#.... i am willing to admit that what first interested me in john was how hot and bothered jdm makes me feel....

[fujobrainrot]

the Winchesters biggest fault was how toothless it was with all the characters. Their deepest secrets and most evil deeds were "I did the right thing but other evil people punished me for it"

In spn (most notably the early seasons), characters had real faults, made terrible choices, hid their selfish acts under a veil of righteousness (or were so deep in denial that they didn't even see how selfish their actions were) but the Winchesters did the exact opposite: pretended everyone's virtues were faults. And it came off bland and boring. I'm a John appreciator BECAUSE of the flavor of good + bad that makes him feel so human. Give me ambiguity, subjectivity, humanity, make me think hard about why I like this character.

[montrealmadison]

drink deeply

or, as they say at samwell, “penitus potes.” shitty gives the toast at jack and bitty’s wedding. for @zimbitsweddingofficial and day two of zimbits wedding week: the wedding itself!

just for fun, a draft version of the beginning of this fic with lardo, ransom, and holster’s “helpful” edits can be found via google doc here. hope y’all enjoy! <3

Good evening, everyone! On behalf of Jack and Eric, thank you all so much for being here tonight, and welcome to what could very well be the most highly anticipated wedding reception of 2019. I mean, this party was planned by the likes of Suzanne Bittle and Alicia Zimmermann. We are in for a treat, folks.

Before we get to all that, I’d also like to extend a particular welcome to those in attendance who are part of the playing, coaching, and/or office staff of the Providence Falconers. Glad you could all make it this evening; I know this past week was a little bit busy for you guys.

[Insert appropriate pause and gesture to the punch bowl, which on closer inspection is actually—oh yeah—the Stanley Cup the Falcs won three days ago. Hold for inevitable applause, general hysteria, and/or hooting/hollering from Tater.]

For those of you who don’t know me, I’ve been trying to decide whether I should introduce myself by my first name, which will inevitably get me mocked by my friends until the end of time, or by my nickname, which will definitely scandalize anyone who has not spent a significant amount of time around twenty-year-old guys who play hockey. However, as I look around the room, I’m realizing that most of you probably either raised, spent significant time around, or were once a twenty-year-old guy who played hockey. To the rest of you, I am profoundly sorry.

So, hi! I’m Shitty, and I’m Jack’s best man.

read more below or on ao3

Being someone’s best man, as I’ve realized over the last few months, should really come with a playbook or an instruction manual or something, because it’s a task unlike any other you’ll ever take on. In addition to being a friend, you have to be a confidant, an expert at bachelor-party debauchery (I think my college resume definitely prepared me for this part) and someone who’s not afraid to step in to make last-minute decisions so the grooms don’t have to. You also have to do all of these things without getting fired from your job or stepping on anyone’s toes, up to and including: the couple getting married, the other people in the wedding party, the grooms’ parents, the wedding planner, and most importantly, Moomaw, whose word is law around here. 

(Seriously. She made the pie tonight, people. Bow down to her.)

But as much as the role can feel a little bit like you’re being thrown in at the deep end, it also definitely comes with its perks. Tonight, I have both the honor and the challenge of somehow summarizing how much I love Jack and Eric in a speech that is heartfelt and witty yet also brief so that we can get to the aforementioned pie as quickly as possible. If you’re still following me here, that is a tall order—but here goes nothing!

I met Jack Zimmermann on our first day of freshman year at Samwell, during the bright, hot summer of 2011. I was participating in the time-honored tradition of moving into a dorm on the third floor of a building with no elevator and no air conditioning in the middle of August. It builds character, or so the good folks in Samwell administration probably tell themselves. Anyway, athletes got to move in early for preseason, so I was expecting to be one of the only guys on the floor for at least a couple days. I was just carrying the last box into my room when the door next to mine opened and—well, you can probably guess who walked out.

Now, I grew up in Boston, which means I also grew up around hockey culture. I’d heard the news that Jack was coming to Samwell, so I knew who he was when he stepped into the hall in that same vague way that you kind of-sort of recognize celebrities hustling down the street or through the airport with their sunglasses on. And he gave me that same vibe—“I know you know who I am, and I’d very much like not to be bothered about it.”

Here is something that will not shock you if you know us: Jack was the first friend I made in college. Here is something that might shock you if you know us: That definitely doesn’t mean we were friends at first. By his own admission, Jack wasn’t at Samwell to make friends at all. He told me, much later, that he was only planning to go to play hockey, get his life back on track, and keep his head down as much as possible.

So in retrospect, maybe it was an unlucky thing for Jack that he ran into the one person who wasn’t going to let him do that.

Because no matter who you are or where you’re from, freshman year of college breeds a unique kind of terror I’ve never felt anywhere else. There’s a lot of pressure to completely remake yourself, to become the person you maybe never could have been in your hometown. By coming to Samwell, I wanted to be a different kind of kid than the one that Andover had raised. Jack wanted to be a different kind of kid than the one he’d spent twenty years telling himself he had to be. As much as neither of us wanted to admit it, we both wanted similar things out of our college experience, and we needed a support system to do that. And so, however begrudging the two of us were about it at first, we started to bond more and more.

It wasn’t always easy. For one thing, my idea of a good time was a lot louder than Jack’s—who enjoyed such scintillating pursuits as “watching golf” and “going to bed at a reasonable hour”, neither of which were quite in my vocabulary at the ripe old age of eighteen. Also, if it’s before six in the morning, he has a hard time remembering to speak English, which used to make for a lot of stilted conversations between the two of us as we walked to early morning practice. (On a completely unrelated note, the first and probably only thing I ever learned in Québécois is how to swear.)

I don’t remember the exact tipping point at which Jack and I really became friends; I think it was more of a quiet acknowledgment that we liked having each other around, that we balanced each other out in ways that neither of us initially knew we needed. What I do know is that, slowly but surely, I started to get glimpses of the Jack that exists off the ice. And so began one of the most extraordinary journeys of my life, because the only thing crazier than knowing Jack Zimmermann is actually knowing Jack.

Here are some things that I’ve learned in the process: He’s on his third pair of neon yellow running shoes, which he buys specifically because the color makes him happy. Before either of us tried Eric’s pies, the only thing that could make him cheat on a meal plan was a sleeve of Double Stuf Oreos. (Don’t ask him how to eat them correctly unless you’re interested in a twenty-minute speech on exactly how they have to be pulled apart.) And he loves Captain America, although it is the opinion of this best man that America’s ass has nothing on his hockey butt. Have you seen that thing? It has Internet fans in at least two different countries. 

But I digress.

In our sophomore year we lived next to each other again, by choice instead of by chance, in what I can only describe as the pinnacle of American college living: the Samwell Men’s Hockey Haus. We used to pull the comforter off of one of our beds and climb out onto the roof and clear off the snow so we could share the blanket, look up at the stars, and listen to the bass thumping through the wall of the house next door. On nights when other things felt confusing, this one part of my life was clear. There’s something about sitting out under the open sky that just makes it easier to talk to a guy, you know? 

Some nights the conversations we had were funny. Some nights they were serious. Some nights we said nothing at all, just sat secure in the knowledge that someone cared enough to exist alongside us for a little while. There was always an unspoken agreement between us on nights like these: I got your back. For me, Jack’s friendship became a rock, a refuge. It’s something that I came to depend on that year and still do to this day.

As for the content of those late-night conversations—well, some things do have to stay between friends. I’m sure Jack will agree, especially because he has so graciously allowed me to get up here and lovingly roast him just a little bit.

So let’s skip ahead again, to yet another August, the start of our junior year, and the arrival on the scene of one Eric Bittle. This kid burst into our ranks like a ray of Southern sunshine and turned pretty much everything upside down in the process. In the first five minutes of being in the Haus, he somehow made us a pie? Folks, I'm not kidding, it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. We were a bunch of guys who didn’t know what we were missing until we had it, and let me tell you, it was one hell of a semester after that. In pretty short order we had curtains on the windows and baked goods on the counters, and Samwell Men’s Hockey started to become not only a team but a family.

That was off the ice, at least. On it, things were a little more complicated. As our dear friend and former goalie John Johnson said to me, Jack and Eric hadn’t gone through their character development yet—whatever that means. 

Take our third or fourth practice with the full team that year, for example. It had gone… uh. Poorly, would be a word. Later that night I heard some rustling on the roof outside, and God knows I was willing to do just about anything but my homework—so I stuck my head out the window and there was Jack, watching the stars. I asked him if he wanted a buddy, and he said alright, so I slid out and sat down next to him.

