbing his jacket, walking to the door and slowly closing the door to your home behind him.
Part 6
#henry cavill#henry#henry cavill fluff#henry smut#henry cavill and kal#henry cavill angst#henry cavill fanfic#hc#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill imagines#henry cavill headcanon#witcher geralt#geralt of rivia#geralt smut#henry cavill fake instagram#henry cavill fandom#henry cavill fan fiction#henry cavill fics#henry cavill superman#napoelon solo#henry cavill sherlock#august walker#august walker smut#august walker imagine#august walker fluff#august walker headcanon#geralt headcanon
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Secret (Lewis Nixon)
Requested by: @real-fans
Summary: You're a high-ranking officer in Easy Company and dating your favourite intelligence officer, Lewis Nixon. You both decided to keep it a secret at first but it's kinda obvious.
Taglist: @alienoresimagines @floydtab @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rarmiitage @hihosilvers @mavysnavy @easynix @stressedinadress @georgeluzwarmhugs
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"We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that death will tremble to take us." - Bukowski
"You-you are..." Y/N mumbled in disbelief looking at the officer right in front of her who was trying his hardest not to burst out laughing.
"Handsome, immensely talented, smart." Lewis gave her a couple of examples as he walked around in the small room turning from side to side like he was some kind of a model on a fashion show.
"Idiot. I'm pretty sure that's the one." Y/N giggled. Her cheeks blushed slightly and Lewis felt like her smile brightened up the whole room, as well as his life. This woman in front of him was pure sun and he had no idea how she ended up in such a dark place like this. Nix knew Y/N deserved much better than sneaky kisses in the middle of the war but he wasn't able to offer her more.
Lewis unconsciously touched the small ring in his pocket he'd been wanting to give her for weeks now. He felt the metal burning on his skin, it almost seemed to him that the tiny peace of gold was melting under his tender touch.
"Maybe, but I'm your idiot." he joked and pulled her closer to him by her hand. Their bodies crashed together gently, like they were destined to be like this forever.
"But you don't have to be so obvious doing it." Y/N complained ironically intertwined her fingers with his. Lew's hand was comfortably warm and gave her some kind of a reassurance that one day, on a beautiful sunny morning, everything's gonna be alright.
•••
The thought of being home by Christmas was something Y/N hold on to so dearly that the failure that came afterward hit her even harder. She listened to her secret boyfriend explaining every aspect of the upcoming mission.
Operation Market Garden. Market for the Airborne Divisions and Garden for the ground forces. Something in her felt slightly off and when Lewis mentioned what kind of weapons the paratroopers are going to have, it sent shivers down her spine.
But the Normandy Campaign was a huge success despite the high number of losses and the morale of all the soldiers was on a great level.
"Any questions?" Nixon glanced at everybody around, his look lingered on Y/N for a little too longer and Skip with Malarkey tried not to laugh out loud.
"Do we really get to be home by Christmas?" Y/N asked and her words were floating in the air like a piece of hope.
It was only a second after she realized what she did wrong. "Sir." she added quickly and Winters chuckled into his sleeve.
"If everything goes as planned, then yes. Lieutenant." Nixon tried to save the situation but her blushing cheeks and Buck next to her exchanging knowing looks with Guarnere didn't help it at all.
"Any other questions? No, then dismissed. And Lieutenant Y/L/N? May I talk to you for a second?" Captain Nixon finished the briefing and the soldiers began to walk away slowly to pick up their gear and other necessities.
"I wonder what he wants to tell you." George Luz winked at her and Malarkey next to her nugged her side.
"Shut up. He probably has some additional info for our platoon." Y/N tried to brush it off quickly as she looked away from Nixon who was just adjusting something on his uniform. Y/N could swear that she'd never seen such a simple activity look so attractive.
"Additional info, I get it." Guarnere appeared right behind them, grinning like a teenage boy who just found out his best friend is being finally intimate with someone.
"Goddamn it, guys, you're all horrible." Y/N laughed nervously and pushed Bill's helmet into his eyes playfully.
They exchanged another opinions while Y/N was trying to hide her red cheeks when Dick Winters approached them with his typical grin.
"Move it, guys and you, Y/N, better go see your boyfriend over there. He's getting kinda nervous." Winters stated as a matter of a fact and began to walk away toward Buck who was engaged in a conversation with Captain Speirs a few meters away from the group.
"He's not my fucking boyfriend!" Y/N tried to hide the secret relationship for the last time with a desperate expression on her face.
It's not like she was ashamed of Lewis, not even a little. The problem was, Y/N was scared. She was terrified of the commitment and going public with it only seemed more serious and risky. Y/N Y/L/N loved Lewis Nixon very dearly, like she had never loved anyone before, but admitting it to her Easy Company brothers simply sent shivers down her spine.
Dick turned to her with a knowing face. "Tell that to someone else, Lieutenant. The boys are planning a wedding already."
Y/N froze at the spot she was standing absolutely shocked by the information.
"Alright, I give up," she sighed turning on her heel, "but if any of you say a word to anyone, I swear I'm gonna freaking serve your head to the Germans."
"Your wish is my command, ma'am." Luz smirked bowing down in front her like she was some sort of a princess or a queen.
"But I want to have my wedding in a church, George. If you can make it work, you can be my Man of Honour." Y/N winked at the soldier, walking away toward the arms of the dark haired officer.
#hbo war#band of brothers#band of brothers imagine#band of brothers imagines#war#lewis nixon imagine#lewis nixon#lewis nixon x reader#richard winters#george luz#buck compton#donald hoobler#donald malarkey#shifty powers#floyd talbert#bill guarnere#imagine#fanfic#love#carwood lipton#ronald speirs#skip muck#joe liebgott#eugene roe
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My masterlist :)
Sean Lew x Kaycee Rice stories:
More than just a friend
→ Sharing a tent on a camping trip might be the perfect opportunity to share some feelings...
One day
→ Sometimes, when two people who are in love babysit a child who, coincidentally, looks very much like one of those two people, others might jump to the wrong conclusions...
Just pretend
→ A fictional, alternative version of how Sean and Kaycee met :) (ahem, they might pretend to date)
Superstar (pt. 1) (pt. 2)
→ song fic. Kylie gives Kaycee a gramophone for her birthday, with a record that sounds a lot like her and Sean’s friendship
→ Part two, aka ‘more than friends’. Again, a song fic. Sean has a very special, musical surprise for Kaycee, but Kaycee decides to interrupt ;)
Everything has changed
→ Sean and Kaycee act in their first movie, but a certain scene, and the way it eventually ended up changing everything for them, was something they hadn’t seen coming...
Speed date (for Juul)
→ What happens when you still can’t get over your school crush as an adult, and then see him again...at a speed date.
Minho
→ Kaycee sees a cute guy in school, is convinced she’s invisible to him, and reflects on some of her feelings
A big, round surprise
→ Sean comes home after a long trip to work oversees, and Kaycee might have a very, very important announcement..
‘Hogwarts Highlights’, a seaycee x HP series
→ When Sean is eleven, he receives his Hogwarts letter, embarking on a long, adventurous and magical journey. On his way, he gets sorted into his house, befriends the golden trio, and puts his mark on the events that happen while Harry Potter goes to Hogwarts. Oh, and maybe he falls in love with Hermione’s little sister, Kaycee Granger ;)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8 (epilogue)
Crush x reader oneshots (kind of)
All my oneshots are written in a way that you can imagine yourself and your crush, but I don’t use things like ‘y/n’ or ‘y/c/n’, so you can also imagine random characters! Some are written in the second person, some in the third. Enjoy :)
Back to me
→ In which your ‘friend’‘s band blows up and you have to dodge the press, but a kind boy might be willing to help you ...
Picture perfect
→ A drabble, about your husband, a photographer, and how his forever favourite photo came to be
Total eclipse
→ Another drabble. A love story about a sun and a moon, recognising their differences, the difficulties they might encounter, and falling for each other anyway
Four
→ A story about the four times you see your best friend with a baby, the things that does to you, and how your feelings for him change throughout the years. Or maybe not entirely...
Til the light goes out (and after) - part 1
→ You work in a theme park as an actress, but when your colleagues/friends convince you to play the role of ‘girlfriend’ you can’t ignore your insecurities anymore.
Til the light goes out (and after) - part two
→ Some time has passed since part one, and you are feeling so much better. You have a cute moment with your boyfriend in the equipment room, and then there’s a surprise...
Mirror - Miroir (version française)
→ A story about a girl looking into the mirror, and a guy watching her look at herself in the mirror.
Ready
→ Four moments spent with your friends, including the friend you might be in love with...
#masterlist#hogwarts#hogwartshighlights#harrypotter#seaycee#seanlew#kayceerice#crushxreader#crush x reader#readerinsert
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Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 47
The Rand al’Thor deescalation strategy: contemplate genocide, attempt patricide, then run away.
Chapter 47: The One He Lost
The left, wasn’t it?
Sorry, one day I’ll stop with those…
Rand’s feeling a bit off after almost annihilating several armies and a city. Can’t imagine why…
No, it was something else that had unsettled him, something he couldn’t quite define.
How close you came to mass murder and also possibly the unravelling of existence itself? No?
Stop distracting me with the geology of the Stone of Tear. I’m trying to pay attention to the pain, here, and instead you throw literal rocks at me? Rude.
Oh, I see: the rocks are symbolism.
He had the form of a human. Indeed, he had the mannerisms and history of one.
We’re just not wasting any time here, are we? That’s…quite a thought. It’s one thing when I’m the one thinking it, but it’s another thing entirely when Rand himself is.
But he was a thing that no human—not even he himself—could understand. A figure of legend, a creation of the One Power, as unnatural as a ter’angreal or a fragment of cuendillar.
Not even he himself. Oh, Rand. He’s just so lost, but lost isn’t something he’s afforded the option to be, so he has to push even that aside somehow and keep going.
But also. On the one hand (ha), we have the concept of the Dragon is one with the land, and the land is one with the Dragon. The Dragon as a part of—an embodiment of, even—the world, and the land, and inextricably linked with it and with history and with the balance of Light and Shadow and existence itself. Something utterly natural, something so bound up in nature and the natural as to be one with it. And so Rand’s thoughts here, that he is a ‘creation’, that he is ‘unnatural’ become dissonant against that note we’ve hit again and again throughout the series. And it shows, then, how far he has strayed from that role, even while staying on his path, that he sees himself as, in effect, the opposite of what he truly is.
He has detached himself from humanity and from the world and from himself, in order to become what he thinks he must be—but the irony is that in doing so he is distancing himself ever further from that very thing.
(Did that make sense to anyone but me? Also wow Lia how many commas does a sentence need? Answer: AT LEAST FIVE MORE).
Never mind his heart of a man long dead, his shoulders created to bear the weight of prophecy, his soul crushed by the needs, wants, and hopes of a million people.
I’m not even ONE PAGE into this chapter and already it is coming for me with knives. Never mind his heart of a man long dead just…what am I supposed to do with that? The layered meaning there—the metaphorical killing of his compassion and acceptance of his death atop the more literal invocation of Lews Therin.
And the next part reminds me rather strongly of one of my favourite lines of poetry: which brings us back to the hero’s sholders, and the gentleness that comes not from the absence of violence but despite the abundance of it (Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain). So that’s…fine.
Oh, Rand.
Because to him it is nothing but a weight, a pressure, a suffocating inevitability that is beyond endurance. That is all that is left to him, all he sees ahead, and no space for choice or life or self.
Two hands. One to destroy, the other to save. Which had he lost?
Oh.
I made the joke but I didn’t expect him to do…that. Wow. Okay. Ouch.
Salvation and destruction, one hand shelters, one hand slays, and he stands between, on the balance, but the balance itself is lost and he is falling and he doesn’t even know where and I know this is probably due in part to Sanderson’s tendency to have his characters philosophise and self-examine on-page but finally Rand himself is thinking all the things I’ve thought about him and it hurts in all the best ways.
He had accepted what he needed to be. Why was he so bothered by it, then?
This is more of a crack in his armour than we’ve seen in a while. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, with no immediate task or goal; when he has something to do, he can focus on it and be utterly cold and ruthless and directed, but when he has a moment to pause, all those things he’s suppressing start creeping up on him again.
I’ll spare you five minutes of pacing, Rand: it’s because you haven’t accepted it. You’ve tried to resign yourself to it, and that’s…not at all the same thing, for all that it seems to be. You’ve resigned yourself to what you’ve convinced yourself you need to be, rather than accepting and choosing what to be.
A voice deep down—one not in his head, but in his heart—had begun to disagree with what he did. It was not loud or violent like Lews Therin’s; it just whispered, like a forgotten itch. Something is wrong. Something is wrong…
This strikes the precise, perfect balance between eerie and just straight-up heartbreaking. He has detached himself so far, and pushed away so much of himself, that all that is left of him, of the shepherd Rand al’Thor, is watching at a distance, quiet and yet still determined, wounded and bleeding and yet somehow still hoping, whispering that this is wrong and yet unable to break through those walls.
He is still at war with himself, only now he’s losing. And looking at it from that angle, this whole series is a fascinating…duel, of sorts, with the balance shifting slowly, almost imperceptibly, from Rand as he was to Rand as he has become. From optimism to despair, from choice to resignation, from determination and will to live to fatigue and a wish to die. A shift in which is the winning side, in this war of one man against himself. And it happens so gradually that it’s hard to put a finger on where it shifts—obviously there are several major points where it becomes clear, but this has been in progress from the very beginning.
Put the nuke down, Rand. You’ve destroyed the Stone enough already. Also you’re still inside it.
He’s decided that it’s seeing Hurin that’s thrown him off, not almost repeating Natrin’s Barrow except against allies and friends. I guess…that’s…progress?
Hurin was a relic from an earlier life. Days when Mat had still mocked Rand’s coats, days when Rand had hoped that he’d marry Egwene and somehow return to the Two Rivers.
Days when he truly was a shepherd named Rand al’Thor.
It’s as though he has sacrificed his recent past for his more distant one. The more of Lews Therin he remembers (or remembered; it’s fairly complete now it seems), the further away that shepherd seems, the longer ago those recent memories feel, the more distant they are from who he is now.
It’s as though in his fear of becoming Lews Therin Telamon and facing that fate, he has sacrificed the very things that would allow him to avoid it. And now, even, the desire to do so.
He’d have wondered if anything could grow more complicated than thinking his friends hated him.
Now it hardly matters, because no one can hate him more than he hates himself.
The colours shifted in his vision. Perrin walking through a dark camp, that stone sword looming in the air above him.
The way this is phrased makes it feel very Sword of Damocles, which maybe is not deliberate as that would apply far more to Rand, if anyone, than to Perrin, I would think. Though I guess you could spin it to fit Perrin as well. Anyway, deliberate allusion or not, it’s a great image.