That was pretty usual for us at this point. What wasn’t usual was the topic of conversation. The first thing Jack said to me was, “Bittle’s gonna get eaten alive when our schedule starts.” (Remember, people, they’re married now!) The second was, “I want to help.”

Here’s another thing about Jack: Underneath the veneer is a guy who just cares so intensely it’d shock you if you knew nothing else about him. It shocked me a little that day. I think it even shocked him to admit it, to the point where I had to say, “Jack, it’s not a criminal offense to care about other people. Even if it feels like you’re doing it for yourself.”

So he helped. He offered an olive branch, and Bits took him up on it. I’d hear the two of them get up in the morning, hours before the rest of us had to be at Faber, for checking practice. None of the rest of us ever knew exactly what went down, but one thing was for sure—Eric put in a ton of work to overcome some of the fears that had followed him to college. He got better, and Jack relaxed. The two of them really started working as a team, and things started looking up from there.

The day that they told us they were dating was pretty amazing. Eric is so full of light no matter how bleak a situation may look, but that day he was literally almost glowing. And I’ve seen Jack in moments after victory and loss, at his best and at his worst. But I’ve never seen a Jack who was so happy, possessed of such confidence in a decision he’d made, as I saw him that day at brunch. And that’s when I knew this relationship was really special. 

From there, many of you know the story. You watched it play out on ESPN and social media and the front pages of every single gossip magazine on the supermarket shelves. But if you’re sitting here with us tonight, you also watched it play out between Jack and Eric themselves. You’ve watched them handle expectations as a united front. You’ve watched their unfailing dedication to each other while they navigate the pressure of being some pretty big firsts. You know that, behind the scenes, these are two incredibly genuine people who  bring out the best in each other and are dedicated to doing that every single day.

In the last four years, I’ve watched Eric become self-possessed and confident because he was given the space to do so. In the last six years, I’ve watched Jack grow from a kid with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove to a guy who finally believes that he deserves all the good things the world has given him and then some. If you take nothing else away from this speech, I want you to know this: I’m incredibly proud to call myself a friend to both of them.

Jack, Bits, you’re always gonna be my brothers, my best friends, and two of the finest damn men I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. I wish you both a long and happy marriage. Take care of each other, be good to each other, and never forget where you started—as a team.

So please join me in raising your glasses, everyone, and as they say at Samwell—penitus potes to Jack and Eric!

[tinydooms]

I am so sorry to hear about your situation, I hope you are otherwise doing well. May I please request a prompt for Evie and Rick having a reading day (specifically set right after the first film, so they still are a little awkward around each other but still love and trust one another... I don't know, what ever you write, I love, so hopefully this gave you some inspiration but take it where you please :))

Thank you for your kind words! It's been a hell of a week, but I'm finally feeling better. Here is your fic: I hope you like it!

Cairo, October 1922

Evie woke up from her nap slowly, coming up out of deep sleep to find her Fort Brydon bedroom full of afternoon sunlight. The ceiling fan hummed overhead; the apartment was quiet save for the soft sound. Evie stretched, relishing the pull of her muscles and the softness of the bed beneath her. It was good to be back.

Her stomach gurgled and with a sigh, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Time for tea. Hot tea, and lots of it, and maybe a sandwich or three. She was starving. There was nothing like roughing it in the desert to bring one’s attention to the blessings of home and a fully-stocked larder. Would the men be hungry? Probably. She had left Rick and Jonathan to their own devices after Dr. Wilkinson had looked them all over earlier that day; he had prescribed plenty of water and rest after their long, hot trek back from Hamunaptra. Opening her bedroom door, Evie looked around for the men. Jonathan’s bedroom door was closed; he was probably napping. Rick was where Evie had left him earlier, lying on his cot by the window with a couple of ice packs soothing his cracked ribs, head cushioned on a stack of pillows, a book in hand. He looked up as she came into the room.

“Hey,” Rick said, flashing her that sideways smile. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Yes, thanks,” Evie said. “What are you reading?”

Rick waved the book at her. “Ah, Persuasion. I went through your bookshelf; I hope you don’t mind.”

Evie blinked. “You’re reading Persuasion?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s one of Austen’s best and I didn’t feel like reading anything related to ancient curses. I’d only read her other one--I don’t remember the title in English--Orgueil et préjugés--the one where they despise each other at first because her family is obnoxious and he’s really shy and arrogant.” Rick lifted an eyebrow at the look on Evie’s face. “I do know how to read, you know.”

She realized that she was gaping at him, open-mouthed. Shame boiled up in Evie; of course he knew how to read. “I’m sorry. I just meant, I didn’t have you down as the type to read social satire.”

She hadn’t had him down as the type to read, period, but then, Rick had mentioned liking Arsène Lupin and Sherlock Holmes, hadn’t he? And there had been a couple of books in his suitcase last night, when she looked through it for clothes to lay out for him.

Rick grinned. "It’s okay, Evelyn. I know what I look like. We’re still getting to know each other.” He shifted, laying the book down on his stomach. “Actually, I really like reading. I’ve made it a point throughout my life to maintain membership at whatever public libraries are available.”

This was new and intriguing information. Evie sat down in the armchair and curled her legs under her.

“What sort of things do you like to read about?”

Rick cocked his head, thinking. “Honestly? I’ll read just about anything as long as I can understand it. I like detective novels and adventure stories, though I think I’m going to go off those for a while.” They grinned at each other. “I read a lot of art history books before the War, and I like a good popular history. I’m not educated; I only went to school through the eighth grade. Maybe if my mom hadn’t died, I’d have finished high school and gone to college, but, well…”

He shrugged. Life hadn’t worked out that way.

“But you read,” Evie said. “My mother used to say that anyone can learn anything they like if they are willing to read about it.”

Rick nodded. “My mom used to say something like that, too. She absolutely refused to let me quit school and get a job in a factory, even though it would have helped.” A shadow passed over his face; Evie saw him push it away. “Would you like something to eat?” he said, rising up on his elbows. “Your stomach is rumbling.”

“Oh! Yes, I’d come out for tea,” Evie said, scrambling to her feet. “Don’t get up; you’re supposed to be resting.”

Rick blinked. “I’ve been resting all day. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it did, you know.”

“Still.” Evie bustled off towards the kitchen. “You’ve looked after me so well these past weeks, it’s time for me to return the favor. Would you like a sandwich? How do you take your tea?”

Rick sat up, moving slowly. “Strong, with milk and a little honey, if you’ve got it. Thanks.”

Evie smiled at him; he smiled back. She bustled around the little kitchen, setting the kettle to boil and making up sandwiches, and when everything was ready she carried it through to the table and held out a hand to help Rick up. He took it, looking at her in a way that made her blush, and followed her to the table.

“Thank you,” he said, looking from the plate of sandwiches to Evie. “All this, I don’t-- Thank you.”

Evie smiled at him again; again, he smiled back, and for a moment they stood grinning foolishly at each other. It was all so new, this togetherness, this friendship. Funny how one could learn everything there was to know about a person’s character by their actions, and still know hardly anything about them as a person. Evie gestured for Rick to sit, and they fell on the sandwiches.

“So tell me,” Rick said after they had spent a few minutes quietly eating. “What’s your favorite book? Besides the Book of Amun-Ra. I’m sorry about that, by the way. Jonathan didn’t mean to drop it.”

“I know.” A pang flashed through Evie as she remembered the splash the book had made as it hit the water in the crypt’s brackish pool. “But we made it out with our lives, and we have all of the rubbings and sketches we made before we, er, raised him, so it’s not a complete loss. And as to your question…” She sipped her tea, thinking. “Do you mean favorite novel or favorite book? Because I’m not sure I can pick just one.”

“Top three, then.” Rick leaned on his elbow, watching her with the same interest he had shown at Hamunaptra. Evie felt herself blushing. She could get used to this.

“Well, then, I would probably have to say Professor Walter Emerson’s book on hieroglyphics, since it was a huge influence on me when I was a child; Flinders Petrie’s book Naukratis, and well, Persuasion.”

Rick grinned. “Which is why it was here, among all the books on Egyptology.”

“Quite.” Evie brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She hadn’t bothered to pin her hair up. “What about you?”

Rick sat back, cradling his teacup in his big, strong hands. “I’d say my favorite book is Around the World in Eighty Days. I have a sentimental attachment to it; it was my favorite as a kid. I’ve read it in the original French, but I like the English translation better. But if I had a top three…” He paused to sip, thinking. “I don’t know, actually. I really like Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan and John Carter books, and I like Rudyard Kipling. I read a lot of Dickens after Gallipoli; they had his complete works at the hospital my regiment was sent to afterwards.”