Mat is in Caemlyn, so it would seem we’ve moved ahead of several characters’ timelines at this point. I always find that to be weird, when used to foreshadow something that is in this timeline’s present but another character’s future, but okay, sure.
Do we run from the past, then? Lews Therin asked softly. Yes. That is well. Better to run than to face it.
It’s so bitterly ironic that we’re hearing this in Lews Therin’s voice, because that is precisely the past Rand has been running from this entire time. And that is what has brought him to this point, where he is closer than ever to repeating it.
It’s beautiful in how cruelly perfect it is.
Rand’s time with Hurin had ended at Falme. Those days were indistinct in his mind. The changes that had come upon him then—realising that he had to kill, that he could never return to the life he had loved—were things he could not dwell on. He’d headed out toward Tear, almost delirious, separated from his friends, seeing Ishamael in his dreams.
That last one was happening again.
They’re all happening again. That entire list, in variation: a visit to Falme, with his state of mind in turmoil, a change upon him as he pushes away all feeling and seeks to become the void. Realising that he can and must kill women, that he must cross that line and leave behind who he was. Believing that he can never return to life at all, and that he must die. Refusing to dwell on it, and pushing all feeling away instead. Coming to Tear, where he stands now, almost delirious and chasing his own thoughts, separated from his friends, seeing Moridin in his dreams.
He strode down the hallway and into a massive chamber with rows of pillars, stout and broad, wider than a man could wrap his arms around.
I hope he knows this from trying, mostly because I need that mental image of Rand al’Thor the Dragon Reborn trying on a whim to hug a pillar and failing. (If any artists out there are looking for inspiration for something random to draw: this).
Rand’s thinking about Callandor now and I’m with him on that; I can’t bring myself to believe we’re done with that sword-that-is-not-a-sword. There’s something more there, something I haven’t worked out yet but probably should have. It seems likely to play a role in the end, as it did in the beginning, but beyond the fact that it requires a circle in order to be wielded safely—which means it requires cooperation and balance—I don’t know what that might be.
Taking the Sword That Cannot Be Touched was one of the first major prophecies that he had fulfilled. But was his taking of Callandor a meaningless sign, or was it a step? Everyone knew the prophecy, but few asked the question that should have been inevitable. Why? Why did Rand have to take up the sword? Was it to be used in the Last Battle?
I’d put money on it.
But this is precisely what I wonder, and have wondered. What is it about Callandor? Because Rand’s right: the Prophecy feels rather arbitrary if it’s just a ‘pull this sword out of the stone and then move on to the next thing’. Sure, Prophecy is Prophecy and can do whatever the fuck it wants, I suppose, but that would be so unsatisfying. And so Callandor is in somewhat the same category as, say, Mat’s ashandarei: things that have shown up to fill one purpose but definitely feel like they have more of a role to play. They’re loose ends at the moment, and not the sort that seem set up to remain so.
Is it just that Callandor requires men and women working together—that which was absent the last time an attempt was made on the Dark One’s prison? Or is there something else?
Why did the prophecies not speak of the Choedan Kal?
Another good question, and I lean towards it being because the Choedan Kal, like nuclear weapons, feel like they’re in that other category of Things That Never Should Have Been Made. If anything in this chapter is unnatural, that’s it.
Yet he used the Choedan Kal to perform arguably his greatest work thus far. So maybe I’m wrong.
The access key gave Rand power well beyond what Callandor could provide, and that power came with no strings.
And maybe that’s the problem. It’s too much power for any one person to wield. He cleansed the taint with Nynaeve, by using the male and female Choedan Kal together. Now, not even that is an option. And so, in contrast to Callandor, the sa’angreal that requires cooperation and balance, the Choedan Kal is unbalanced, unfettered power. It’s very like to what Rand is himself at this point, and what his mindset is. And it’s terrifying.
It’s the illusion of utter freedom, of ‘no strings’, against the reality of it. Rand sees all constraints now as being a kind of box, but in reality this illusory freedom he has found by freeing himself from all emotion or remnant of humanity is not true freedom at all, because he has also removed any sense of his own agency. He is acting out of necessity, not choice. And by putting himself into a state of mind where he can permit himself to do anything, he effectively…limits himself to atrocity. He has removed the choice of mercy, of restraint, of another way, and chained himself to the most direct route, even if it leads to catastrophe.
The prophecies were—in a way—the grandest and most stifling box of them all. He was trapped inside of them. Eventually, they would suffocate him.
So we come once again to this issue of perception. Who can possibly blame him for feeling that way? And yet, especially with how he and Egwene are juxtaposed, it feels more and more like the issue is in that very perception, in the view of himself as having no choice and no agency, of being trapped by prophecy rather than choosing it. He almost realised that, back in…oh…TFoH or so. But then things got worse.
And Moiraine, she who balanced that strange mix of surrendering to and yet choosing fate, of claiming agency even when she believed everything was as the Wheel wove, vanished. I don’t think those two things are unrelated. Rand lost that perspective when he lost Moiraine and, shortly after, Egwene. And so he and Eegwene have almost ended up on opposite sides of the prophecy/agency/acceptance/resignation coin, where Moiraine managed to combine both.
They called my plan brash, but these weapons they created, they were too dangerous. Too frightening. No man should hold such Power…
I absolutely one hundred percent agree with you there, Lews Therin. (Do I still want to see a character holding such power? Hell yes).
He worked so hard to keep from being tied with strings, but at the end of the day, the prophecies would see that he did what he was supposed to.
This. This right here. He cedes to prophecy the necessities, while Egwene went through the rituals by choice, accepting the trappings of fate and tradition in order to claim it as her own. He sees the crowns and coats and titles as little more than decoration that make it easier for people to accept him. Egwene sees the stole and staff in a similar light, but she does not dismiss them as useless ornamentation, or a masking of the truth. She doesn’t see it as a way to make the unnatural seem human, but rather as a part of the role she has claimed. A symbol, yes. Unnecessary to the execution of her duty, yes. But not a disguise, nor a softening of edges and oddities. And so she chooses to claim that for herself, to wear those symbols so that she can even better fulfill the role they represent, while Rand no longer really…cares.
Because this is not his choice. He’s still trying to avoid those strings, rather than claiming them as his own. He’s letting himself be dragged by prophecy, rather than acknowledging it and taking those steps when needed but in service of his own choice to see this through.
It’s a subtle difference, but it’s all the difference in the world, and I’m still not over how well it’s played.
Is Cadsuane really your biggest problem right now, Rand?
The Last Battle loomed, and he spent what little time he had riding to meetings with people who insulted him.
Again, I can’t help but compare this to Egwene, who also is facing the imminent fact of the Last Battle and yet still makes time for the ceremony of being raised (again) to the Amyrlin Seat, and recognises its importance and the importance of both berating and pardoning the Tower Aes Sedai and rebels alike, setting in place those formalities so that healing can begin, and dealing with people who have insulted and beaten her. She doesn’t see those things as a waste of time, because they’re essential. It’s not just about this one end goal, but about the steps along the way, because without those the end becomes meaningless.
(In real life I probably tend more towards Rand’s view of this sort of thing, but this is Epic Fantasy and there is a Point being made here and patience, as we are frequently reminded, is often a worthwhile virtue).
Something about this particular hallway seemed familiar.
Probably from the battle in the Stone, but I can’t help but think of the Prologue. A hallway of twisted stone and despair…
Was there, perhaps, a way to stop the Seanchan for good? He looked down at the access key.
Um.
(This is the thing with great, unfettered power: once you use it once, what’s to stop you using it as the solution to every problem? Why even bother with diplomacy, or lesser military solutions, when you can escalate straight to the most effective one? When there is nothing left to hold you back, why waste time? When you don’t care anymore about your own life and existence, or even of what may become of the world once this is over, why not use your nuclear arsenal to end every war? Why even bother fighting the wars in the first place?)
That [battle against the Seanchan] had been his first major failure as a commander.
Except you’ve learned the wrong lesson from it, Rand. The failure wasn’t in not annihilating the Seanchan. It was in not knowing when to stop. It was in not pulling back once you had succeeded in your original goal. It was in continuing even when saidin was strange and you were tired and angry and holding too much power, and killing your own people as a result, turning a victory into an ugly stalemate that felt like defeat.
Burning Graendal and Natrin’s Barrow away had required only a fraction of what Rand could summon.
If he turned that against the Seanchan, then he could go to the last battle with confidence
Yes, because what your conscience—not to mention your status as hero—really needs right now is genocide.
It would not take long.
That’s…chilling.
And it’s Lews Therin’s voice that is the voice of reason now, calling him back from that to the memory of trying to bring a dead child back to life in this corridor. A smaller failure. A failure to bring life, rather than to bring death. Painful and disturbing but with the intent to do something good. To save, or create, rather than destroy (when all this thoughts at the moment run in the opposite direction). The one he lost.
Moiraine had stopped him. Bringing life to the dead was beyond him, she’d said.
How I wish she was still here, Rand thought. He had often been frustrated with her, but she—more than anyone else—had seemed to grasp just what it was he was expected to do. She’d made him more willing to do it, even when he’d been angry with her.
YES. She understood what his fate meant, understood what it meant that he belongs to the Pattern now, and to history. And she was never quite sympathetic about it, but in a way her almost ruthless acceptance was what he needed. She recognised what he was and what it truly meant, yet she also understood the importance of surrendering to that fate in order to control it. She walked that strange balance more perfectly than most, and so served as something of a guide to Rand. To be more than a pawn in the hands of prophecy, but not to rebel against it. To accept, and suppress useless wishing, but not to lose all sense of agency. To be ruthless without losing compassion.
I also love that it’s only now that he understands her, now that she is—to his knowledge—dead. She was the one no one understood, when she was around. They hated or feared or distrusted her at the best of times…and now Rand himself is in that role, hated and feared and misunderstood, and from there he is able to see and understand and appreciate all that she was, and all she did. And to appreciate that she understood him.
But she’s not there now, and he is alone.
And apparently wants to go fight—or rather, annihilate—the Seanchan right now, because…no time like the present? I guess? Again, when there are no limits, the question becomes a simple why not?
“The darkness won’t matter; I shall create light enough.”
Um.
Yeah that’s uh…terrifying. No symbolism to see there, none at all... The Shadow doesn’t matter if he can just throw power into a harsh and burning Light. Except that’s far from balance, and it’s entirely wrong.
An unfamiliar figure stood with his back to Rand, looking out the open balcony doors.
Moridin?
OH.
NO. NO THAT’S NOT MORIDIN.
It was Tam. His father.
IT’S TAM.
HOLY.
SHIT.
IT’S TAM.
TAM IS IN HIS ROOM.
TAM AL’THOR.
IS HERE.
For the first time in TWELVE BOOKS. I have WAITED for this moment for YEARS and now it’s come at the worst possible time except that also means it’s the best possible time because this is going to hurt and I am here for it.
If anyone could crack that armour of ice and cuendillar Rand has tried to surround himself with…
Seeing Hurin unsettled him because it was an abrupt confrontation with a past that has come to seem like another lifetime. But that was Hurin, someone he liked and befriended and travelled with for a time. This is Tam, and so it’s the same thing but more, by orders of magnitude. It’s his past catching up to him and staring him in the face and daring him to try to turn away, holding that harsh icy emotionlessness of his against the living memory of someone who loves him him like a hand held to a flame.
But comfort clashed with who Rand had become. His worlds met—the person he had been, the person he had become—like a jet of water on a white-hot stone. One shattering, the other turning to steam.
That’s exactly it; that’s so exactly it that it’s eerily close to my own thoughts.
But this is what Rand needs right now, this shocking confrontation against which his past and present cannot both stand. It may not be enough to truly bring him back, but it might just crack those barriers enough to buy him a moment to confront himself, to force him to face the world and what he has become with his skin and soul and self bared, unshielded by that ice. It will hurt; it’s why he has pushed all these things aside and turned away from his past and his friends and family and feelings of any kind, but it is, I think, an necessary pain. He needs to feel again, and perhaps this will be enough to force him to, if only for those few moments where his selves are in conflict and his shields thus stressed between them until he is exposed.
Everything just feels better with Tam here. He is, as Rand himself has thought of him, an anchor, a touchstone, a solid connection to simple reality. And that’s something Rand has…struggled with, lately.
Which actually you can extend to an interesting line of symbolism and connection (bear with me here; this might get weird): he feels unnatural, detached, and thus continues to detach himself from the world, and has he does so he comes closer and closer to destroying it (through the True Power, or through balefire, or through simply throwing himself into the Last Battle uncaring of the meaning or form of his victory). The Dragon is one with the Land, and so as the Dragon becomes less and less anchored to reality, and less caring about what becomes of it, the more reality itself teeters on the brink of existence or annihilation.
The bubbles of evil may well be the Dark One’s influence and essence, but I think Rand has something to do with this as well—the more detached he becomes, the less he cares about the very world he is fighting to save, the more easily it frays at the edges. The Dragon is one with the Land and so as the Dragon becomes less real, less alive, the land—the Pattern, the world—loses that solidity and reality and substance as well.
As the Aiel might say, it’s as if the very world is his dream, and as he removes himself from it the dream warps and begins to fade…
But Tam is here and he is solid and real and steadfast and so we can draw back from that particular spiral into the void. For now.
Tam stood, hesitant, in the balcony doorway, lit by two flickering lamps on stands in the room. Rand understood Tam’s hesitation. They were not blood father and son.
Somehow I really don’t think that’s why Tam is hesitant. But of course Rand seizes on the reason that has nothing to do with simple emotional reaction to seeing the son you raised and loved and still love in pain and hardened by fate and lost and deadly and broken. Nothing to do with being a parent unable or unsure of how to protect your child who now belongs to the Pattern and to history and not to you, never really to you.
“Rand.” Tam’s voice was awkward.
“Please,” Rand said through his shock. “Please sit.”
They love each other and yet here they stand, uncertain and conversing like strangers and it hurts and I don’t even like hugs but all I want for both of them right now is for Tam to give Rand a hug and lie to him that it will all be okay. Just for a moment.
Light, Rand thought, feeling a sudden urge to enfold Tam in a hug.
The fact that Rand is once again echoing my own thoughts on this point makes it hurt even more. Give him that hug, Rand. It’s not weakness to need that reassurance and stability and reminder that you are human and people care about you. It’s not weakness to reach out. But he is the Dragon Reborn and he cannot acknowledge his own humanity, much less a need for a hug from a parent.
Familiarity and memories flooded back into his mind.
I’m also not much of one for nostalgia, but again, this is what Rand so desperately needs right now. He has been so long inundated by Lews Therin’s memories (sorrows and his own suicide) and has so long pushed away his own that he needs this simple reminder of who he is.
“How…” Rand said. “Tam, how did you get here? How did you find me?”
Ah, such a beautifully loaded question. How did you find me, he asks, like a child lost and afraid in the dark, to whom a mother or a father has reached out a hand and said ‘here, I’m here, let’s go home’.
How did you find me, he asks, like someone who has grown so far from himself that he wonders how his own father could find who he once was in who he is now.
Because Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn, is not hard to find. He sends ripples through the world wherever he is, and no longer tries to disguise his movements. All Tam would have to do is ask. But that’s…not the question here, really.
How did you find me, he asks, leaving unspoken the question that small voice left in him might add: when I cannot even find myself.
I’m fine.
Rand can’t even believe this is happening because he has so strongly denied any thought of home or comfort and this whole scene is already exactly what I wanted. Beautiful soft pain.
So many people had changed around Rand—Mat, Perrin, Egwene, Nynaeve—it was a wonder to meet someone from his old life who was the same.
There’s a small irony here in that Tam’s full name is Tamlin (thanks to whoever it was who told me this; it’s still one of my favourite naming things in this series because ARE YOU SERIOUS), and yet he is the one person who doesn’t change. I hope this is deliberate because it’s exellent.
But this is why Tam might just be able to reach Rand, and sort of…jolt him just enough to crack that armour for a few valuable seconds: because he is one person unchanged from Rand’s past. Not just someone Rand loves, but someone who has not changed, and who by his presence alone almost forces Rand back into who he was. It’s as if Tam is an anchor to a reality that has all but dissolved, but now Rand is being tugged back into that reality.
Which brings us back to the Tam Lin story, in a rather wonderfully inverted way.
It’s also a great example of how you can make genuinely effective use of a static character.
Tam, the man who had taught Rand to seek the void.
Oh, that hurts.
Wait, Tam knows who Morgase is? That really happened offscreen? And now Rand is learning that Morgase is alive, and it’s certainly not as huge a shift as learning Moiraine is alive would be, but still, that must be a shock.
“No. Wait. I can get a report from Perrin when I wish it. I will not have our time together spent with you acting the messenger.”
It’s sweet, and it’s almost touching genuine emotion, but instead it goes through this filter of formality, because still Rand cannot allow himself to feel.
With the reference to Tam teaching him the void, I’m also reminded here of Rand running out of the palace in Caemlyn toward Mat and Aviendha, who he had thought dead, tears running down his face and choosing to let the void go because ‘he wanted to feel this’. Now, that is no longer an option.
“Ah, son,” [Tam] said, shaking his head, broad hardworking hands clasped before him, “they’ve really done it. They’ve gone and made a king out of you.”
It’s said with a slight smile, and seems to be said fondly, but there is such an aching feeling of sadness and loss here, and in this entire scene. It’s lovely and it hurts and I want all of it.
“What happened to the gangly boy, so wide-eyed at Bel Tine? Where’s the uncertain lad I raised all those years?”
“He’s dead,” Rand said immediately.
Tam nodded slowly. “I can see that.”
Oh.
I don’t know which part of this hurts more: the immediacy of Rand’s answer, or the way Tam just…tries so hard to take it in stride, and nods and accepts it as true because he can’t deny it. And how, even then, he doesn’t protest or let it visibly rattle him; he tries to show that acceptance, tries to be almost gentle with it, to agree with Rand and not fight him even on this.
There is so much pain here.
Well, at least now the genealogy is out in the open. Clears the air a bit, I suppose.
“Yes,” Tam said. “I can see how. I…” He gripped his hands together tightly. “I never meant to lie to you, son. Or, well, I guess I shouldn’t call you that, should I?”
You can call me son, Rand thought. You are my father. No matter what some may say. But he couldn’t force the words out.
The Dragon Reborn couldn’t have a father.
HELP ME.
THIS HURTS.
I love the way this scene is written, with the unspoken almost louder and more apparent than the actual dialogue on the page. As if the words that are spoken are just a framework, around which everything else hangs, and you get this exquisite feeling of tension and pain and of both of them desperately reaching for each other but not able to speak the words aloud or make the motions. The blocking and the dialogue feel stilted, and instead you fill in the spaces with the absences and the silences and the thoughts. The motions that are considered but never actually executed, the words that go unsaid, the pauses that speak volumes, the warmth and pain and love that cannot be expressed.
It’s a scene told in absences, where what is not there is more important and more apparent than what is.
And just. The tension here in Tam’s body language, as he keeps his words gentle and mild but also deliberately distant. The way he grips his hands together as if to physically stop himself from reaching out to his son. The way he does not challenge Rand, does not push him, and accepts the silences and absences and formality he receives, because it is all he can offer.
And Rand. Who cannot get those words out past the walls of ice he has encased himself in, who cannot let himself feel, who longs to reach out to his father and yet holds himself back because he can’t let himself be human.
They’re in pain and I’m in pain and we’re all in pain and EVERYTHING IS FINE.
The Dragon Reborn had to be a figure of myth, a creature nearly as large as the Pattern itself.
HE’S THINKING THE EXACT WORDS OF MY OWN THOUGHTS AND I’M NOT OKAY.
What would it do if it were known that he kept his father nearby? If it were known that the Dragon Reborn relied upon the strength of a shepherd.
The quiet voice in his heart was screaming.
*falls to the floor clutching this book and wailing*
THIS IS TOO MUCH.
HELP.
If it were know that the Dragon Reborn relied upon the strength of a shepherd that is beautiful and heartbreaking and all the more so because it is exactly what he must do but he has gone too far and sees that as a weakness, sees his own former self as a weakness. He, who once took a moment, bleeding and afraid, to just…sit, and remember a shepherd named Rand al’Thor. That is his strength, but he has pushed it away and now cannot let himself reach out to his father or his own memory or anything that feels like love, because it’s dangerous to be vulnerable and dangerous to hope and dangerous to let himself need.
That’s just such a gorgeous line and it’s already haunting me.
And then the quite voice in his heart was screaming, to underline this sense not just of wrongness but of pain, of the way he is tearing himself apart…but on the surface there still is nothing but formality and the image of a king.
This is. It’s just. It’s so good.
It’s so good and it hurts and he’s screaming but can’t let himself listen and he’s at war with himself and Tam is having to sit there and watch and I am sure Tam sees this, sees at least some of what is happening but can’t let himself say anything, can’t reach out because this isn’t something he can fix except by being there for when it all falls apart and letting Rand know that he is loved, in whatever way Rand will accept.
“You did well, Tam,” Rand found himself saying.
HOW DARE YOU.
Rand picked up the access key—it too brought him comfort—then stood. Tam hastily joined him, acting more and more like just another retainer or servant.
“You have done a great service, Tam al’Thor” […]
“I appreciate that, my Lord,” Tam said.
It (like every single word of this entire scene) hurts, but it’s also, I think, deliberate on Tam’s part. Because it’s the only way he can interact with Rand. Rand sees it as acting like ‘just another servant’ but in the position he now holds he doesn’t really…permit anything else. Maybe, occasionally, from Nynaeve or Min. But even then just barely.
And I think Tam sees that. Tam is a parent. He sees that Rand is hurting but he also sees that Rand isn’t going to ask for help or comfort, and probably won’t accept it if Tam offers. And so instead he lets Rand set the frame of the entire interaction, and takes Rand’s lead, and works within that, and doesn’t ever push. The important thing is that he doesn’t turn away.
“I’m afraid I lost your sword,” Rand found himself saying. It felt foolish.
And so Rand finds himself opening up, if only a little. Tam is important through his presence alone, and I think he knows that. He really is just trying to be there for Rand. Trying to offer his support and his love however he can. And Rand does respond to that, even if it’s only apparent in contrast to how he has been lately. It’s a small change, but it’s a start.
Also you might tell Tam that you lost his sword in Ishamael; that would provide some helpful context, but okay. Sure. Fine.
Even that, Tam accepts. And answers Rand’s questions about the sword’s origins. He’s still letting Rand take the lead and guide the conversation, rather than trying to push Rand too quickly to topics that might cause him to retreat behind his walls and shut down completely.
And so eventually we get to something almost like Rand opening up.
“My life isn’t my own. I’m a puppet for the Pattern and the prophecies, made to dance for the world before having my strings cut.”
Tam frowned. “That’s not true, son. Er, my Lord.”
Now he pushes back a little, because Rand has come very very close—probably as close as he can allow himself—to asking for help here. To telling his father he’s hurting.
And oh, it hurts.
“And you can’t run?” Tam asked.
“I don’t think the Pattern would let me,” Rand said. “What I do is too important. It would just force me back in line. It has done so a dozen times already.”
“And would you really want to run?” Tam asked.
Rand didn’t reply.
YES.
THIS IS PERFECT.
It’s been one of the central problems for Rand for so long—that he cannot see any space for agency, any choice or any reason to make one. That all he has is despair and desperation and the eventual promise of death. That he feels trapped in this box and cannot see a way to free himself of it.
But Tam asks the perfect question. It’s the framing of it. The issue of perception. The question of, in essence, what are you fighting for?
“Does it matter if you can run, when you know that you’re not going to?”
“I’m going to die at the end of this,” Rand said. “And I have no choice.”
And that’s no small thing to have to deal with. It’s hard to truly fault Rand for the mindset he’s ended up in, because how could he not? He’s barely older than twenty and doesn’t expect to see another year, he’s tired and he’s wounded in every sense of the word, he’s been violated body and mind and made a captive again and again, he can barely trust his own mind and he doesn’t know a moment’s peace, and the entire world looks to him in hatred and fear and desperate need, and he cannot see a way out. Of course he struggles to see any kind of choice, much less let himself believe he chooses this.
Because in a way, choosing it feels like it would make it even worse. How could he choose to go through all of that? And so relinquishing agency is itself almost a form of relief—consigning all that pain to inevitability and letting himself focus only on its end.
“I won’t have talk like that,” Tam said. “Even if you’re the Dragon Reborn, I won’t listen to it. You always have a choice. Maybe you can’t pick where you are forced to go, but you still have a choice.”
“But how?”
Tam laid a hand on Rand’s shoulder. “The choice isn’t always about what you do, son, but why you do it.”
THIS IS EVERYTHING. THIS IS IT. I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR BOOKS FOR SOMEONE TO SAY THIS TO RAND AND FOR RAND TO BELIEVE IT.
THANK YOU TAM AL’THOR.
THIS IS…
This is just. It’s everything. What are you fighting for.
It’s the hardest part of the role he must play: to actively choose it, to embrace it and all the pain it brings…but it’s also the only thing that might make that pain bearable. Because if he chooses it, he has a reason for it. If he chooses it, then he is fighting for something. If he chooses it, he can look to why, and look to the balance, and all that he is saving even as he destroys himself.
It’s the importance of caring, which is something Rand has not lost sight of so much as relinquished entirely. Because to him, it doesn’t matter if he cares or not; what is foretold must happen. But that’s not how it work, and it’s what makes him so frightening right now, and what makes the prospect of his victory ‘as dark as his defeat’. He, the Champion of the Light and the world’s best hope of salvation, has lost sight of the world he’s saving, and why he should save it at all. He’s fighting for victory alone, rather than for life and light and a future and the chance to make something more.
“I don’t know if it’s true that you’ll need to die for this all to play out. But we both know you aren’t going to run from it. Changed though you are, I can see that some things are the same. So I won’t stand any whining on the subject.”
O course it’s Tam who finally says it to Rand and pushes Rand to confront that truth. Tam, Rand’s father, the one person who he might listen to. The one who can talk to him and care about him rather than about the Dragon Reborn and the role he must play, or even about the world and its salvation. There’s no ulterior motive, even if it seems almost certain that bringing Tam here was Cadsuane’s plan. She may be thinking about the salvation of the world—a worthy cause, it must be said—but Tam is talking to Rand here, for no other reason than that he loves him.
“Rand, I think you can survive this.”
I CAN’T HANDLE MUCH MORE OF THIS. IT HURTS A LOT AND I LOVE IT AND IT’S TOO MUCH.
It’s such a simple statement but it’s a comfort and a belief that so few people have offered to Rand lately. Because most of them see him as the Dragon Reborn, and need him to save the world, and there are so, so few who can see past that to the boy who is hurt and afraid and facing his own death and doesn’t know what else to do.
But then there’s Tam, who just…talks to Rand as his son, because that’s who he is. Talks to him like a person, like the boy he was, and chides him for ‘whining’ and then offers him hope and does so with an open hand and a father’s love and nothing else.
“I can’t imagine that the Pattern won’t give you some peace, considering the service you’re doing for us all.”
Tam knows the prophecies and knows the role Rand has to play, but again he doesn’t look at Rand and see the figure out of legend who will save them all because that is his duty and his fate; there are so many who see that and do not see the person, and so would never think of a debt owed or of what Rand is sacrificing. But Tam sees that, because this is his son and he wants him to have that peace, and it’s so important for Rand to have someone see that and acknowledge it without being asked. Someone who can see what this is costing him, and can wish for something for him in return, rather than offering him pity or apathy or yet more demands.
“You may not be able to choose the duties you’re given. But you can choose why you fulfil them. Why do you go to battle, Rand?”
I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CONVERSATION AND IT HAS NOT DISAPPOINTED ME.
These are the true questions, the points around which the future of the world turns. What are you fighting for.
And how perfect it is that it’s his father asking him.
It’s two things I’ve been waiting for—a reunion between Tam and Rand, and someone to push Rand to that question—combined into one and it’s so, so excellent and I’M COMPLETELY FINE.
This book is hurting me.
“Because I must.”
“That’s not good enough.”
This is the other reason it works so well to have Tam be the one to push him on this: because Tam can. He didn’t push Rand before, because he was letting Rand set the parameters of their conversation, and because he didn’t want to steer the conversation too quickly to something that might make Rand close up completely, but he knows where he can push, and he does so here, and it works because he’s Rand’s father. Parents can, often, do that where almost no one else can. Rand may have become all but unrecognisable as the boy he was when Tam last saw him, but some part of that person is still there, and some part of that relationship is still there, and Tam can still make him feel like a child being scolded. And for all that he is a king and a legend, that’s…kind of what Rand needs. Not to be scolded, per se, but to just be…faced with this almost simple reality, wherein he is just Rand al’Thor, and Tam is just his father, and none of the rest matters.
“To the crows with that woman! I wish she’d come to me sooner.”
Uh oh.
I think Tam’s messed up there. I…don’t think bringing up Cadsaune is going to…help, here.
And Rand picks up on it immediately and oh no this could undo everything, and he was so close; Tam was getting through to him and he had brought it to that absolutely essential question and now with one word it could all unravel…
“I’d stayed away, previously, because I thought the last thing you needed was your father stomping across your field!”