“You were injured?”

“No.” A shadow passed through Rick’s eyes. “I mean, yes, I got shot in the side, but it was more a flesh wound than anything else. No, they sent us to rest and recuperate before going back to battle. It was a good break.”

He put the teacup down and reached for the pot. Evie hastened to lift it and refill. She brushed Rick’s hand as she scooted the milk jug towards him. He had such beautiful hands.

“I’ve never read Dickens,” she admitted, and he gave her a surprised look. “His writing never grabbed my attention,” she added. “I was much more interested in ancient stories than modern ones.”

“You don’t say.” Rick looked amused. “And you, a librarian. Is that what you got your degree in?”

“Library science? No, I did that afterwards. I, er, I studied Classics and Antiquity at university.”

Rick shifted his hands on the table, moving them close enough to tap the back of Evie’s hand. “Tell me.”

“You don’t mind that I went to university?”

The question leaped out before she could stop it, the tiny insecurity that Evie had always carried deep inside her and only rarely acknowledged. So many men were threatened by academic women. Rick looked astonished.

“Why would I mind that you went to university?” he asked. “Everybody should have the chance to go to university. I’d have loved to go to college. And anyway, of course you’re educated, I mean, look at you. With everything that’s happened the last few weeks, we’d all have died if you hadn’t known exactly what to do and how to read those hieroglyphs and all.”

“I know. It’s just...academic women are...frowned upon by society,” she said. “And I know we met in extraordinary circumstances, but I’ve never...You don’t think I’m ridiculous?”

Rick shook his head. “Nah, Evie, I’m crazy about you.”

And the little flame of her worry flickered and died. Evie smiled at him, folded her fingers around his. Rick squeezed her hand and raised it to his lips. They were going to be just fine.

[tsarisfanfiction]

A Little Fall Of Rain

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, John

Here is my contribution to @tagminibang!  My artist was the absolutely fantastic @chenria and you can find her accompanying art over here.  Something nice and family friendly from us here (please don’t mind the title, it has nothing to do with a certain musical song), and of course some good old Scott&John because who doesn’t love that?

John’s pulled one of his disappearing acts again, and Scott can’t relax until he knows where he’s gone.

People.  There were people everywhere, all dressed to the nines and peacocking around.  Nothing particularly unusual for an event hosted by Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, where no-one in attendance was worth less than at least ten million dollars apiece and appearing to be the poorest in the room would make you a target for the vampires of the elite.

It was a gauntlet Scott would have gladly accepted, not particularly bothered by how others perceived him and his wealth, except the problem with being a Tracy was that his status of multi-billionaireness was well known, and he was actually richer than most of the aristocracy in attendance, even if there were a few Old Money families that looked down their noses at the Tracys for being New Money.

Still, the buffer of their wealth was, at least, sparing his brother from being preyed upon as the poor, charity case invited to look good.  Scott wasn’t sure who the actual poorest person in the room was, but anything to keep at least some of the pressure of the occasion off of John was always worth it.

It was a well known fact that John despised this sort of event.  Too many people, too much noise and gravity, too many expected conversations and a lot of interest in the elusive Tracy.  Scott still wasn’t sure why Lady Penelope insisted he attend these things, and knew that John was going to hide himself up on Thunderbird Five for at least a month and come down for absolutely nothing or no-one as soon as he escaped the party.  She called it good for him, and a breath of fresh air, and Scott only let it slide because John never actually said no.

Speaking of his brother, he’d once again lost sight of the distinctive ginger hair amongst the vibrant colours of the event.  Hopefully, that meant that John was just in hiding, rather than the chance he’d been dragged into a conversation out of Scott’s current sight.  He glanced around the room again, just to be sure, and when no flash of ginger caught his eye, set his shoulders and beelined for their host.

Resplendent in a stunning light pink ballgown, elegant hands covered with equally elegant white gloves and hair coiffed into something gravity-defying yet somehow not at all outrageous, Lady Penelope was entertaining an elderly woman who Scott had been briefly introduced to earlier in the event, some hours ago, as the Duchess of Royston.  As far as the British aristocrats seemed to go, she seemed quite amicable, so Scott had no qualms about stepping in as their conversation paused.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but have you seen John recently?”

“Have you lost him?” Lady Penelope asked, sounding the faintest bit amused.  If it was anyone else, Scott would have been annoyed at that, but a longstanding friendship with the Lady told him there was no malice or judgement behind it.  It was the amusement of someone who knew how much John hated crowds, and how much Scott could, according to his brothers, hover.  “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him recently.”

The answer wasn’t surprising, but it was a little disappointing.

“The redheaded young man?” the Duchess asked, and Scott turned to her.  “I do believe I saw him heading for the doors earlier.”  She gestured to the small side door that led out of the ballroom and, if Scott’s memory served, towards the gardens.

John was likely hiding, then.

Scott smiled at both women.  “Thank you,” he said, inclining his head a little towards the older of the two.  “I’ll leave you to your conversation.  Sorry again for the interruption.”

“What a charming young man,” he heard as he walked away.  “Penelope, I know it’s not my place to say, but you could do far worse than a man like that.”

Scott picked up the pace a little, determined to get out of earshot of whatever reply to that Lady Penelope would make, and making a note to never let Gordon know.

The rich like to talk to the rich, and although Scott was on a mission to find and check on his brother, he was waylaid by at least three other people all wanting to discuss all manner of things from International Rescue to, disconcertingly, his ongoing bachelorship before he was able to slip through the door and head down the corridor.

Soundproofing cut off the hubbub of conversation the moment the door clicked shut behind him, proving an excellent argument for why John would come this way, and Scott followed the hallway until he found a bay window that overlooked one of the many gardens in the Creighton-Ward estate.

John was perched on the window sill, although window seat was probably a more accurate term, looking out at the gentle rain falling from the sky.  Raindrops raced each other down the panes of glass, and Scott silently settled next to him, waiting to be acknowledged.

It didn’t take long.  “I’m fine,” his brother said quietly, still looking out the window rather than turning to face him.  Scott hadn’t expected him to.  “You can go back.”

Scott let out a wry chuckle.  “The hot topic right now seems to be how eligible a bachelor I am,” he said, leaning forwards on his knees and watching his brother out of the corner of his eye.  “If you don’t mind, I think I’d quite like to stay here until they move on to other things.”

His brother let out a hmm, sounding thoroughly amused at that, and Scott rolled his eyes.  He knew full well that John was more than happy for him to be the target of that particular type of conversation, because it meant most of them would forget to ask him the same questions.  Sibling solidarity only went so far, and perhaps even more so than the rest of his brothers, John was all too willing to throw him under the bus to evade the limelight himself.

“If they follow you here, I am leaving,” John threatened mildly.  “And then you will not be welcome to follow me.”  It wasn’t an empty threat, but that didn’t matter because Scott would always use himself as bait if it meant a brother could escape a bad situation.  Besides, John knew Lady Penelope’s manor far better than he did, and Scott knew if John really wanted to hide, even he wouldn’t be able to find him until the ginger was ready to be found.

It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.  John had never been a fan of social situations and had mastered the art of disappearing young.  Scott had many memories of running around frantically, trying in vain to find where his brother had got to after taking his eye off of him for two seconds.  For someone with such vibrant natural colouring, John was unfairly good at the vanishing act.

He sighed and settled back against the window pane more comfortably.  At least John was old enough now to look after himself if he did vanish, and would always come home eventually - even if it was only a necessary stop on his way back to Thunderbird Five and the stars while he recuperated from socialising.  It was a marked improvement from when he’d vanish as a child and leave everyone in a panic until he reappeared hours later.

Scott had never quite shaken the instinct to panic when he vanished, no matter how old and self-sufficient his brother was now.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” John said suddenly, and Scott glanced up at him again.  He was still watching the rain out the window, seemingly disinterested in paying any attention to his older brother - aside from the comment, which made it perfectly clear that John was, in fact, keeping track of him with at least part of that big brain of his.  “I told you I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” he assured him, feeling the cool of the glass seep towards his scalp from where he was resting his head against the window.

John gave a considering hum.  “In that case, I’ll assume you’re working yourself into a panic unnecessarily.”

Scott huffed, unwilling to concede the point.  “I am not working myself into a panic,” he retorted, a little defensively.