Oh, Tam. The magnitude of sacrifice implied there is huge, but he doesn’t even talk about it, or let it show. How he must have wanted to go to Rand, to see him, to do everything he could to help and protect him. How it must have hurt to hold himself back, because he thought it would be better for Rand that way. To protect and help him by staying away.
Tam continued, but Rand had stopped listening.
NO. YOU WERE SO CLOSE.
Cadsuane. Tam had come because of Cadsaune.
No, Rand. He came because of you, for you. Listen to him. Cadsuane was just the impetus; he wanted to come to you before but couldn’t, but he’s not here to manipulate you. He’s here to help you. He’s here because he loves you.
But it’s too late. He was so close. Just one small mistake…
His emotions seeing Tam were so strong that they had worn away the ice. Too much affection was like too much hatred. Either one made him feel, which was something he could not risk.
But he had. And suddenly, feeling nearly overcame him.
He had started to let himself feel; Tam could chip away at that ice and that is what Rand has so desperately needed, but this is what Tam was so carefully avoiding in the early part of the conversation: pushing Rand too far or saying the wrong thing and causing him to withdraw again behind those walls. And now he’s done exactly that, and the chance of reaching him, the chance of buying a few seconds for something to get through to Rand across those walls, is gone.
Tam’s trying to walk it back but it’s too late now. The moment’s lost and how much else is lost along with it?
It was, possibly, one of the best ideas Cadsuane has had. It came so close to working, and beyond the pragmatic…Rand needed to see Tam. He needed that conversation, that reassurance and the simple and unconditional love and support Tam offers. But the very fact that it was Cadsuane’s idea ruins it, because of everything that has come before. It’s yet another cruel irony.
“She manipulates me!” Rand said softly, meeting Tam’s eyes. “And she manipulates you. Everyone ties their strings to me!”
The rage boiled inside. He tried to shove it back, but it was so difficult. Where was the ice, the quiet? Desperately, Rand sought the void. He tried pouring all of his emotions into the flame of a candle, as Tam had taught him so long ago.
Difficult, because he has been brought closer to actually feeling something than he has been in a long time. Because his father is here, and they’ve just been talking about things that matter, and he’s been almost confronting himself and his very mindset, and it’s so, so hard now to shove all of that back down. Into the box he’s made for it all.
This is the moment. This is the chance, if it is not already lost—the point where that armour is cracked, and where he does just barely begin to feel.
It’s a necessary loss of control, in a way. So long he has fought himself, and put up barriers in his own mind, and denied aspects of who he is and who he was, and pushed those and others away, and closed himself off more and more, and convinced himself nothing matters anymore and he has no choice and he is damned and all that remains is for him to win and then die. So long he has just barely managed to hold all of those walls, and the only way I can see—the only way I’ve been able to see—for that to come to any kind of resolution is through a kind of collapse. Some kind of internal catastrophe that forces him to face who and what he is, and was, and remembers, and must be, rather than holding it all at a distance.
And this feels like that point of catastrophe, where he can no longer exert that desperate control he’s kept a fingernail grip on for so long, where the pressure finally cracks his shields.
I’ve wondered for a long time what could possibly bring him to this point, if none of those around him could succeed, if almost killing Min and then touching the True Power could only drive him deeper into that icy void, if burning a city out of existence couldn’t shake him. But this—being confronted with his father and these questions he has held at bay and his own self, and then having that overlaid by the rage of thinking it’s a trick…it might be enough to push him to that breaking point of sorts.
The question, then, is whether it will be enough. He’s balanced on the edge now, trying to push everything back in this desperate fight against himself as it all threatens to crash in on him…so it’s a question of which way he falls. Towards his walls and the cold frightening clarify of order and apathy, or towards the chaos of emotion and memory and pain that may well be his best chance.
Saidin was waiting there. Without thought, Rand seized it, and in doing so was overwhelmed with those emotions he thought he’d abandoned. The void shattered, but somehow saidin remained, struggling against him. He screamed as the nausea hit him, and he threw his anger against it in defiance.
Oh.
Chaos it is, then.
And I still think this is what has to happen—it feels almost like the mirror of that moment in The Last That Could Be Done, shattering the ice that moment built. But still it’s frightening and violent and uncontrolled and.
“Rand,” Tam said, frowning.
Trying to hold on to Rand as Rand changes before his eyes. The inverted echoes of the Tam Lin story are astonishingly perfect here.
“BE SILENT!” Rand bellowed, throwing Tam to the floor with a flow of Air.
No.
No no no.
He needed something to bring him to this moment; he needs those walls to shatter and that shattering was always going to be violent but.
If the cost is Tam…
No Rand no not the access key no no no
He had lost control. But he didn’t care. They wanted him to feel. He would feel, then! They wanted him to laugh? He would laugh as they burned.
Oh, Rand.
Oh, Lews Therin.
Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? This is where Rand seals his own doom, seals himself to Lews Therin’s fate. Looking at his family, someone who loves him, and feeling nothing but uncontrollable rage, and losing control, and reaching that point of madness where he could laugh as they burned.
When he nearly strangled Min, it felt like a clear parallel to Lews Therin killing Ilyena, and Rand felt it as well…but that was not his own doing. That was Semirhage torturing him with his worst memory.
This, though…
This is Rand. It is Rand out of control and consumed by something that could well be called madness, as everything he has held at bay crashes in on him and he reaches for power and all he can think of is the distrust that has eaten away at everything else…but still, it is just Rand. Not controlled by anyone else, not leashed or collared or caged.
Screaming at them all, he wove threads of Air and Fire. Lews Therin howled in his head, saidin tried to destroy both of them, and the quiet voice inside Rand’s heart vanished.
Oh.
That last bit. That’s almost as devastating and horrifying as ‘death and betrayal. It is HIM.’
That moment where the last part of him that is just Rand is silenced. Where all that is left is the rage and the power and the chaos, saidin and Lews Therin’s memory, brought into this present moment as Rand’s own reality. And so history stands poised to repeat itself; Rand’s worst fears and the reason he built those walls in the first place about to be realised.
Because if he kills Tam, that will be his Ilyena.
A prick of light grew in front of Rand, sprouting from the centre of the access key. The weaves for balefire spun before him, and the access key grew brighter as he drew in more power.
No.
This is it this is the moment. It all comes down to this: does he repeat Lews Therin’s past or does he choose something different, choose his own path, make a different choice this time and thus a different future. Does he condemn himself to Lews Therin’s fate or does he take this life as another chance. What are you fighting for, Rand? Why?
Also.
In the story of Tam Lin, he is changed into shape after shape and Janet must hold on to him throughout it in order to save him, and the last form he takes in most versions of the story is a burning coal.
By that light, Rand saw his father’s face, looking up at him.
Terrified.
What am I doing?
Here, Tam, Tamlin, is trying to hold on to Rand as Rand changes into a king, into the Dragon Reborn, into a figure of legend and prophecy. He tries to hold on to his son and does not let go—doesn’t turn away—even as Rand begins to weave balefire and glows with it.
And that is what may save both of them. That is what may call Rand back to himself—let him return to his true shape.
Even if it’s not intentional (but I do wonder if it is), this might be one of my favourite inverted references in the series thus far. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and perfect.
He was brought to that state of cold apathy by Semirhage causing him to nearly kill Min, and to reach for the True Power. And now, as he himself almost weaves balefire again, this time to kill his own father, he finally stops to question.
It’s finally too far.
I wondered what might be.
This is absolutely stunning.
This is just. What a scene.
What a way to bring him to that breaking point.
Because what else could have? What could have forced him to this? When nothing can hold him back, when Nynaeve could not and Min could not and he saw no reason to...
But Tam looking at him in terror, and the echo of Lews Therin in his mind as he almost repeats history and realises his own greatest fear…
Rand began to shake, the balefire unravelling before he had time to loose it. He stumbled backward in horror.
Finally, finally, there is a line he truly cannot cross. Something he truly cannot do, something so horrifying to him that it reaches him through that swirling chaos and the remnants of the armour he has built around himself.
Tamlin al’Thor holds him through all the forms he takes and faces down the fire and it gives Rand that shaking, shattering moment that may let him come back to himself.
What am I DOING? Rand thought again.
No more than I’ve done before, Lews Therin whispered.
OH.
WOW.
THAT’S.
THAT’S A LINE.
That might be exactly as devastating as Lews Therin’s words when Rand reached for the True Power.
And it’s such a beautiful parallel to that scene. The beginning of the true lowest point of his arc, the last that could be done, and now…not quite the beginning of a rise, but perhaps an end to that place he was in. The last that could be done in a very different sense—the last thing that might bring him back. A last chance.
It’s a moment of crisis, a moment where everything comes crashing down and no more than I’ve done before. He has stood here before, about to do the unforgivable. In The Last That Could Be Done, he crossed what he thought was the last line.
Now, having travelled through that space beyond all restraint, he comes at last to a line he didn’t know existed, a point that would condemn him to that past fate, a thing he almost does and yet, in the end, cannot let himself do.
No more than I’ve done before.
A line he crossed once already…but the difference here is the choice. This time, he can choose not to. And so this is the turning point: accept Lews Therin’s fate or choose a different path.
Tam continued to stare at him, face shadowed by the night.
That one line is so heartbreaking. Tam refusing to look away. Face in shadow, even as Rand burns with light. But still not abandoning him, not turning aside. Still holding on.
Oh, Light, Rand thought with terror, shock and rage. I am doing it again. I am a monster.
Still holding tenuously to saidin, Rand wove a gateway to Ebou Dar, then ducked through, fleeing from the horror in Tam’s eyes.
I just let go of a breath I didn’t even realise I was holding for that entire final page.
This chapter is. Um.
Wow.
Let me just…sit here for a minute.
This is an absolute perfect bookend to Chapter 22. It’s not the same scene, and yet it hits so many of the same beats, but from…the other side, in a way. That was Rand’s fall, and this, even as it feels like an absolute low point, almost is the beginning of a rise. It’s Rand turning away from that line, holding himself back rather than stepping across and accepting unfettered, cold, terrifying power. It’s Rand being called back to himself after he came so close to losing himself for good.
Last time, he was forced to almost kill Min, right after he had accepted at her urging that maybe he had become too hard, too untrusting. Now, he comes to almost a similar point in conversation with Tam, but from the opposite direction.
And then that moment of crisis—the first which drives him across one line in fear of repeating Lews Therin’s past…and then this, which drives him away from a true final line out of the same fear.
No more than I’ve done before.
But here, in this lifetime, he can choose not to do it again.
That’s the realisation. That’s what he has needed to understand for so long, because for so long he has been caged by that fear even as he thought he had found freedom. He can choose.
Ebou Dar, though? I almost, for a moment, thought it might be Dragonmount. Because this is where he comes full circle, in a way. Where he faces that last choice: to repeat his greatest atrocity and succumb to his greatest fear, or to do something differently this time. He is brought to the point that ended his last life, and instead turns away and refuses to repeat that mistake. And so it is coming full circle, in truly facing Lews Therin’s fate, and yet it’s a divergence. Just as in making that choice last time, Lews Therin then killed himself and in doing so made Dragonmount, where in this lifetime Rand was born. Life and death; one choice and another. And the prophecy says he must stand on his grave and weep—I wondered, when Tuon thought that, what could possibly bring him to that point. But it seems like that, too, would have to be a point of coming full circle and facing his past—as he has, really, just done here.
But perhaps that is still to come. Or perhaps there’s yet another Moment to come first.
Either way, what a chapter.
Anyway, like after The Last That Could Be Done, I think I need to go stare at a wall for a while and just…process…this chapter.
Next (TGS ch 48)
Previous (TGS ch 46)
#I kept thinking 'surely /that/ was the most painful part of this chapter'#I kept being wrong#Wheel of Time#neuxue liveblogs WoT#The Gathering Storm
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Kouign-Amann [3]
Relationship: Joe Mazzello x Male!Reader
Summary: It’s been six weeks without Joe, and you’ve almost gotten used to it. Almost. But what happens when he comes into your life again. Will is be everything you hope, or will it crash and burn. For some reason, you’re really hoping for the former...
Warnings: Very fluffy, and hopefully a good ending.
Word Count: 3,337
A/N: Hey y’all! I’m so happy you are all enjoying this, and welcome to the end! Well, not really the end, because I really like this reader, and I want to do more, but this is the end of the Kouign-Amann series. I want to write imagines and blurbs for this reader because it’s really cute. He’s become like an OC to me XD Anyways, I hope you like the ending! It’s not as long, but my wife @roger-bang-the-drum helped me again with this, so the tweets are back! Anyways, I hope you like it! Please like and reblog!
Joe Mazzello hasn't been spotted with his husband in 6 weeks! Has Joe finally moved on?
The Bohemian Rhapsody star made waves when it was revealed he was married, and to a man no less! But is their relationship on the rocks? The star has been seen multiple times without his husband, and, some reports claim without his ring! Well, the husband of the man in question hasn't been seen either! Reports from people going to the little cafe say he hasn't been working there recently! Has he sold it? It doesn't really matter, what matters is ladies, Joseph Mazzello is back on the market! Go and grab him before someone else does!
Your new apartment was nice, but not as nice as the one above the shop. You missed it some days, but then you remember the people who used to come to your door, and the reminicing is shattered. You exit your apartment, and walk the few blocks it takes to get to the coffee shop. It was the furthest away you were willing to go. It was awful, having a car in London, so usually you would just walk everywhere, and a couple blocks was all you could manage in the morning.
To be frank, you quite liked your early morning walks. It was quiet, no one was around, and the air was crisp and cold. You could think in the mornings for once, instead of sloughing to work, dragging your feet along, which can be quite dangerous.
But you love your little coffee shop, and it's pastries, and even though you didn't make your favourites for the shop anymore, you would sometimes bring them in for the staff that works there now. You no longer really worked their either. You were more of the manager, hoping to see if everything was going okay, and then going about your daily business. The shop brought in a fair amount of money, especially after the who whole scandal with- well, at least you could than the scandal for one thing. You had to admit, outrage marketing was a legitimate strategy.
You hear about the occasional nutter who comes in asking to see you or Joe, but they usually don't cause a scene. The people who did find your shop quickly became regulars, and you had a lot of repeat customers, which is always nice. They brought in a fair amount of money just by themselves.
You find that in your thinking, you've already turned the corner to the shop, and as you head for it, you see someone leave.
“Hello,” you say to the politely, and when they look up from their coffee to smile at you politely back, you freeze. “What are you doing here?” You didn't mean for it to sound rude, and you didn't expect that to be the first thing out of your mouth when you saw him, but you'd take what you were given.
“I get coffee here every morning, when I'm in London of course,” Joe says, and you just nod. “You really did it huh?” He asks.
“Did what?” You ask confused. You don't understand what he was talking about.
“You left, created an amazing business from something that was given to you on a few months ago. You really are an incredible man,” he says, and you feel your face flushing, from the cold or him, you didn't know. But you had a guess.
“I- uh… thanks,” you manage to mumble out.
You go to turn into the shop, not really wanting to continue on with your day, but Joe stops you.
“Wait! I was, uh…” He clears his throat, and you smile invoulentarily at the dork standing in front of you. “I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner sometime? Just-just the two of us. We could catch up?”
“Okay.” Your voice is faster than your brain, and you almost immediately regret it. You say almost, because the smile that's brought to Joe's face negates any feelings of regret you might have.
“Okay!” He exclaims, and you smile again, just standing there for a moment of awkward silence. “Oh! Uh, meet you here at twelve tomorrow?” He asks, and you nod. “Great! That's… uh… great…” he trails off, and you let out a small laugh.
“Okay Joe. I'll see you tomorrow,” you say, smiling at how adorable he is. You… you missed this…
“Yeah! Okay…” He says, and you turn into the shop as he leaves as well, looking almost as confused as you felt.
“What the hell just happened?” You ask as you walk into the coffee shop. Hadley, Jacob, and the new girl, Della, were all just starting at you, watching.
“I think you have a date with Joe…” Hadley says, and sigh.
“What have I gotten myself into?” You ask, and Jacob walks over, placing a hand on your back, and he steers you away from the entrance into the back.
“Let's not dwell on that. I have the weekly earnings report just waiting for you to look over…” Jacob says, leading you away, still in shock.
You sigh as you shiver in the street, waiting for Joe to come pick you up. You still don't understand why you agreed, but you did, and you wanted to hear him out. You breath into your hands trying to warm them up, and rub them together, gaining a small amount of feeling back into your fingers. Even though it was early March, it was still freezing, though it was always freezing, until, like, June.
You see a car pull around the corner and stop in front of you, and the window rolls down, revealing Joe, sitting in the driver's side.
“Come on,” he says, and you nod, getting into the passenger's side, before he pulls out again. “I figured this would be more comfortable than walking in the freezing cold.” You nod, and pull your coat tighter over you in lew of an answer. Joe looks over at you, and says softly, “Please, you don't have to be nervous. I just want us to catch up.” You nod again, but don't say anything.
You don't know what to say.
Sensing your hesitation, Joe grabs your hand, and you almost pull away, but you don't, relaxing into the touch when he starts to rub your knuckles. The touch is nice, and when he runs his thumb over your ring finger, you shudder at the sensation, suddenly missing your ring.
You stay like that, just holding hands in silence, when Joe finally stops. He lets go of your hand, and suddenly, it feels empty. It's like you've been missing a part of yourself you didn't know you were supposed to be missing.
You get out of the car as well, and Joe walks you through the parking garage, and down onto the street, a street that is very familiar. You turn the corner and see the Sheep's Head, staring back at you.
You gasp, and stop, and Joe has to keep himself from falling over. “You brought us back…” you whisper, and Joe smiles.
“I figured this would be a good place to go back to…” he says, and you nod, smiling.
“This is perfect.”
“Here, we, go!” you exclaim as you set the potatoes on the cooling rack in the middle of your kitchen table. You smile as you sit down across from Joe who just looks starving.
“This is amazing, thank you [Y/N]! I haven't eaten all day…” he says, and you get a sense of deja Vu. Everything about this is familiar, the way you're sitting, what you're eating, everything. It feels like dinner, like you've been doing it every day for the six weeks you haven't been talking. It was weird.
You just smile, and let Joe dig in. You weren't very hungry, the weirdness of it all was making your stomach feel weird.
“God I've missed you cooking,” Joe says, and the smile on your face gets tense. He looks up and his eyes go wide. “No! No, that's not what I meant… uh, well… I-I guess I just, I missed you.”
You sigh, your shoulders slumping forwards. “Joe…” you mumble, not looking at him, but at a particularly interesting spot of your kitchen floor. “Joe, please don't say that…”
“Why?” He asks, sitting back, his plate of food all but untouched.
You shake your head. “Because I don't know if I missed you…” Joe just stares at you, a bit shocked. “I-I just… I feel so much better having moved away… I don't know. I don't know what I think.” You cover your eyes with your hand, but you feel Joe's fingers tugging at it.
You let him take your hand, and he holds it over the table. You keep your eyes closed, and tilt your head back, before opening them, and looking over at Joe. “Take your time. You don't need to know right now. Just… just tell me when you're ready.”
You smile and squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
You smile to yourself as you make a black coffee, quickly putting the lid on the hot cup, and go to the cash register. The women hands you a five pounds note, and thanks you as she walks off. You were helming the afternoon shift, and decided to make more pastries, and you put freshly baked Croissants out on display, placing the others in the fridge to be reheated if you ran out.
The bell above the door rings, and you see a very familiar blonde man walk through the door. “Ben?” You ask, and he grins as you say his name.
“[Y/N]!” He exclaims, and you laugh.
“I haven't seen you in months!” You say. “Last time I saw you was at the premier!”
You hop the counter and Ben gives you a big hug, picking you up off the ground, and you shriek until he puts you down.
He places his hands on your shoulders and says, “You look good!” You smile and shake your head. “You haven't looked this good since… wait…” He pauses and looks you up and down again. “You're talking to him again, aren't you?” You shrug, a small smile on your face, and he grins. “Well good. You're good for each other.”
You nod, and Ben lets go of your shoulders. “Would you like a coffee? I'm not busy, so I can sit and chat for a bit…” You offer, and Ben nods.
“Yeah, I'd like that,” he says, and you get him a black coffee.
Is [Y/N] [L/N] dating his ex's co star? Scandal!
Just the other day, Joe Mazzello's former husband was spotted getting a little too close for comfort with his co-star, Ben Hardy. The pair were seen hugging and laughing, and talking for hours on end in [Y/N]'s shop over a cup of coffee. They hugged again before Ben left, but it raises the question, did [Y/N] finally move on? And did he move on with his ex-husband's band mate? From what we've seen, we think yes!
You hug Joe as you open the door to your flat, letting him inside. He takes off his coat and his gloves, and you help him hang them up, before you walk by the stairs into the kitchen. “So, I saw you talked to Ben recently,” he says, curious.
You smile and nod. “Yeah. We were just catching up on things, what he's been doing since the premier…”
Joe nods and you pour him a cup of tea you were making before he even arrived. You hand him his mug and grab yours, before you guys go up stairs, and sit across from each other on the couch. You draw your knees up to your chest, and take a sip of your now warm tea, using it to warm your hands.
You just sit in silence with Joe, letting just the feeling of you two being together fill the air. You smile at him as he takes a sip, and he smiles back.
“I missed this,” you admit, quietly, and Joe looks up at you, like he couldn't hear you, but the look in his eyes told you he did.
He sits forwards and places a hand on you leg. “I do too.” You smile, and squeeze his hand. “I'm glad you told me.”
You nod, and take another sip of you tea. The rest if the evening, you spend in relative silence, only speaking when necessary. Joe sleeps on your couch that night. It's nice to wake up to him in the morning.
You and Joe are sitting on a piece of stone that overlooked the Thames, you leaning back into Joe's chest, his arms wrapped around your shoulders. Joe kisses your hair, and puts his chin on your head, and you turn, closing your eyes. You feel sleep tug at your senses, but you don't let it, just enjoying being somewhere with Joe, and no one else. It was a quiet day in London, everyone at work, and no one driving was always so nice.
You open your eyes, and look up at Joe, who just looks down at you. You realize in that moment, you got his hair colour when you first met him. In the artificial light of the coffee shop, his hair look brown, like chocolate, but outside, you could see it was red, bright, and shiny. You reach a hand up, and run it through his soft hair. He smiles, and leans into the touch. You watch as his hair pulls through your fingers, and you smile.
You move, turning, so you're practically face to face with Joe, and you place a hand on his cheek, which he leans into as well. Joe moves a hand down to your lower back, and pushes you closer to him.
You lean forwards, and capture your lips in his. It felt like your first kiss all over again. You were in practically the same spot, same time, same cloudy day. But this time, it was different, more personal. It was perfect, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
You pull away, the kiss quicker than what you wanted, but you knew it was all you wanted. Any more, and it would have been too much. But Joe doesn't look annoyed, he doesn't look like he wants or needs more. He just smiles and pulls you in for a hug, which you return. He really is perfect, and you can't imagine being with someone else.
Joe and Husband spotted! What does this mean for Ben?
Just last week we were reporting on [Y/N] finally moving on and finding someone else, going after Joe Mazzello by talking with and hugging his co-star! But even after all that, it seems like the two have gotten back together and rekindled their romance! Is this the end of Ben? Or is this just the beginning of an even bigger scandal?
You are laying in Joe's lap on your couch when he pops the question. Well, not really the question, but it's definitely a question you were not expecting. It caught you off guard, and you froze, almost as if you hates the question. You didn't hate the question, far from it really, it's a good question, but the way he said it, and when, it just caught you off guard.
“Do you still have your ring?”
You blink at Joe, once twice, and Joe immediately starts to freak out.
“Omg, no, I just, I wanted to know if you even still have it, even after all that, and-”
“Joe,” you say, cutting him off and placing a hand on his cheek. “No, I still have my ring! It's, it's in my room actually…” You smile slightly and shake your head. “I'm sorry, the question kind of came out of nowhere…”
He nods, but you get up before he can say anything, and walk into your room. You grab the ring from your night stand, and bring it out to him. You roll it in your fingers as you look at it, walking over to Joe before sitting on the couch.
“I- uh… I keep it on my bedside table…” You admit, blushing furiously.
Joe just smile and pulls a chain from around his neck, showing you the ring that was looped around it. “I've always kept mine close to my heart.”
You laugh, and he laughs with you. “Go that was so bad!” You exclaim, and you both just laugh harder. It wasn't really that funny, but it felt like the only emotion you could properly convey. With the rings being brought out, you figured laughing hysterically was better that being in hysterics, crying your eyes out.
“Here,” Joe says, and taking your ring from you. He gets off the couch, and gets down on one knee, holding out the ring to you.
“I know I don't have a fancy box like that time, and this isn't your coffee shop, but I love you. I love you whether you're laughing or crying, whether you're happy or sad. I love everything about you, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I haven't moved on, I haven't found someone else, because I just want you. I love you [Y/N] [L/N], and I want to try this again. Would you be willing?”
You don't know when you started crying, but you feel the tears rolling down your cheeks as Joe finishes. Your mouth is agape, and you close it as you nod.
Joe grins, and you manage to get out between sobs, “Yes! Yes!”
You at this point are both laughing and crying, and Joe puts your ring on your finger. It slides on, and the familiar weight of it is nice. It reminds you of home. He kisses your hand, and you take his ring, slipping it from the chain. Placing it on his finger, he leans in, and kisses you. You put your fingers in his hair, and tug as he deepens the kiss, moving to fit his lips with yours.
He sits in the couch, and pulls you into his lap, where you just kiss, not moving any further than that. It was nice. There was no pressure to do anything you didn't want to, and you'd don't want to. You just wanted to kiss your husband.
You pull away, out of breath, and you put your forehead against his. “I love you,” you whisper.
He smiles and kisses you again. “I love you too.”
“Alright, I'll see you at home tonight?” Joe asks after grabbing his coffee. You smile and nod, and give him a quick kiss, before he leaves the shop, saying hi to Jacob and Hadley as they walk in for the morning.
Hadley gives you a knowing look, and Jacob raises his eyebrows. “Was that Joe?” Hadley asks, and you look at her for a moment, before grinning and nodding. You bring you hand up, and wiggle your ring finger.
“[Y/N]! That's incredible! I'm so happy for you!” Jacob exclaims, and the two run over, giving you a hug.
You laugh, and hug them back. “Thanks guys. I just, I really love him, and, I dunno… it's hard to put into words.”
Jacob nods. “I get that. My partner and I have been on and off for years, and yet we always find each other.”
You smile and nod, and you all just stare at each other. “Okay, okay, enough gossiping! Let's get to work!”
You rush into the back and pull out a tray of pastries, and bring them back to the front. Setting them on the counter, Hadley and Jacob raise their eyebrows as you put the pastries in the display case. You go to the chalkboard out front, and write on it in bug letters:
TODAY'S SPECIAL!
KOUIGN-AMANN!
#joe mazzello#joe mazzello x reader#joe mazzello x you#joe mazzello x male!reader#joe mazzello imagine#queen#queen x reader#ocs#coffee shop au#my work#My writing
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No Waitrose October 8 - Days 20-21
Day 20
I genuinely can't remember what I did on Day 20. It was a Wednesday, so I must have worked during the day and then come back to the five year old from school at 3pm. Other than that, it's gone. Sorry.
I can tell you one thing that probably happened on Day 20; I imagine the person I live with complained about me not going to Waitrose. Three weeks in and she’s really feeling it. It’s mainly because I have been going to Tesco as my main Waitrose replacement, rather than Sainsbury’s, and the food is noticeably worse. I have been told never to buy Tesco own brand muesli ever again.
Didn't go to Waitrose.
Day 21
I woke up at half past four this morning, which I’ve never found to be a good start to the day. The person I live with had woken up and was fiddling about with the Velux window in our bedroom, which woke me up.
Let me paint you a picture. Our bedroom is in the loft, a converted loft, and we sleep under a sloping roof with a couple of Velux windows in it. You will remember earlier in the month we bought a heated clothes drier, called the Dry Soon 3000 or something. It is currently in our bedroom rather than the spare room, where it ought to be.
For reasons too long and Winnie-the-Pooh related to go into, we have taken to calling the Dry Soon 3000 the Backson. The Backson has a cover over it which is meant to prevent condensation forming in the room it is in. The Backson’s cover does not prevent condensation forming in our bedroom, and at half past four in the morning condensation formed on the Velux window above the person I live with and dripped down onto her, thus waking her up, which in turn woke me up.
I couldn't get back to sleep properly after that, which wasn’t great, especially as I had a big work meeting at 10am. The five year old I live with got up and went to school and the person I live with got up and went to work, and I got ready for the big meeting. The big meeting lasted for two hours. Afterwards, thanks to being up since half past four, I was completely shattered.
I tried to work in the afternoon after lunch. but it was a bit of a lost cause. I realised I needed to go to the supermarket. So I decided to clear my head by going for a drive down to Newhaven Sainsbury's. It's a really nice road down to Newhaven from Lewes, even if Newhaven isn’t the greatest place in the world, nor is its Sainsbury’s all that great either. I was keen to head to a Sainsbury’s though, mainly to see if they sold any muesli that would be acceptable to the person I live with.