His brother finally turned his head away from the window slightly, enough for one turquoise eye to come into view.  The accompanying ginger eyebrow rose in challenging disbelief and Scott scowled in response.

“I was just thinking about all the vanishing acts you tend to pull at things like this,” he admitted after a moment.  The visible turquoise eye rolled at him before John turned back to face the window.  He didn’t say anything in response, but he didn’t need to; his body language broadcasted perfectly well that he thought Scott was being an idiot.

Scott was used to that attitude - none of his brothers ever seemed to fully appreciate what it was like to be their big brother, after all.  Gordon might proudly claim that his grey hairs were all down to his fish of a brother, but the truth of the matter was that they’d all contributed.

Still, Scott wouldn’t change any of them for the world.

Raindrops raced down the large window, merging and lingering and swallowing smaller ones before darting several inches further down in a blink of an eye.  It was a mesmerising sight; no wonder John was so captivated by the weather.

Then again, he didn’t get rain in space.

Scott was on his feet before his mind caught up.  His movement caught John’s attention, judging by the way the single, turquoise eye reappeared to regard him once more.

“Going back already?” his brother asked.  “I thought you were hiding from the discussions about your eligible bachelorship.”  There was no sympathy at all in John’s voice, just an undercurrent of amusement.  Scott suspected he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it for a while.

“No,” he said truthfully, which was apparently unexpected enough for John to look away from the window completely.

“Then where are you going?” his brother asked.  John was normally far too perceptive for Scott’s liking, and he probably shouldn’t be relishing catching him out as much as he was.

“Come on,” Scott invited in answer, tilting his head towards the window.  “Let’s go.”

John glanced back towards the window, raising an eyebrow at the rain still falling.  “You want to go outside?”

“Why not?” Scott shrugged.  “No-one’s going to chase us out there.”

“Because their clothes would get ruined,” John pointed out.  “Like ours will.”

Scott rolled his eyes.  He wasn’t so attached to the suit he was currently wearing that he’d mourn the loss, and he knew John felt similarly about his own formal clothes.

“They’re replaceable,” he pointed out.  “So, are you coming?”

John’s arguments didn’t fool him one bit - one thing his brother truly missed when he was amongst the stars was the cool sensation of rain on his skin, and Scott suspected that the only reason he’d been sat in the bay window instead of somewhere in the Creighton-Ward’s impressive grounds was because he’d known Scott would come looking for him sooner or later, and would have panicked if he couldn’t find him.

Sure enough, with one last sigh that was entirely put-upon, John extended his long legs and made his way to his feet.  “Lead the way.”

Scott wasn’t as familiar with the manor as his brother, but he had a pretty good idea where most of the external doors were.  John stayed at his shoulder as they passed through the hallways, bereft of any of the other guests, who were all no doubt still gossiping in the ballroom, and found a door that led outside.

The rain wasn’t a monsoon, but it was steady, leaving the sky heavy and grey, and misting out the trees on the far edge of the lawn.  Scott lingered in the threshold of the door for a moment, watching the weather, but his brother had no such hesitation.

A little brother he might be, but John had never needed Scott to lead the way.  With the assurance that Scott now knew where he was, and wouldn’t be hunting him down frantically, he strode out past him, the fabric covering his shoulder just brushing Scott’s, and out into the rain.

Scott lingered a moment longer, watching the way John tilted his face up slightly to greet the rain, the ginger curl of his bangs losing some of its volume as it dampened.  John didn’t beam like their brothers when he was happy, but there was a relaxation in his face and a draining of tension in his body that told Scott that he’d got it right.  John really had wanted to go out in the rain.

When his brother’s vibrant eyes slid closed, he took the final step outside himself, feeling the cool raindrops caressing his own skin and seeping into his hair.  His hair gel was going to wash out if he stayed out here for too long, but that was a small price to pay to see John enjoying himself down on Earth.

So was the suit.  The already black fabric of his jacket darkened even further with water almost immediately, and he knew that by the time John was ready to go inside again, it would be completely ruined.  As he’d said to his brother, though, the suits were replaceable.

John’s happiness was not.  Scott would ruin a hundred jackets if it meant seeing John so relaxed and content.

Jacketless, his brother’s shirt was quickly becoming soaked through, the white material clinging to his body - the same way his vibrant hair was starting to plaster to his scalp - gaining hints of translucency, and the thought crossed Scott’s mind that he’d have to make sure John didn’t get sick later.  The astronaut didn’t seem to care about that, though, standing stock still for several minutes with his hands loosely hanging by his side and his face tilted upwards.

Scott hung back, several paces away but still outside in the rain himself.  Cool droplets trickled down the back of his neck, originating somewhere around his hairline, and he could tell even without raising a hand to check that his own hair was plastering itself to his scalp in much the same way as John’s.  One droplet ran down from his forehead and caught the corner of his eye, tangled up in eyelashes, and Scott blinked twice to clear it.  Reluctantly it got the message and carried on down his face, running over his cheek and trailing down towards his chin.

They didn’t get rain like this at home.  English rain was strange, and definitely nothing like the tropical rains Tracy Island witnessed.  Even Kansas weather had been different to this.  The water was cool and refreshing on his skin, and after several moments Scott took another couple of steps forwards, towards his brother.

He didn’t enter his personal space, though.  If John wanted him there, he would make it clear - most likely by moving himself until he was within arm’s reach of Scott.  As they’d come out here to escape the crowds, however, Scott deemed that unlikely.  Instead, he wandered past him, away from the manor and large ballroom windows.  If the wrong person looked out and saw them, their little rainy peace would be broken by someone else who cared less for their clothes than chasing Tracys.

Scott made sure to keep John in view, not prepared to hunt his brother down if the ginger pulled another disappearing act, even as he found a lone tree standing proud in the middle of the manicured lawn and slipped around it, allowing the trunk to conceal him from anyone glancing outside.

Exactly what type of tree it was, he didn’t know, but it was large and broad, boughs extending out above his head and providing a meagre shelter from the rain.  It was the same as the trees that made up the woodland at the far edge of the lawn - also large and proud, but with enough space between some of them to hide a Thunderbird.  His own ‘bird lurked inside, concealed from view and waiting to carry the two of them back home the next morning.

Tonight, Lady Penelope had insisted, they would stay with her, and Scott had no reason to decline.  He did, however, hope that it was an invitation that hadn’t been extended to any of the other guests.  Evading their apparent fixation with his marriage status - or lack thereof - was not something he wanted to have to spend all night and breakfast doing as well.

No matter how amused John might be at the whole affair.

Speaking of John, his brother appeared to have noticed that he’d moved, because he’d opened his eyes and started moving forwards himself.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one hiding from the party,” the ginger commented, his voice dry and at odds with the wet shirt he was wearing.  The white had gone well and truly translucent now, clinging to his body in a way that Scott knew from experience would get John hounded by half the party the next time they saw him.

He made a mental note to sacrifice his jacket in John’s direction before they went back in.  It wouldn’t be a perfect fit, but it would at least keep the attention off of him long enough for John to scrounge up a change of clothes.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, shrugging.  “It wouldn’t matter which of us was hiding if they spotted the other, would it?”

John let out a small chuckle in response, rounding the tree in its entirety and therefore putting himself out of sight as well.  “Are you sure it’s not just because you don’t want them badgering you about being single?”

He huffed in response, crossing his arms and leaning back against the trunk.  The bark rubbed against the back of his jacket, but he ignored it.  The rain had already done enough damage - what was a little more?

“My relationship status is none of their business,” he grumbled, shooting his younger brother a considering look.  “Wait until they start on you.”

The smirk he got in return didn’t make him feel any better.

“They won’t give me a second glance while you’re around, big brother,” John pointed out with the air of someone who knew exactly what was up, and was quietly smug about it.  “No-one’s interested in the spare Tracy.”

Scott rolled his eyes.  “You know, technically you’re my heir,” he reminded him.  It did nothing to douse the smug smirk his brother was sending his way.

“They don’t think like that,” John shrugged confidently.  He was still out from underneath the protection of the boughs, rain falling on his skin and leaving trails of water across it.  Scott watched a raindrop run right to the tip of his nose and hang there; the astronaut didn’t even seem to notice, even though it made Scott’s own nose twitch empathetically.  “The only heirs they’re interested in are the unborn ones you don’t have because you’re still an eligible bachelor.”

Urgh.  Scott pulled a face.  “Did you have to put it like that?”

John’s ongoing smirk confirmed that yes, he did have to phrase it like that.  Little brothers - who wanted them?

Scott refused to give John any satisfaction by saying that out loud, although he suspected that didn’t actually matter.  If there was anyone who had mastered the art of mind-reading, Scott would put John right at the top of the suspect list.

“Well,” John said after a moment, shifting his weight.  “I’m going to go for a walk.  Are you coming, or would you rather hide under the tree?”

“I’m sheltering,” Scott corrected.  John made an uh huh noise in the back of his throat which he purposefully ignored.  Still, if John was offering company, instead of retreating into his own personal space, then Scott wasn’t going to turn that down.  The problem with John living in space was that he just didn’t get to see this particular little brother in person as much as he’d like.

He pushed off from the tree, straightening up and shoving his hands in his pockets as he took the couple of short steps back out into the rain.  John hadn’t bothered to wait for him, and he had to jog a couple more paces before he was at his brother’s side.

It felt like the rain had got heavier, but the droplets were still cool and refreshing on his face, even if he could feel his hair wilting under the weight.  Beside him, John’s hair had all but lost its usual curl, vibrant strands of ginger instead plastered to his forehead.  His brother didn’t seem to care at all.

Despite inviting him along, John didn’t seem particularly inclined towards conversation as he picked his way across the expansive grounds of the Creighton-Ward manor.  It was clear that this was far from his brother’s first time doing so; while Scott started getting a little turned around by all the identically pruned bushes and perfect flowerbeds, John continued unerringly as though it was his ridiculously large garden.

Not that Scott could really comment on the size of the Creighton-Ward estate when his own home consisted of an entire volcano.  Both the ranch and the Kansas farm spanned equally large acreage; the Tracys had never been a stranger to calling huge swathes of land home.

John had easily spent enough time in this manor during his Oxford days to have the entire estate mapped out in that impressive brain of his.  Scott resolved to never play hide and seek with him here.

The silence that hung between them was a comfortable one.  On some levels, it was more touching and heartfelt than if John had wanted to talk - John was a huge fan of personal space, and being invited to share it, trusted to share it, when he had so clearly hit his socialising quota already was akin to an honour.

Rain continued to fall, Scott’s jacket feeling more and more sodden by the minute, but John never headed for anything remotely resembling shelter.  The weather wasn’t particularly warm, either.  By English standards it might have been passable, but being used to the tropics meant that Scott found it decidedly on the cool side.

John seemed unaffected, but then again John spent most of his time in a rigidly controlled environment and hated the heat.  Scott still hoped he’d be able to persuade Parker to get them both a hot drink when they re-entered the manor building.  Then again, he wouldn’t put it past the older man to bundle them straight to their rooms with layers of blankets and disapproving mumbles.  The former crook liked to pretend he was as tough as nails - and in some respects he was - but he was also quick to fuss over the few friends he had.

Being counted amongst that number was almost as high an honour as being invited to share John’s personal bubble.

Sunbeams poked out from behind the grey clouds as they were strolling through one of several rose gardens - or maybe it was the same one and John had led them around in circles a few times.  In answer, the rain faded away into nothing and the world hung, heavy and still.  John stopped walking, and Scott followed suit.

Above them, the clouds were dispersing.  It seemed that the rain was over, at least for now, although the world around them shimmered a little like crystal as sun caught beads of water clinging to the flowers, the grass, the trees.  John glistened as well, his hair transformed into a burning halo as the sun caught the water plastering it to his scalp.

Hands in his pockets and face once again tilted to the sky, Scott’s little brother appeared to be considering something.  What, there was no point asking.  If John wanted him to be part of the decision making process, he’d say so.  Scott suspected he was debating if he wanted to stay outside or duck inside the manor to escape the reappearing sun.

John missed the rain on Thunderbird Five.  He did not miss the sunburn.

Sure enough, after a moment his brother turned to face him.

“I’m heading back inside,” John said.  “Are you done hiding from your eligible bachelorness yet or are you going to stay out here?”

Scott huffed at him, narrowing his eyes in displeasure at the jab.  John really wasn’t going to be letting that go any time soon.

“They’ll have moved topics by now,” he replied, a lot more confidently than he felt.  In all honesty, he had no idea how long it would be the hot topic for, but if he stayed out later than John he’d never live it down.

“That topic won’t be dropped until you’re married with kids,” his brother pointed out.  Scott scowled.  “But if you’re sure you’re ready to go back in…”  He trailed off meaningfully and, without waiting for Scott, started striding back towards the manor.

Not wanting to let his brother out of his sight, and maybe a little unsure of the paths back, Scott lengthened his stride to catch up with him again.  Turquoise eyes glanced sideways at him, and John’s face settled into subtle amusement.

Scott decided it was best for his pride if he didn’t ask what was funny.

He glanced up at the sky as they walked.  The shimmer of moisture in the air was fading as the sun grew stronger and the clouds continued on their merry way to deposit rain on some other part of the English countryside.  It wouldn’t be raining again just yet.

His foot caught something hard and he stumbled.  Instantly a vice-like grip appeared on his arm, yanking him back upright and steadying him.

“And you call me the clumsy one,” John commented lightly.  “Watch where you’re walking.”

Scott glared down at the flowerbed border he’d apparently walked into before switching targets to his brother.  John, as always, seemed completely unperturbed at the look.  Turquoise eyes looked him up and down, clearly making sure he hadn’t somehow hurt himself with his stumble, before the grip on his arm vanished and John continued down the path.

Sending another glare at the border, Scott followed.

Being behind John quickly brought back the reason why he’d been checking the sky.  While the rain had stopped, the white shirt his brother was wearing was still very soaked through, with the consequences of that on full display.  Scott shrugged out of his own, soaking wet, jacket.

“John,” he called, lengthening his strides to catch up.  His brother paused and turned back to look at him quizzically, jumping as Scott draped the waterlogged jacket over his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” the astronaut asked, making to shrug the fabric off.  “Carry your own jacket, Scott.”

Scott caught the fabric before it could fall to the ground.  “John, you’re wearing a white shirt.”

A single eyebrow raised.  “Your observational skills are unparalleled.”

Little brothers.  Scott huffed.  “And yours are lacking,” he retorted.  “You wore a white shirt in the rain.”

John looked at him, puzzled, for a moment, before comprehension dawned across his face.  A quick glance down had his pale skin reddening slightly.

“Oh.”

Scott shook his head fondly and draped the jacket around his brother’s shoulders again.  This time it was gratefully accepted.  They weren’t quite the same size, but Scott’s shoulders were the broader of the two, so while the fabric bunched a little oddly when John threaded his arms through the sleeves and fumbled the buttons until it was concealing as much of the wet white shirt as possible, it did at least fit.  Scott was grateful it wasn’t Virgil.

“You might want to go and get changed into something dry,” he suggested.  “Get out of those clothes.”

“I didn’t bring a spare suit,” John reminded him.  “I don’t have anything else with me suitable for Lady P’s party.”

Scott rolled his eyes and started walking again.  “Then just don’t come back to the party,” he said bluntly.  “That’s not exactly a tragedy for you.  You can see Lady Penelope again once it’s over - she won’t care what you’re wearing.”

“She will care,” John corrected, catching up to him.  “She’ll judge my outfit and everything.”  Despite the words being ones of apparent complaint, he didn’t actually seem that bothered about it.  Then again, he had survived going to university with the woman.  Their friendship was on a completely different level compared to the one the rest of the Tracys shared with her.

“Just go and get yourself out of those wet clothes and make yourself comfortable for the rest of the evening,” Scott sighed.  “I’ll make your excuses.”

“If I need to get changed, why don’t you?” John challenged.  Scott grinned at him and tapped his own shirt.

“Not white,” he pointed out.  Well, admittedly, he would call it white, but according to Virgil it was cream, and according to the weather that combined with the covering jacket meant that it hadn’t gone the same way as John’s white shirt.  “Ergo, still appropriate for polite company.”

John scrutinised him for several moments as they walked, as though he was trying to find an excuse why Scott’s outfit wasn’t appropriate any more.

“You’ll get sick if you stay in wet clothes too long,” he said eventually.  “Make sure you come up and get changed soon.”

“I don’t have a spare suit, either,” Scott admitted.  “I’ll be fine.”  It couldn’t be that many more hours before the end of the party, surely…

“If you’re not up in half an hour I’m sending Parker to extract you,” John said firmly.  “Virgil will have both our hides if you go home sick.”