It was a bright clear afternoon when I jumped in the car and started driving, through Kingston, past the garden centre, through Rodmell where Virginia Woolf used to live, past the Telscombe turn-off and almost into Newhaven when I came across a man standing in front of a road closed sign. I stopped and wound down the window.
“Road’s closed mate,” he said. “There's been a landslide around the corner.”
Bugger. I tried to think of an alternative route to Newhaven, but there really isn’t one that doesn’t involve going back to Lewes. Look it up, you’ll see. It was then that I realised I was having one of those days where nothing quite goes to plan. And there was nothing to be done but to go to the big Tesco, I couldn’t avoid it.
I drove back the way I’d came and went and parked at the big Tesco and wandered into town to Superdrug to buy a few bits that we needed; toothpaste, shampoo, Metatone, paracetamol, that kind of thing. I also picked up some skate from the fishmongers for our tea. I've been reading a Rick Stein recipe book, English Seafood Cookery, I got it in Lyme Regis this summer at an RNLI book sale during Lifeboat Week. In it, Ricky boy says that skate with black butter is one of his favourite recipes, and it looked fairly simple, so I decided to give it a go.
After that I went back to my car dropped off the stuff that had bought, and went into the big Tesco as I felt bad about using their car park and not using the shop. I bought a couple of bits and pieces that we needed, including the ingredients for black butter (red wine vinegar, parsley, butter, capers).
Back at home I unpacked the shopping and realised I was completely shattered. So instead of working for the rest of the afternoon until school pick-up, I decided to lie on the bed and read Gardener’s World magazine. I came across a good idea for a winter pot, involving ferns, cyclamen and ivy, that I decided to try to remember to try, if I got chance to go to the garden centre.
I picked up the five year old I live with from school and we decided to go to the library. We got to the library and I started choosing a book while she sat in the children's section. Suddenly there was a shout and she ran over and announced that she'd wet herself. I didn't have a change of clothes for her because she doesn't really wet herself very often anymore, but it did mean that we immediately had to go home, without any new books.
All in all, the day was a bit of a write off. But the skate in black butter that I made for tea turned out to be very nice, I can recommend giving it a go.
Didn't go to Waitrose.
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I follow too many football teams
Decided to sit down and compile a list of all the various football teams I'm following at the moment, across different leagues and countries, and note the reason I started supporting them as well as the extent to which I follow. I was surprised.
Arsenal WFC: started following the club on 4th July 2018, when they signed my favourite footballer, Tabea Kemme. Bought a season ticket and attended as many games as my work pattern would allow; from the first game I was amazed by Dutch striker Vivianne Miedema, the best forward I'd seen play since Robert Taylor's purple patch in 1999. Despite missing all 4 of Tabea's appearances for the club, I bought a shirt with her name and number on it which I've worn to every game possible, home and away. The last match I saw in person was a 4-0 win at Brighton back in January (easier to get to than home games, so of course I'd go) during which I realised that despite Tabbi's injury worries, I was in deep enough to care about the other players. This turned out to be prescient as two days later she retired from playing. Thanks to the FA Player, I can watch (almost) every match streamed live to my tablet.
Matches seen: 5 home, 5 away (Lewes, Brighton [Amex], Crawley, Spurs [new White Hart Lane], Brighton)
Shirts: 1 - 2018/2019 home shirt with Kemme 22 on the back.
Gillingham FC (mens): Where it all began. Attended my first game against Doncaster Rovers in April 1995, taken by my dad and granddad. The Gills won 4-2, my younger brother and I had room enough to chase each other around the terrace. Since then I've experienced nauseating lows, dizzying highs, and creamy middles. As of 21st May 2019 my support for the club has been on hold - they appointed Steve Evans - a man who had previously convicted of tax evasion and falsifying accounts, a man who had previously sought to incite Gillingham staff and players whenever his teams played against the Gills, and an all round nasty piece of work - as manager of the first team. I could not in good conscience support a side managed by him, in person or remotely, so I packed away my shirts/scarf/badges, muted the club's social media accounts, and my Saturday afternoons were a lot more fun as a result. He's still at the club, they're currently fourth in the League One table, but this summer they cut loose the associated women's side, so I don't know if I'll ever go back.
Matches attended: bloody loads. In the three figures, easily. Had a season ticket one year. Attended at least 1/3 of all games - home and away - in the promotion season linked above. Been going at least once a season for the past 20-odd years, mostly more than that. Away games at Crawley a few times (making it my joint second most visited stadium, apart from Priestfield and tied with Meadow Park), once at Spurs (old White Hart Lane), West Brom, Millwall (that was fun, got the tickets through work, ended up with the home fans, Gillingham got a last minute winner that we couldn't celebrate), Charlton twice, a reserve game at Leighton Orient, the above linked game against Wycombe when we went down, strangely not Brighton though despite living here for nearly 10 years.
Shirts: had plenty over the years. I've still got the shirt we got promoted in with Thomson 27 on the back, signed by a number of the squad, somewhere. Currently I only have two - the 2009 promotion shirt because it looks pretty good, and the 2011 home shirt because of fond Football Manager memories!
Borussia Dortmund (mens): Over a decade ago I started a relationship with a German woman. In the getting to know you stage, I asked her what her nearest Bundesliga* club was. (My small talk has since improved. Slightly.) She replied "Dortmund", and I started following the club. I'm not saying that I'm responsible for the team's subsequent uptick in form - they won the league two seasons running after I visited the ground, adding the Pokal (cup) in the second season as well - but I'm not not saying that either. The availability of streams plus the free-flowing, attacking football made them an easy follow, especially at a time when Gillingham went 35 games without an away win in all competitions. I look forward to the club starting up a women's side next season, especially as they're starting from the bottom rather than expecting to be parachuted into the Frauen Bundesliga.
Matches: just the one so far in person, an entertaining 2-3 loss to Wolfsburg in December 2012.
Shirts: had a 2004 home shirt that was horrible material, very plasticky. Also have a really comfortable and stylish 2012 away shirt that I couldn't wear for a few years due to it having Hummels' name on - thankfully he's returned from his Bayern defection now. A Munich fan who stayed with us a couple of years ago found the whole thing hilarious.
*I'm glad I specified the country, as while she grew up nearly 100km from the Westfalonstadion, she was only 20km from FC Twente - but it was complicated enough explaining to people in the early days why I was following a German team, and I think trying to tell them I was following a Dutch side due to my German partner might've been far too much!
BSG Chemie Leipzig (mens): Dortmund aren't the only German side I've hitched my wagon to, but they're the most high profile. Faced with an indefinite period of time with nothing to do during lockdown, and growing tired of my other FM careers, I set about giving myself a challenge. Due to the high praise dished out by the media to Red Bull Leipzig, a team funded by the energy drink conglomerate who bought their way up the league, I decided my challenge would be to - in the words of Sir Alex Ferguson - "knock them off their f**king perch. I wanted to make another team the biggest side in Leipzig. Scouting around the Wikipedia page for the city, and aided by this thoroughly informative Reddit post, I settled on Chemie due to their political leanings and colour scheme. Six real-life months and a dozen fictional seasons into the career, I'm one Bundesliga and one Pokal away from equalling the energy drink's trophy haul. I've taken an interest in the real life side as well, languishing away in the fifth tier of German football (an unholy hell of regional leagues and village sides).
Matches: not yet. One day I'll stand on the terrace of the Alfred-Kunze-Sportpark, Freiberger in hand, cheering on the side. But the raging pandemic that brought me to start the career is, ironically, preventing me from properly indulging.
Shirts: none, as I rarely wear football shirts these days. But this t-shirt is pretty cool.
Gillingham WFC: Simple thing here - when the side were cut adrift from the parent men's club as part of a cost-saving measure in the summer, I decided to go with the team who were not managed by an odious berk. I'm kooky like that.
Matches: one so far, a pre-season friendly away at Lewes last summer. I was the lone Gills fan. There were more dogs supporting the home side than humans cheering on the away team.
Shirts: none, as the club have switched to red after no longer being under the men's umbrella.
Valur (women's team): Some of these have deep, meaningful reasons behind my follow of them. Others, less so. In the early part of 2019 a friend of mine and his Czech girlfriend moved to Reykjavik to live for a bit. We visited them and were surprised to see floodlights from their balcony. Their flat overlooked a football ground, where Valur play, and so it was a simple thing to follow their side to feel closer to Paul and Barbora. It was weird seeing Valur's main striker, Elin Metta, posting Insta stories of playing with the same friendly cat that Paul does!
Matches: just the one streamed so far, due to a dearth of matches available online, but Valur won!
Shirts: christ don't give me ideas.
ACF Fiorentina Femminile: And if you thought that was a tenuous reason...last month we took a tour around Italy, stopping in Rome, Florence, Bologna and Venice. I wanted to get something football related to remember the trip by. Venice was out - I was going to the Venezia store anyway to pick up a few things for a mate who had guided them to glory on Football Manager, and didn't want to tread on his toes. Rome was unsuccessful - Lazio's kits have been cool in the past, but their right-wing fans aren't for me, and Roma had some lovely coloured merch but nothing that grabbed me. A surprise heavy shower sent us scurrying into the Fiorentina club shop, a place I'd earmarked to visit anyway, and a lovely flattering jacket jumped off the shelf at me. (It helped that it was reduced from €100 to €30!) Why the women's side over the men's? Women's football is just much more fun!
Matches: just a 3-1 loss to Sassuolo a few weeks ago. Who loses to a Phil Collins single?!
Shirts: no shirts, but a sexy jacket.
Ashwood City FC (mens, fictional): Ashwood City are Kent's only Premier League side. One of the founder members of the Football League, they've never been relegated from the Premier League. They're also fictional, the main subject of football podcast The Offensive. Now in its third season, it's been a weekly highlight, weaving current football events into an ongoing story arc. It's occasionally sweary, frequently hilarious, and clearly written by someone who's lived in Kent judging by the accurate jabs at Kentish people/Gillingham! It also used an entire episode as set-up for a reference to the 1992 Whitney Houston/Kevin Costner film The Bodyguard, which still frequently makes me chuckle at random moments.
Matches: tricky, as they don't exist. Like Steve Evans' moral compass.
Shirts: nope.
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Winnix name of soulmate AU: Nix is like magnet for dog love so it's not at all surprising that dogs that get lost always find themselves glued to his side when he tries to eat lunch in the park and not fall asleep (imagine very hangover Lewis with his aviators on, chugging coffee like water). One day he finds very cute and friendly golden retriever late at night on his way back from work. He takes the dig home. Dog obviously belongs to someone. Has a collar with a name, address and +
his owner’s full name. That gives Lew a pause. No. That gives Lew a heart palpitations.
He calls very sleepy Ron all panicked and “hold on, you’ve met your soulmate at the park at 1AM?” “Worse Ron, I’ve met his dog!”.
Then he goes kinda in crazy mode because Lew is kinda like crazy. First checks phone book to check how many people in Boston are called Richard Winters. Ron rolls his eyes and tells him to give the dog back. Lew is both freaked out about possibility of this guy being his soulmate and he also is absolutely in love with the dog and that 5 year old inside him really doesn’t want to give him back. Because what if this guy is not his soulmate and he will never see that cute face again!?
Then Nix gets even more crazy and does that overnight/day cop thing (with the dog of course). He parks near Dick’s house and watches. Imagine Lewis with bags full of human food and dog food sitting in Ron’s car, sunglasses on, his dog buddy next to him with binoculars in hand listening to Lewis’s favourite songs because Lew is the kind of ridiculous dog person who talks to the dog for hours why Bob Dylan is fucking fantastic and “you will like this one”.
Ron threatens to call shrink or worse, Lip aka voice of reason. He does eventually and Lip unashamedly guilt trips Lew into giving the dog back (how would you feel if your dog went missing) and meeting that man. Nix pouts but agrees. Dick Winters comes back home that day to find stranger sitting on the steps to his building, hugging and kissing his dog and looking very very sad and his own dog licking man’s face to cheer him up. And that’s all I got.
Also bonus (no control here), when Ron tries to get back his car and make Nix stop being an idiot, Nix for sure fires back with “You were pretending to be me for weeks when you met your soulmate. No higher ground here, buddy.” Lip just snorts in his coffee.
look like AARGH this idea is so freaking cute and fits into the soulmate universe so WELL! I don’t know how much I can write (you basically laid the whole story out right here) but I want to bring a couple of snapshots to life because this is brILLIANT
Nix is so focused on holding himself upright that he doesn’t notice he isn’t alone until someone snatches his donut right out of his hand.
“Hey!” he hollers, and springs to his feet – or tries to. Doing much of anything is hard when you’ve got an entire bottle of Vat 69 and then some inside of you. He’s not really surprised – disappointed, but not surprised – when instead of staying on his feet, he finds himself ass-down on the sidewalk.
At least he’s next to a bench. It’s a nice bench. He was sitting on that bench until a few seconds ago, when someone took his donut – his donut. The one he bought with his own money. Now, Nix is a generous guy. If he sees a homeless person he’ll always give them a few dollars; once he gave his friend Harry a fifty dollar bill and told him to please get some braces; and when he eats his lunch at the park in the morning, he’ll throw the pigeons the crust of his sandwich.
Someone taking his entire donut, however – that’s going too far.
“God dammit! Bring that back!”
And though he’s not really sure why he’s screaming at a dog… it seems like a sensible idea at the time.
Sensible or not, it works. The dog, who is either too obedient or too kindhearted for its own good, pauses. Nix’s donut is still hanging out of his mouth, but at least he looks attentive. A click of his tongue is all it takes for Nix to coax the animal back over.
It’s too late for his donut, but he manages to a kiss for his trouble. “Good dog,” he encourages the golden retriever, stretching behind it’s ears. He thinks he’s a little in love already. “What a good dog…”
He trails off as he catches a glimpse of the dog’s collar. There, in large brassy lettering, is a name that is only too familiar to him.
Oh, he thinks, and is hit with a sudden wave of queasiness. It has nothing to do with the alcohol. Oh man.
“Good dog,” he says again, because the pup is. He’s the best boy Nix has met in a very long time, and in his opinion all dogs are great dogs. This is a fantastic dog.
It’s not his fault that his owner just happens to be Nix’s soulmate.
He doesn’t care what anyone (Ron, the police, common sense) says. He is not stalking Richard Winters.
Finding out where a man lives isn’t stalking. In the age of the internet, anyone can do that – it doesn’t make Nix shifty, even if he spends a few minutes sitting outside of Richard Winters’s house before he dares do anything.
A few minutes is actually several hours, and what he does – as soon as another car pulls into the driveway and a tall redheaded man steps out – is speed away like his engine is on fire. The dog, who Lewis has taken to calling Bacon due to his remarkable affinity for the snack, wags his tail in the backseat. One glance, and Lewis is reminded of how he’s failed him.
He didn’t seek out Richard Winters so he could stalk his soulmate. He just wants to give him his dumb dog back.
(His great dog. His amazing dog. His great, amazing, dumb dog. His soulmate has incredible taste in dogs.)
He let Bacon down. He can’t let this happen again. He can’t let Richard Winters get the better of him.
He’ll try again tomorrow, Nix decides, and lets his mind rest easy for the night.
After about a week of this, his friends start to get concerned. Nix is more than willing to point out the irony of this situation, considering he’s got three best friends, and two of them are Harry “I proposed to my girlfriend while ice skating on a frozen lake, fell through, and had to be rescued by firefighters” Welsh, and Ron “I stole a police car” Speirs. To pretend that he’s suddenly the most misguided of them all isn’t just a stretch, it’s a pole vault.
Unfortunately, however, Lewis’s final best friend is Carwood Lipton, who takes to being the only responsible one in their friend group like a duck to water. He was born to be the mature friend. He was also born to give those disappointed stares that make Lewis feel like he’s just kicked a puppy, or let down everyone he’s ever loved.
Lip has actual grounds to criticize him, and when he finds out what Nix has been up to, he’s as happy as could be predicted.
“You’re going to get arrested. Someone is going to notice your car out there every day, call the police, and you will be arrested. Not just for stalking, but dog theft. All because you couldn’t work up the nerve to approach your soulmate.”
Behind Lip’s shoulder, Harry is giving an enthusiastic nod. Ron, who’s just bored with Nix’s entire crisis, flashes a thumbs up. Nix scowls and scuffs his feet against the floor.
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he insists. “I’m going to give the dog back soon.”
Lipton frowns, mouth pursing. “Soon had better be tomorrow, otherwise you’re going to get in actual trouble. Give yourself a break, Lewis. Talk to the man.”
The worst part is, Lip has a point. Lip always has a point, and Nix knows this.
So, he steals Ron’s car instead.
He’s going to get retribution eventually, but he’ll dodge karma for as long as he can. If Ron can’t catch him, he can’t kill him. By the time Ron finally does catch up to him, he’ll have given the dumb dog back to his dumb soulmate, and this will all be over.
In the meantime, hopefully no one calls the cops on him.
He finds Richard Winters putting up lost dog posters around the neighborhood Nix likes to walk Bacon.
He happens to be walking Bacon at that time, in fact, so his reaction is nothing short of blind panic. He does an about-face, ducks into someone’s backyard, and ties Bacon to a swingset.
“Stay,” he hisses. “I’ll be right back, just -- stay!”
He can’t be positive that Winters hasn’t seen him until he approaches the man and sees no flash of recognition in his eyes. Winters doesn’t accuse him of stealing his dog on sight; he also doesn’t collapse at his feet and start calling him his soulmate. As far as Nix is concerned, these are good things.
“Lost something?” he asks, tilting his head. Dick offers a close-lipped smile.
“My dog. I lost him a few weeks ago. His name’s Buddy. He’s a Bernese Mountain Dog, about five years old. He really likes bacon.”
Well, I’ll be damned, Nix thinks. He forces a smile. “Sorry to hear that. I’ve got a dog myself --” (or he had a dog, until his ex-wife took him, along with half his money and most of his pride) “-- I know how rough it can be. They try to eat all your food and always smell weird, but you can’t help loving them.”
Something about Nix’s words -- or maybe the dry humor -- coaxes a real smile out of the other man. Nix feels like he’s been punched in the chest. that smile... god, they could write symphonies about that smile. “My name’s Dick. You live around here, right?”
“Yeah,” Nix says, and swallows hard. “About a street away, but in the area.”
“Keep an eye out, please? If you see anything... well, I’d really like him back. Or at least to know he’s okay.”
“Sure,” says Nix, feeling dumb as a post, and a little like a horrible person. “I’ll be sure to give you a call -- uhh, what’s your number?”
Okay, it was on the poster -- but Lewis gets Dick Winters to enter it in his phone personally, and in his opinion, that’s the most progress he’s made so far. Who’s Lipton calling a coward? Nix is on top of things.
Then the top of Dick’s shirt inches down, and Nix catches sight of black script printed across his collarbone. He’d swear it says ‘Nixon’, though he can’t really be sure.
After that, he can’t get away fast enough.
“I want my car back,” Ron declares, popping up in the backseat. Nix lets out a yell, and nearly crashes the car. His overreaction is justified, considering he’s been driving for ten minutes now, and he had no idea Ron was even here.
“Oh, did I mention Ron came with me?” Lip remarks mildly, taking a sip of his coffee. Lewis gapes at him.
“Betrayed. By my only ally. By my best friend.” He steers the car back onto the road, glaring out the dashboard. He can still see Ron reach up, pluck Lip’s coffee from his hands, and take a sip before handing it back to him. Lip smiles indulgently and gives Ron’s hand a squeeze before bringing it up to his mouth. They’re so disgustingly romantic that
“As if you didn’t pretend to be me when you met your soulmate. For a month. No higher ground here, buddy.”
“Oh, that’s low,” Ron says, voice flat. He won’t meet Nix’s eyes, or Lip’s. It’s been half a year, but the shame is still palpable. (And it still makes Lip laugh his ass off.) “That’s very low.”
Ron shoots him the betrayed look of a kicked puppy. In spite of himself, Nix feels a grin spread across his face. Nothing makes him feel better about his own failures than picking on his friends for the even worse things that they’ve done. Thankfully, he’s friends with people like Harry and Ron – terrible ideas are in abundance, and Nix has photographic evidence of all of them.
“You did make a very poor Lewis Nixon,” Lip admits. “I figured out you were lying about something the fourth time I said your name and you stared at me blankly for half a minute before replying. You’re a lot of wonderful things, but you’re not subtle.”
Ron’s annoyance melts away. He’s smirking as he leans up to plant a kiss on Lip’s cheek. In reply, Lip gently cups the side of his face. Nix debates the merits of slamming on the brakes and sending them both through the windshield.
Instead he just accelerates, knocking Ron back into his seat. “Will you put on your seatbelt?”
He doesn’t even feel bad when Ron salutes him with his middle finger.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” says Lip, picking up their topic from before Ron’s sudden emergence as if they’ve never been interrupted. “And don’t tell me you won’t, because you have no choice at this point. You’re not a monster, Nix. You’re not even an asshole, though you have your moments. This is one of those moments.”
“Thanks,” Nix comments dryly. His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “What am I going to do?”
“You,” says Lip, “are going to give that poor man his dog back. And you’re going to introduce yourself to your soulmate.”
Dick Winters returns home that afternoon to find Nix’s car -- his real car -- parked in front of his house. Sitting on his front step are his missing dog and a very forlorn-looking Lewis Nixon.
“So,” Nix says, rising to his feet as Dick approaches. “I guess I found your dog.”
As Bacon/Buddy rushes to greet his owner, Dick embraces him. It’s a few minutes before he gets over his happiness enough to speak. (Lewis is proud of himself for not taking advantage of the distraction to make a quick escape.)
“He looks well taken care of,” Dick observes. “Someone’s been feeding him, grooming him, playing with him. He seems happy.”
Nix swallows hard. “About that. I may have gotten... attached.”
“You don’t say,” Dick replies, looking torn between amusement and mild interest. Nix is sure he’s sweating more than a sinner in church, especially when Dick holds out a hand to him.
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced -- and, seeing as you saved my dog, it only seems polite. I’m Richard Winters.”
“Lewis,” he stammers, the words heavy as clay on his tongue. “Lewis Nixon.”
Dick shakes his head, smile growing wider, and Nix has the inexplicable feeling that he knew all along.
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The Rolling Stones' Charlie Watts
Keith Altham, New Musical Express, 20 January 1968
ROLLING STONE CHARLIE WATTS TAKES OVER MANSION OF FIRST ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY!
A ROLLING STONE, having rolled, has come to rest in a magnificent, centuries old manor house, just outside Lewes in Sussex, which was reputedly used by the first Archbishop of Canterbury as a hunting lodge and was formerly inhabited by Lord Shawcross, a former attorney-general.
You can almost feel the history of Charlie Watts' home, which is not far from his former Lewes home, in the time-worn bends of the great oak beams and the vast open fireplaces that yawn like mysterious caves.
Charlie has apparently got more personal satisfaction out of his success than any of the other Stones. His home is a reflection of his own artistic taste and that of his delightful wife, Shirley. They have filled the rooms with antiques, ornaments and paintings collected from near and far
There is a fine library of books in the living room with the emphasis on art and authors who range from Dylan Thomas to Oscar Wilde. One magnificent volume which Charlie showed me was several hundred years old and contained beautiful prints somewhat ironically depicting the horrors of the Inquisition.
In contrast, on a nearby settee I noticed a copy of an American comic announcing the adventures of the Incredible Hulk and Giant-man. This proved to be the property of young cousin Andrew, who later introduced me to the delights of England footballer Jimmy Greaves singing 'Strollin'' from an EP which had intruded into Charlie's collection of Modern Jazz giants.
There is the noble head of the Greek god Hypnos in green marble in the living room and a magnificent four poster bed with a sword rack at its head in one of the bedrooms. There is a small room full of Victorian dolls with wicked china faces, which Shirley collects.
The study is stacked with rifles and revolvers from the American Civil War. Encased in glass is the Muster Roll for a troop of American cavalry which lists each man and his rank and how many dollars he drew in 1880. One trooper is listed in small, neat hand-writing as being executed for having stolen a rifle.
"Charlie's a decent old stick," affirmed the little taxi driver who drove me out to the Watts' residence.
"He's never miserable and always good to have a drink with. He calls us out quite a lot as he can't drive himself. Never out of bed when we go round but then that wouldn't be Charlie if he was, would it?"
By the time we arrived at the house I knew Charlie had three cats, one called Louise, and three collies called Jake, Trim and Jess and that he also owned a donkey and an eighteen-year-old racehorse called Energy.
Jockey
"I rode him in a race when he was a three-year-old," affirmed my driver. "Good animal!"
Having requested the guided tour of Charlie's home and been instructed several times: "Don't print that or that" and told "You can't be interested in that," I returned to the lounge where Charlie sprawled across the carpet and recalled times gone by.
"Two years ago it was like a nightmare," confessed Charlie. "The travelling and the speed of everything. There was no time to live. The English tours were the worst for the travelling and we had reporters and photographers practically living with us the whole time.
"You're the first journalist I've allowed through the door. The ones that really frighten me are the powerful writers on some of the Nationals. It's frightening to think that with a few well chosen quotes or clever angles they are capable of destroying someone like John Lennon.
"Things are much easier now, but it's funny to sit back and read about people like Peter Frampton, who the Press are building up like they did Mick. Strange to think that he is only eighteen and he is likely to go through all the things that we had to.
"I've got time to do things that I have never been able to do before. Alan Price and his band came down to play in Lewes the other evening and I went down to hear him. Before I've just swept in and out of dressing rooms, while with the Rolling Stones. Now I'm able to talk to people like Alan and just listen to the band. He was very good. I really enjoyed that evening."
We took a short break from talking while Charlie showed me some of his "toys." There are three mechanicals robots on top of the TV set which when set in motion, flaps open in their chests to reveal blazing guns. In contrast he has acquired a lovely old Edison phonograph with the huge bell and about thirty cylinders. Charlie put on a stirring rendition of 'Boys Of The Old Brigade' and asked me to guess how much the old machine had cost. I thought well over a hundred pounds.
"Thirty quid the lot," said Charlie proudly. "It's just knowing where to look that counts."
Back to the living room we filled the room with some more words and music. Charlie asked me what sort of music I liked and selected, from his huge selection of LPs that are catalogued on shelves about the room, a jazz-guitar album by Kenny Burrell. We discussed who, if anyone, was following in the Stones' rebellious footsteps.
Following
"I saw the Who when they appeared on TV in all those weird policemen's hats and Townshend had one of his teeth blacked out," recalled Charlie. "I liked that.
"The best thing I've seen in years though was Denny Laine and his String Band at the Saville Theatre. He just doesn't seem to have got the recognition he deserves."
We played some more discs by the Four Tops and one by Jimmy Beaumont called 'You Got Too Much Going For You' which is a particular favourite of Charlie's, before cousin Andrew finally introduced us to the delights of Tottenham Hotspur football team's "singalong" EP.
"You got to admit it was a good idea of somebody," smiled Charlie as he listened to Greaves singing off-key and out of time on "Strollin''. "They must have sold thousands!"
Charlie is not exactly a football fanatic but admitted to being greatly impressed by a display by Leicester City's goalkeeper Shilton recently.
"Unbelievable in this match on TV," said Charlie, "And only eighteen years old – must be joking." Those last three words are Charlie's final and only accolade for "impressive."
And so it was that Charlie and Andrew made plans to go and see Quatermass And The Piton Sunday afternoon and we all decided to go into Brighton that evening for a Chinese meal. I borrowed two pounds from Charlie which he withdrew from a wooden tea caddy after much scraping.
"Won't leave you short at the end of the week, will it mate?" I grinned and Charlie smiled that sad faraway smile which only the really satisfied can smile.
#Charlie watts#rolling stones#the who#pete townshend#denny laine#alan price#interview#Peter frampton#nme#1968#1960s#sixties#60s
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A Family Home Full Of Warmth, Fit For A Colour Queen!
A Family Home Full Of Warmth, Fit For A Colour Queen!