“Half an hour?” Scott repeated.  “I’ll be lucky to talk to Lady Penelope by then.  You’ll have to give me longer than that.”  There was no point telling John not to enlist Parker at all - his brother would hum non-committedly then do it anyway the instant he was out of earshot.

John scoffed.  “You’ll find a way,” he said confidently.  “Just flirt your way through the crowds like you normally do.  Half an hour, then Parker will get involved.”

They’d arrived back at the manor itself, and John sent him one last smug grin before vanishing up what had to be a servant’s staircase before Scott could try another attempt to bargain for more time.  With a quiet groan, Scott adjusted his damp tie and headed back towards the ballroom.

His wet - and likely bedraggled - appearance caused a stir when he re-entered the room.  Conversations stopped, eyes stared, and then the whispering started.  Well, he’d take them talking about him over attempts to restart the conversations about his relationship status.

He scanned the room for the tell-tale flash of pink, locating Lady Penelope just before she came to a stop in front of him.

“I was under the impression you were looking for John, not trying to impersonate a drowned rat,” the Lady commented lightly.  “You also appear to have misplaced your jacket, Scott.”

He shrugged lazily.  “John wanted to go outside.”

“I see.”  From the fond look that flickered in her eyes, she probably did get it.  The British aristocrat was the closest thing John had to a best friend, after all.  “And where is John now?”

“Retiring for the evening,” Scott explained.  “Or at least until the party’s over and the stars are out.”

Lady Penelope laughed a little at that.  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she agreed.  “And what about you?  I notice today’s main topic of discussion isn’t to your liking.”  There was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes that was entirely too similar to John’s reaction.

Scott decided the best thing to do was ignore it.

“I should get changed,” he admitted.  “I’ll see you after the party’s over?”

“I dare say you should,” Lady Penelope agreed, “before you turn my ballroom into a swimming pool.  Very well, I’ll see you boys later.”  She turned away, and immediately got caught in another conversation with a guest.

Scott took the opportunity to duck back out of the room, evading anyone who might want to corner him for further conversations that he really didn’t care for.

Parker was standing just outside the door.

“Ah, there you h’are,” the butler said as Scott narrowly avoided walking into him.  “h’I h’understand you’re done for the h’evening?”

Scott checked his watch.  “There’s no way it’s been half an hour already,” he said suspiciously.

“‘alf h’an hour since when?” Parker asked innocently.  “Master John said nothing h’about h’a time limit.”  No, of course John didn’t.  Pesky little brother.  “Well, h’as you h’appear to be trying to turn h’into a drowned rat, h’I’d say you need a nice warm drink h’and a change h’of clothes.”

“That’s the plan,” Scott admitted.  “I’ll see you later, Parker.”

“That you will,” the older man agreed, and Scott paused with his foot on the bottom step of the staircase.  “h’I’ll be bringing h’up some ‘ot chocolate for the pair h’of you in a few minutes.  ‘Onestly, what were you thinking, going h’out h’in the rain like that?”

Scott shrugged.  “John wanted to,” he said, before resuming his ascent of the staircase, knowing that Parker would make good on his promise and be up soon with the drinks.

The Creighton-Ward manor was huge, and the guest suites were equally so.  There was no sharing of bedrooms when they stayed overnight, but as Scott entered the room designated as his, he discovered a brother lounging on his bed, tablet in hand.  Ginger hair was ruffled and sticking up all over the place - a clear victim of a towel drying - and the soaked suit had been replaced by a much less formal shirt and jeans.

“Don’t you have your own room?” he asked, not breaking his stride as he headed for his overnight bag and pulled out a change of clothes.

“Parker’s bringing the drinks here,” John replied, not looking up from whatever it was he was reading.  “It makes more sense for me to be here.”  Scott huffed and worked his tie loose from around his neck.

“You just wanted to make sure I didn’t stay in the party,” he accused.

John didn’t deny it, and Scott rolled his eyes before heading into the ensuite to dry off and get changed into his more casual clothes.  No more formal suit and tie for him tonight.

When he re-emerged several minutes later, his own hair rivalling John’s for towel-dried mess and begging for another round of brushing and hair gel, Parker had arrived with the promised steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

“Drink up, the both of you,” the man demanded.  “Going h’out in the rain like that, I h’ask you.”  He shook his head despairingly.  “What will your Gran say h’if you go and get yourself sick?”

“We won’t get sick, Parker,” Scott said confidently, accepting his mug and letting the warmth seep from the ceramic into his fingers.  “We didn’t get that wet.”

“Don’t h’underestimate the English weather,” Parker warned.  “Drink that h’up and wrap h’up warm.”

John appeared silently at his elbow and claimed his own mug before retreating back to the bed.  Scott watched him burrow his bare feet under the covers and huffed.

“That���s my bed, you know,” he complained.  John lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“So?”

“So, leave some room for me.”  Mug in hand, Scott settled himself next to his brother, nudging him over gently.  John obliged, and after a few moments of shifting around, the pair of them were sat shoulder to shoulder with their feet under the covers.

Parker eyed them approvingly, and then tossed a blanket over their laps as well.

“h’I’ll be back once the party’s h’over,” he told them.  “Keep warm.”

“We’ll be fine,” Scott assured him.  “You don’t need to worry about us.”

Blue eyes surveyed him suspiciously.  “h’I know some people that’d disagree with that h’assessment, Mr Scott.  But duty calls, h’I suppose.”

Parker was clearly reluctant to leave them for some reason, but he did begrudgingly go out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving the two brothers to their drinks.

The hot chocolate was, unsurprisingly, good, and Scott found himself draining the mug in record time.  Beside him, John was almost as fast, and they set the mugs down on the bedside tables almost in unison.

“Parker makes the best hot chocolate,” John commented, and Scott couldn’t help but agree.

“He does,” he agreed.  “I could go for another.”

“Well, then, I’m glad I finished mine before you got it into your head to steal it,” John said dryly.  “You can ask him for another one later.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.  “I might do that.  This might all be overkill-” he gestured at the warm mugs and the blanket, subtly tucking them in the bed “-but even if we’re not going to get sick, that chocolate is worth it.”

The sneeze came out of nowhere.  As did the second, and the third.

The fourth sneeze came from his brother, and Scott glanced over at him with a sinking feeling.  Bright turquoise met his eyes, and John gave a wane smile before sneezing again.

“I think,” his brother said, before being interrupted by another sneeze, “that maybe this wasn’t so overkill after all.”

Scott buried his face in his hands.  It did nothing to stop the next sneeze, and he groaned.

“You might be right,” he admitted.  “Dammit.  Virgil’s going to- achoo -kill us.”

John groaned.

[rusty-k]

A Theory About the Saint of Duty

[HTN/TLT SPOILERS]

Hey TLT people--

There was a reddit thread about the Saint of Duty the other day (link), and I commented some G1deon thoughts of mine that’ve been brewing in my head for a while. I figured I’d bring them to the tumblr tag to open up some discussion and see if anyone else buys this theory, or honestly just to spread some G1deon love. (I imprint on minor characters; it’s a curse.)

This is more or less copied from my reddit comment word-for-word, but here’s some general thought on Gideon the First’s personality, and why I have a theory that he might’ve lobotomized himself like Harrow:

G1deon character thoughts

G1deon as we know him in HtN is likely very different from the man he must've been 10,000 years ago. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he changed significantly between the start of the Wake affair and the events of book 2.

More so than any of the other Lyctors, Gideon and Pyrrha seemed to have had this strong synergy going on. Unlike most necros, Gideon is a buff beef jerky man, and we see two rapiers in G&P's room. The winnowing/construct trial is also referred to as "Pyrrha's trial," which has always struck me as a curious detail and suggests to me that Pyrrha knew more about necromancy than cavs generally do. We know that the saintly epithets refer to the cavs, in general, but I don't think that was exactly the case for G&P; based on the previously stated, I believe they were both equally dutiful people, willing to throw themselves into each other's studies and share each other's skills.

Aug and Mercy were forced to rush their Lyctorization process because of their reckless cavs, and G1deon was next, but the fact that Pyrrha compartmentalized suggests they were closer to figuring it out than Aug and Mercy were--which I think is greatly due to the harmony of their relationship.

We know from what the other Lyctors & John have said that Gid loved and respected Pyrrha deeply. I wouldn't be surprised if the ferocity with which he threw himself into his saintly work over the 10,000 years emerged--at least partially, if not primarily--from his devotion to her. There's Pyrrha, the most spectacular cav and an all-around badass, and Gideon--having taken her to fuel his ascension--acting as John's attack dog with an intensity that would make her sacrifice worthwhile.

It's difficult to gauge how much Gideon actually enjoyed any of this; John seems to think he did, but I wouldn’t trust John for shit, and I'm sure John's understanding of G1d is heavily skewed in his own favor.

I think it's also important to consider Pyrrha's side of this story as it relates to G1deon’s current state, as well as the Wake affair. Her actions raise several questions. First of all, how long did it take for her to realize that she could take control of his body? How exactly did it happen, the first time? And how aware is Gideon? Does he have any inkling at all? Is there something more to his forgetfulness, something purposeful?

I have to imagine that in any case, Pyrrha must have gone through a lot over those 10,000 years. 10,000 years of odd sensory deprivation, which was probably hell for a fiery badass like P. 10,000 years of watching Gideon put up with John's bullshit, of watching the other Lyctors die off one-by-one and accumulate a host of mental, physical, and emotional scars. I'm convinced that Pyrrha's relationship with "duty" changed over the course of the years as she watched from this disembodied perspective, and that her "treachery" against John (her affair with Wake & possibly feeding intel to the BoE) was just a natural progression of that change.

When Wake factors in, I'd bet good money that the driving factor in both Pyrrha and Gideon's attraction to her is that she reminds them both of Pyrrha. Hell, Pyrrha even says this outright: "She was the most dangerous woman I'd ever met who wasn't me." I imagine that P's attraction to Wake, beyond this cool display of cockiness, also emerged from a sort of nostalgia--maybe Wake reminds her of what life used to be when she had a body, when she could fight and command, when she had a cause to occupy her energy. On G1d's side, he sees a woman who's dedicated and dutiful, even if it's for an enemy faction, and a woman who would undeniably make one hell of a cavalier (I think someone says this in HtN, although I'm forgetting who, so correct me if I’m wrong). I'm sure there's nostalgia in it for him, too.

Then, there's elephant in the room: Wake's fiery red hair and Pyrrha's name, meaning "flame-colored." I'm convinced that at least some of the similarities were physical. And at the bottom of it all is the inherent sexiness of finding a worthy opponent who's also hot. Lol.

Gideon Prime Lobotomy Time(?)

Here's where things get squirrelly for me, and the main reason why I have a theory that G1d's current state might be partially self-inflicted.

G&P were having discrete affairs with Wake, which inherently brings up logistical questions. First of all, how? And how exactly did Wake come to "kiss" Gideon "before she realized what they were?" How long were the durations of time in which Pyrrha kept his body under her control? In any case, after Wake & Gideon initiated their leg of the affair, it continued throughout the two years up until Gideon Jr.'s birth, which implies that Gideon Prime had some agency and willfulness in all of it. It's difficult to imagine the permanently-spaced-out-thousand-yard-stare man we know in HtN actively participating in such an entanglement.

Of course, I’ll acknowledge that it's entirely possible that I'm wrong, and that Wake just jumps his bones when she feels like it, and he's like "ok I guess," so take this as you will; but I'd like to put forth the suggestion that G1d's memory loss and overall lack of lucidity might be self-inflicted, to the tune of Harrow's lobotomy. We don't know how aware Gideon is of Pyrrha's presence, but it does seem to be the case that Lyctors having an awareness of the cav is dangerous for the cav. Being an accomplished necromancer, I'm sure Gideon was/is a smart man. Pyrrha mentions that she was "able to go underground" from him, but what if Gideon started to catch on to Pyrrha's presence through the double-affair? What if Wake let something slip? What if the thing that Wake didn't realize about them was the fact that Pyrrha's survival depends on Gideon's lack of awareness?

What if he lobotomized himself at some point, after catching onto Pyrrha's presence, at the expense of his sanity?

What really strikes me is the post-incinerator scene (HtN ch.31, pg. 292 in the hardcover):

The Saint of Duty turned his body toward you. He was clutching his rapier; but it was idle ... His eyebrows were very slightly drawn together, a sort of exhausted crinkle. He looked at you, and he said in a voice you had known since you were eight years old: "I sometimes--forget."

It was the tone--clinical, enamelled, half-defensive, half-endangered--the tone of someone admitting a final fraily. It was familiar because you had used it yourself. Understand I am insane.

It's his quiet resolution that does it for me; he knows something's missing, and he's accepted it. He's being set up as a parallel to Harrow in this particular moment, and it just makes me wonder if the parallel goes beyond his understanding of his own “insanity” and extends to the means by which he has become "insane." 

Pyrrha's already being set up as a parallel to Gideon Jr., both in terms of her formerly-skewed sense of duty and her compartmentalization, so I think this sort of dual-parallel between G1d and Harrow would work nicely, if only from a meta perspective.

In short, I think Gideon the First's feelings on everything that happened are complex, fraught. I think "duty" is what defined much of his personality, and I think what we see of him now is the result of split senses of duty having torn him apart:

he's torn between his devotion to Pyrrha (and by extension, ironically, his devotion to John) and his interest in (and perhaps love for) Wake;

torn between John's command to kill Harrow and whatever it is that caused him to pull punches (I'm guessing a combination of basic decency and solidarity); and

at the end of it all, he's quietly accepting of his own "frailty," understanding that the current situation is the shitty result of everything that's happened over the past myriad, and that there's likely no way to set himself straight, even though his shortcomings put him in direct conflict with the man he's "supposed to be," according to this awful religion, and according to what others think of him.

Anyway, for those who’ve stuck around, that’s all I have to say for now! I’m just so fascinated by the Saint of Duty/the Pyrwakeon story that’s going on behind the scenes; there’s such an understated intensity to it, and honestly, it didn’t even hit me until months after my first read-through. 

I’m curious to hear what other people are thinking, too!

[collecting-stories]

Sunny Boy - JJ Maybank

Request: i rly hope ur taking requests🥺 a pre-relationship jj imagine where the readers pretty innocent and has a cute style and jj does love it but let’s kie dress her for a kegger one night and jj is speechless and way more protective than usual

A/N: So I kind of got an idea and ran away with this, I apologize. Reader is genderfluid and has body dysmorphia. The reader in this goes by they/them and JJ calls them ‘boy’ twice. (gender fluidity is different for everyone and I based this off my own preferences though I do go by she/her almost exclusively.)

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

However it was classified, your ‘style’ consisted heavily of band tees, one-piece bathing suits, a worn in pair of knock-off vans from target, jean shorts, and baseball caps. And sure, the shorts were as short as Kiara’s but nothing else about your personal style necessarily lent to you being feminine in the traditional sense. You didn’t get a lot of attention from the guys, outside of being their friend or someone they saw like a sister. On one occasion JJ had even claimed you were like a brother to him. Which wasn’t exactly the image you wanted him having in his head.  

It wasn’t that you cared what anyone else thought of you, because you really didn’t, it was just that sometimes you wanted JJ to look at you the way he looked at Kiara or any of the girls who came to parties the pogues hosted. It was probably stupid, you told yourself on multiply occasions, but you wanted him to want you. You wanted to be more than ‘best friends’.  

“Wear something cute, that’ll get his attention.” Sarah suggested, holding up a bikini top that was pink gingham.  

“They shouldn’t have to put themself on display just so someone likes them. If he doesn’t want to be with them based on who they are then he’s not worth it.” Kiara remarked, pulling a crop top over her bikini.  

“Being the ‘they’ in this convo I would just like to point out that I wouldn’t mind the whole ‘she’s all that’ makeover...even if it’s just for a night.” You commented, picking up Kiara’s discarded maroon bikini and holding it against your chest.

“Did I hear the word ‘makeover’?” Sarah smiled, “Cause I have wanted to put you in a bikini for ages.”

“Thanks but I’m interested in JJ.” You teased and Sarah stuck her tongue out at you.  

“You can borrow the maroon one if you want, or I have a others in the drawer.” Kiara said, waving her hand over to the dresser in the corner.  

“It’s okay, I have a bikini at home. Besides, you have a smaller chest than me.” You had bought a bikini at the beginning of the season last year when you were feeling especially feminine. You’d never actually worn it because the feeling had passed as quickly as it came, but you kept the suit just in case you ever had that feeling again.  

“I do not.” Kiara replied, looking over at you.  

“Either way...are we taking this party to your house so I can work my ‘makeover skills’?” Sarah asked, looking between the two of you.  