Homes
Lucy Feagins
Reclaimed beams from an old railway bridge in Gippsland near Buchan Caves. Jardan Sunny couch. Kip&Co cushions. Paloma coffee table from Sarah Ellison. Vintage Scandinavian chairs from Grandfather’s Axe. Vintage rug from Morocco. Vase handmade by Alex’s sister, who also runs fashion and jewellery label Aestas. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
The family. Quincy wears a Kip&Co dress. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Jardan Sunny couch. Kip&Co cushions. Paloma coffee table from Sarah Ellison. Vintage Scandinavian chairs from Grandfather’s Axe. Vintage rug from Morocco. Vase handmade by Alex’s sister, who owns fashion and jewellery label Aestas. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Detail of artisan handmade table from India and Kip&Co pea cushions. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Outdoor lights from Family Love Tree. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Commissioned artwork by Esther Olsson, framed by United Measures. Artisan table handmade in India. Indonesian stools from Rustique in Chelsea with pea cushions from Kip&Co. Custom-made chairs from Bali, vintage vase. Lights above bench are from Weylandts (now closed). Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
‘Vases were collected from our travels around Australia and gifts from friends,’ says Alex. Pendant lights from Weylandts (now closed). Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Rug by Felt Indie in Byron Bay. Vintage papier mache vase from Jodhpur. Plant from Into the Wild. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Artwork by Peter McConchie. Bedside table from Sarah Ellison. Vintage lamp. All bedding Kip&Co. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Curved tri-colour concrete bench from Rutso Concrete. The colours represent the local landscape, the beach, the earth and the sky. Oyster shell lights in the hallway from Storie in Melbourne. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Vase found in Brooklyn. Jewellery by Aestas. Shells from local markets. Hand towel Kip&Co. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Jewellery by Aestas. Shells from local markets. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
‘Picture window looking west so you can see the sunset from the bath at the end of a long day. Best bath ever!’ Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
‘Bunks, ladder, rails and lights built into the structure of the house for the most solid kiddie beds you are ever likely to come across!’ Pendant light from Cove Island Essentials in Bali. Rocking horse was a gift by Alex’s business partner, Hayley, from a local Mornington Peninsula vintage store. All bedding and cushions Kip&Co. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Artwork by Heath Newman. Vintage papier mache vase from Jodhpur. All bedding and cushions Kip&Co. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Master bedroom en-suite. Kip&Co hand towel. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
One of a kind light by Kaye Clancy! Master bedroom features super textural seagrass wallpaper. Chairs custom-made made in Bali. All bedding by Kip&Co. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Master bedroom features super textural seagrass wallpaper. Chairs custom-made in Bali. All bedding by Kip&Co. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
‘The entrance features local and recycled and materials, including reclaimed pillars and beams, local Red Hill stone, hardy native plants for the gardens and excess concrete from the kitchen bench for the steppers.’ Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
A grass mat woven from Indigenous practices traditional to Elcho Island in Arnhem land (where Alex’s sister lived for five years!) hangs in the hallway. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Custom planter boxes created using offcuts from the timer cladding sit on the northern side of the house with succulents grown from cuttings sourced from Alex’s garden in St Kilda. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
‘Already the favourite place to gather for a snack, spritz and yarn is around the oversize table on the patio. Quincy enjoys drawing on the bricks in chalk with the adults natter away.’ Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Custom planter boxes created using offcuts from the timer cladding sit on the northern side of the house with succulents grown from cuttings sourced from Alex’s garden in St Kilda. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Row upon row of Pinot Gris vines! Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
And some more… Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
‘The patio features recycled materials, including reclaimed posts and frame, salvaged cream bricks as paving, and excess concrete from the kitchen bench for the outdoor table.’ Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.
Alex McCabe grew up just five minutes from where her newly built home in Merricks North is located. The vineyard the house is situated on was owned by her parents for more than 30 years until they recently decided to sell, and much to Alex’s surprise, she decided to buy it from them! ‘When I was younger I couldn’t wait to move away from the sleepy Mornington Peninsula (a lot sleepier back then!) and now I can’t wait to move back,’ she says ‘Times have changed!’
Apart from vines covering two thirds of the block, there was only half a shed on the site, so Alex and her husband Bobby set out to build a weekender from scratch. The couple worked with McManus Lew on the design (the same architect who designed their St Kilda house – check out our feature on that here!) and CVS Construction on the build.
As the co-founder and creative director of Kip&Co, Alex is known for her love of colour, but this house is all about texture. ‘That is the overall, unifying theme and the driving force behind the design,’ she says. Setting the tone for this look is the corten steel front door framed with century-old, recycled timber beams from Gippsland. The interior walls throughout feature various textures including stucco, render and seagrass wallpaper. ‘I think all that texture makes it feel really warm and welcoming and calm,’ says Alex.
Windows have been installed at strategic points in order to frame aspects of the land. Alex loves watching the sunrise from her bed, and the sunset from the living room picture window. ‘Oh and there’s a window for you to watch the sunset from the bath too,’ she says. ‘Did I mention I am into windows?! Ha!’
It wouldn’t be an Alex home without some colour, but the shades used here have been strategically selected to reflect the surrounding landscape. ‘The red bathroom is inspired by the red soil, and the amazing tricoloured island bench fits with the colours of the nearby beaches’ she says. Homewares from the new Kip&Co Heartland collection adds another layer of colour throughout!
Despite not originally intending to return to the Peninsula, after pouring so much love into this weekender, Alex and her family now plans to live here full time. ‘I love that we get to live among the beautiful vines, the red clay and undulating land of this unique part of the world, where wineries and beaches are equally accessible (and equally important!)’ Alex says. ‘I love that my parents chose this block of land together 30-plus years ago to start their dream of a vineyard, and now Bobby and I are living out our dream of raising our little rugrats on the same very spot.’
Kip&Co just released their latest homewares and apparel collections this week! Heartland is available from kipandco.com.au. now. So much good stuff.
Also…our supremely talented art director Annie Portelli made this sweet little 1-minute video snapshot below of Alex and Bobby’s home – check it out below!
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F for Fake: A study of Orson Welles’ film noses - Part 4: The 1970s & 1980s
From Orson Welles’ Sketchbook - 1955
Following on from Orson’s 1940s noses (here), 1950s noses (here), and 1960s noses (here) with the running total at real 22 : 31 fake, we slide irrevocably into the final stages of Orson’s career, the 1970s and 1980s.
Ok, the 1960s were hard work, folks, but they look like a shining beacon of greatness compared to what comes after. Don’t get me wrong, Orson is always always great, and there are some wonderful moments, but they’re few and far between. But it’s ok, because it funded F for Fake, and gave him hope, and hey, he worked with the Muppets.
I’m very sad to bring this to a close, because it’s the most ridiculous thing I think I’ve ever dedicated my time and research to, but I’ll be glad to get back to my favourite Orsons, be it Mike O’Hara, or Macbeth, or Rochester, or Harry Lime, or Orson in his very own skin, and - praise the baby cheeses - own nose.
The Kremlin Letter [d: John Huston, 1970]
Character: Bresnavitch
Nose: Real
Orson begins the decade as he doesn’t mean to go on: Russian, clean shaven (and dark haired), and working for a great director (who has, in this case, made a rare tedious film).
~
Catch-22 [d: Mike Nichols, 1970]
Character: Colonel Dreedle
Nose: Real
real nose, real hair, real face, not-real military rank
~
Waterloo [d: Sergei Bondachuk, 1970]
Character: Louis XVIII
Nose: Fake
Another historical epic, another short cameo, another ever-so-slightly fake nose, as well as some light stagecraft with the makeup.
~
Malpertuis [d: Harry Kümel, 1971]
Character: Cassavius
Nose: Fake
It’s a Belgian fantasy-horror film with Orson playing one of many mythical Greek characters, what’s not to love. Featuring Orson’s most OTT stagecraft of the decade.
~
A Safe Place [d: Henry Jaglom, 1971]
Character: Magician
Nose: Real
EVERYTHING IS REAL INCLUDING THE MAGIC. Orson at his most wonderfully benevolently uncle-ish.
Ten Day’s Wonder (La Décade prodigieuse) [d: Claude Chabrol, 1971]
Character: Theo Van Horn
Nose: Fake
Colour film is not as forgiving of nose putty as black and white, Orson, but it’s ok, he’s reunited with Tony Perkins (again). This is Orson’s own beard, which will be a staple of the 1970s.
~
Necromancy [d: Bert I Gordon, 1972]
Character: Mr Cato
Nose: Fake
This film is available on dvd, whereas some Orson films (and indeed some classics of cinema) are not. There is no justice in the world.
Also: this marks the end of the fake noses. I think Orson was finally at the point where he didn’t feel the need to age himself up (he was nearly sixty, after all). Or possibly he just couldn’t be arsed any more.
~
Get To Know Your Rabbit [d: Brian de Palma, 1972]
Character: Mr Delasandro
Nose: Real
Orson is another magician (yay!) teaching a tap-dancing newbie magician (whut?) in a film that de Palma (up til then a comedy film maker) was kicked off before the end. Hmm.
~
Treasure Island [d: John Hough, 1972]
Character: Long John Silver
Nose: Real
Fun fact: the script was originally written by Orson in the 60s, but by the time this was filmed, it had been rewritten so much Orson asked to be credited pseudonymously as O.W. Jeeves.
~
F for Fake [d: Orson Welles, 1974]
Character: HIMSELF
Nose: Real
Dear god it is a relief to have not just a great Orson performance but a joy of an Orson-directed film. Is there any greater line delivery than ‘for the last seventeen minutes I’ve been lying my head off’?
~
Voyage of the Damned [d: Stuart Rosenberg, 1976]
Character: Raoul Estedes
Nose: Real
The nose (and beard and hair) are real, but the eyebrows are disturbingly tiny.
~
The Muppet Movie [d: James Frawley, 1979]
Character: Lew Lord
Nose: Real
One of Orson’s shortest and best cameos, in a film that is the opposite of rubbish (although it’s not my fave Muppet film, that’s The Great Muppet Caper, shout out to Charles Grodin for being fucking amazing in it).
~
The Secret of Nikolai Tesla [d: Krsto Papic, 1980]
Character: J.P. Morgan
Nose: Real
Orson’s final real-person film role, in a Yugoslavian film about Tesla. He gets to sit in a fancy chair (can you tell I have not watched this film properly, give me a break, the eighties are hard work).
~
Butterfly [d: Matt Cimber, 1982]
Character: Judge Rauch
Nose: Real
Excellent hair work from Orson here. This film got ten nominations at the ‘82 Razzies. I leave you to decide if it’s worth watching.
~
Where is Parsifal? [d: Henri Helman, 1984]
Character: Klingsor
Nose: Real
This is all I have, apart from the fact that this film also stars Tony Curtis and Donald Pleasence, has never had a vhs or dvd release, and Orson plays a gypsy. Yeah.
~
Hot Money [d: Zale Magder, 1985]
Character: Sheriff Paisley
Nose: Real
I don’t even have anything to say apart from that is an authentic 80s glasses choice there, Orson.
~
Someone To Love [d: Henry Jaglom, 1987]
Character: Danny’s Friend
Nose: Real
Posthumously released, and never mentioned (how many times have you heard that Orson’s last role was in The Transformers Movie? - this was produced before but released after that). It’s not a great swan song, but then, Orson was always going on to the next thing, and was also never one to be precious about these things. All these last films were making him money so he could make another film (or finish The Other Side of the Wind, or get another start on Quixote).
SO! The 70s and 80s total is real 13 : 4 fake bringing the grand total up to real 35 : 35 fake NO FUCKING WAY IT’S A DRAW! I did not expect that.
At the time he made his wild claim he was at real 11 : 10 fake which was far more representative than I thought it would be of the total.
WOW. It’s finally the end. It’s been a joy, a trial, a moving and frustrating experience. I’ve watched films I wouldn’t have watched, I’ve scrolled through films I will never watch, and I still - after all this - fucking love Orson like no-one else.
And now I can go back and start again with my faves.
#orson welles#f for fake: orson's film noses#*5#*55#IT's OVERRRRR#what even is my life#this has been a labour of love#I can't believe I stuck it to the end#thank you the internet for making some of the worst films ever available to me#I love old man orson#even though he's not even very old#my wee gifs
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VE Day and Vat ‘69
Here you go @inglourious-imagines. It's very short and i wish it came out better. the idea sounded a lot better in my head 🙈
All requests are open. Here is my prompt list but please feel free to use one that isn't on this one💕
Taglist: @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @teenmagazines @curraheewestandalone @liebegott @vintagelavenderskies @easy-company-tradition @inglourious-imagines @happyveday @sydney-m
While everyone was off celebrating the long-awaited good news, Lewis Nixon was nowhere to be found, and neither was Buddy your shared dog. You didn’t worry too much, wherever Nix went, Buddy followed. That dog never left his side since Lewis ‘adopted’ him. The last anyone had seen either of them was when he cleared out the cellar. Hearing the other officers were chilling on the balcony earlier you decided to try there. It seemed like the only placed you hadn’t looked for him. When you seen him sprawled out on a chair, you felt a smile creep onto your face. He looked the most relaxed he had in months. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you”
“Did you miss me?” The lopsided smile on his face let you know he was tipsy. He was happy and seeing him in a good mood made you happy too.
“Babe, I was talking to the dog” You sat on the edge on the lounger your boyfriend was sprawled across to pet Buddy. The dog jumped up, so his front two paws were on your legs, begging you to scratch behind his ears. “I have a surprise- Is that what I think it is?” You were distracted as from behind you, you could hear Lew chewing on something and you turned around to face him.
The smug look was one you wished you was able to capture on camera. In his hand was his long dreamed of bacon sandwich. It made you wonder where he had gotten it from, but that was a question for another time, because he held his hand, that held the sandwich, out and offered you some.
“You must really love me to be sharing your precious bacon sandwich with me” You took a bite while he gave you a loving smile. There was no one else he would dare share his favourite thing with. Sitting in silence as Nix finished his long overdue love affair with a bacon sandwich, you both admired the view. It's not every day you get to relax on sun loungers drinking expensive alcohol.
“You said you had a surprise?” With his eyebrow raised in that attractive way everyone loved, a slight smirk spread across his face as if to say, ‘what you have can't possibly be better than this beautiful bacon sandwich I trekked across Europe to find’. You matched his smirk, about to make an already fantastic day amazing. Leaning down to pull the bottle of Vat 69 from under the lounger, your eyes never left his. The teasing look he always held just for you could be seen more clearly in his tipsy state.
Nixon’s eyes leaped out of his head once he seen what you held in your hand. “Where did you find that?”
“I will not reveal my hiding place.” You giggled. “I had it hidden so we could celebrate the end of the war in style.” Nix fell forward when he tried to grab the bottle of Vat from you and he missed of course. You pulled the bottle just out of his grasp wanting to tease him for a little bit longer. He knew what you wanted, and he was more than willing to give it to you.
You leaned in first, slowly watching your boyfriend lick his lips. Both of you crashed together and you could taste the whatever champagne he had been drinking on his lips. The way his tongue moved across your bottom lip asking for permission had your head spinning and you were not in a state to deny him. You let him lead, following his movements, and it wasn’t until the bottle was ripped from your grip did you realise that was his plan all along; to distract you with a kiss.
“Happy VE Day, sweetheart” Nix opened the bottle, taking a swig while patting his chest letting you know he wanted you to lie against him and you did as he asked. You both sat there on the balcony of the Eagle’s Nest with Buddy while sharing a bottle of Vat, after eating a bacon sandwich and neither one could think of a better way to celebrate. Well, maybe there was one better way…….
#lewis nixon request#lewis nixon x reader#lewis nixon imagine#lewis nixon imagines#nixon request#nixon x reader#nixon imagine#nixon imagines#band of brothers imagines#band of brothers imagine#band of brothers x reader
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