-

The party of three did move to your house where you let Kiara and Sarah help with your outfit. Sarah lent you her high-waisted jean mini-skirt to wear over the powder blue underwire bikini that you owned. You didn’t look like yourself in the mirror but you did look exactly the way you said you wanted to, like all the girls at the beach that always caught JJ’s eye.  

John B was the first one to see you when you showed up with Kiara and Sarah at the party. He jokingly whistled at you and you rolled your eyes, giving him the finger in reply.  

“Wow,” John B laughed, “can’t even give a compliment.”  

“Is whistling a compliment?” You asked, letting him pull you into a hug.

“You don’t want him to answer that.” Sarah replied, smiling cheekily at her boyfriend.  

John B kept his arm around your shoulders as he walked the three of you down the beach toward the party. Someone had music going but you weren’t paying much attention to it, eyes scanning the crowd for JJ. You wanted to see him see you.  

You got your wish too, as you stepped down to where the keg was set up JJ looked over, eyes going wide at the sight of you dressed more like Sarah Cameron than yourself. He’d seen you in dresses occasionally and there was the year in ninth grade that you were really into makeup but you’d never been in an outfit like this.  

He almost choked on his beer as you stepped out from John B’s arm to greet him and Pope. JJ beelined it in front of Pope to give you a hug. “Hey, you look hot!”

“Seriously JJ,” Kiara rolled her eyes at his compliment, “that’s just as bad at whistling. Could you not objectify people?”

“I’m not objectifying them, am I objectifying you?” JJ asked, pulling away enough to look at you.

“Well, you directed that question at my boobs so...” you said, avoiding looking down to where JJ’s eyes were fixed. He glanced back up at you, biting his lip in an attempt to look innocent.  

“Okay, I would like a hug,” Pope announced, pulling JJ away from you, “and not in a creepy way.”  

“I wasn’t being creepy!” JJ objected, glaring at Pope as you hugged him.  

You were feeling comfortable enough as the night went on, surrounded by friends and kids you knew from the island who knew you. But then the beach started to get more crowded, people you didn’t recognize joining the kegger. You weren’t the only one who was growing increasingly annoyed with the newcomers, JJ was hovering closer and closer to you as the beach got more crowded. You didn’t mind, his presence took your mind off your growing feeling of discomfort over your outfit.  

You had been on board with the idea when Sarah had first suggested it and assured Kiara that you were totally comfortable, that you felt as much like yourself as you always did. But as the night wore on you were beginning to feel less and less like yourself and as people continued to talk to you all you wanted to do was leave.  

“Hey, sad boy, you okay?” JJ asked, coming up beside you. He offered you a drink and you shook your head.

You smiled at the term, JJ always called you boy and it always made you feel better. It was just an instant moment of calm and reassurance. “I’m alright, just feeling a little weird.” You replied. You glanced down at your chest before looking back up at him.  

JJ had been the first person you’d come out to in eighth grade. You had expected him to be the least understanding of you friend group but he was arguably the most. Last year he’d taken the ferry with you to Chapel Hill for your first pride celebration, happily sporting a rainbow painted on his cheek. He’d been surprisingly willing to read articles you offered about genderfluidity.  

“You want my sweatshirt?” JJ asked, he was definitely enjoying the top but he knew how you felt about your chest. You’d told him at homecoming in ninth grade when you burst into tears because of the way your dress fit your upper body.  

“Would you?” You had wanted to impress him. Sure, he was a great friend but you wanted more than that, you wanted him to see you as more than that. But you couldn’t take glancing down and seeing yourself in the bikini top you were wearing. The emphasis on your chest was making you feel sick.  

“I’ll be right back.” He kissed your cheek and then disappeared back into the crowd to find his sweatshirt, leaving you alone again.  

You looked around for someone to talk to and frowned when you made eye contact with a tourist who was making his way over to you. The last thing you wanted to do tonight was occupy some random guy’s time. He didn’t know you were feeling bad and he definitely wasn’t looking to act as therapist tonight. He was just some tourist, here for a week or two and then gone, looking for someone to party with and you definitely fit the bill tonight.  

-

“Hey, sorry about losing it on that guy,” JJ said, stepping over a piece of drift wood and sitting down next to you in the sand, “I know you’re capable of standing up for yourself or whatever.”

“It’s okay.”

“Just pissed me off, seeing him with you.” JJ admitted.  

“Well,” you shrugged, looking down at the sweatshirt you had borrowed from JJ, “back to normal so I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”  

Unsure what to say, JJ dug in the sand with a stick near his foot, “I liked the new look.”

“That was kind of the point.” You admitted, shifting so that you could look at him. “I was hoping if I dressed like Kiara and Sarah, you’d notice. That you’d think of me that way.”  

“I liked the look,” JJ repeated, “but you don’t have to dress like them. I do notice you. I think of you a hell of a lot more than I think about anyone else.”  

“What?” You sat up a little straighter, surprised at what he said.

“I notice you.” JJ confessed, shrugging as if it was the easiest thing in the world to admit. “When you get super competitive with John B about who’s better at surfing-”

“I am.”

“Yeah you are.” He laughed, “or the weird insistence you have to juggle anytime you see a fruit bowl even though you’re absolute shit at it. Or how you always have like an arsenal of stuff in your backpack-”

“You never bring sunscreen!”  

“What I’m trying to say is, yeah I liked the way you looked tonight but you don’t have to dress like that to get my attention...if that’s why you were doing it. You look equally as hot in what you usually wear.” JJ replied. Sure he’d said dumb stuff about you being like a sister to him before but you guys had been in eighth grade back than and he was a lot stupider when he was thirteen. He wasn’t that stupid anymore.  

You laughed, “thanks.”  

JJ put his arm around you, pulling you into his side and kissing your head, “my sunny boy is back.”  

“Shut up!”  

“I’ve liked you for a while now...I’m just not really good at this stuff.” He shrugged.  

“As opposed to what other stuff?”

“You know...I’m highly skilled in other areas.”

“Aw, gross JJ is back, just when we were having a moment.” You teased, smiling at him.  

He smiled at you before looking back at the party going on, “do you wanna go?” JJ asked, setting his cup on the ground and standing up.  

“I don’t want you to have to leave.” You replied, knowing that JJ always loved beach parties. More than anyone else.

“Honestly I’d rather have pizza and watch a shit movie with you.” JJ said, offering you his hand. You let him pull you up.  

“Extra cheese?”

“Is there any other kind?”  

-

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @howdyherron @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @tragicmisfits @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @ssprayberrythings @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @jjsthumbring @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @jolomez @timotaychalabae 

[ladypogue]

Used to this (part 4)

Summary: Ella hangs out with pogues and JJ is caught off guard. They both admit their feelings to themselves, but things get messy at a boneyard party when Ella’s friends try to set her up with a guy.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: the slightest little bit of swearing, maybe some angst??? but other than that none :)

A/N: hello all! I am still eternally grateful for you if you are reading this story. I am terribly sorry for the late update, I started my first big girl job since graduating college so now I’m working full time so I’m limited on time to write (especially cause I do most of my writing at the late hours of the night) but i still love you and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! :)

Part 4

JJ and Ella’s relationship was starting to slowly blossom. The pair found themselves drawn to each other, even though both were terrified of what could come between the two. JJ was spending more time at the Wreck, keeping Ella entertained during slow periods of her shifts. When it got busy, he would sit back and just admire how she handled everything so smoothly. To most, sitting and watching someone work would be boring, but for JJ he found himself tuned her every movement, his eyes attentively trained on the way her lips curled into a smile as she talked to a customer and how her hips sways ever so slightly as she walked to and from the kitchen with trays of food. They usually hung out after Ella’s shift was over, at the least JJ would walk her to her car where they would stand and talk for half an hour before parting ways, just to text each other not even two hours later. The more time she spent with the Maybank boy, the more Ella found the walls she had built up around her heart, slowly breaking down. As for JJ, he had no idea how to process this and he was in a state of denial, telling the pogues that Ella was a just a friend and that was it. The pogues would roll their eyes at him, as they all knew that JJ was developing feelings for the girl, and deep down he knew it too.

It was a Friday afternoon and Ella decided to walk to the Wreck to pick up her first paycheck, luckily having the day off and the weather was nice so she figured she might as well enjoy it. Walking to the building and grabbing her check, she was greeted by her coworkers who were currently busing tables or bringing out food. Ella was grateful that she got along well all her coworkers, and that she had fit in nicely. She more nervous about that than she was about not being good at her job. Ella was standing in the kitchen talking to Mr. Carrera when Kiara came in a grabbed her hand.

“I’m just gonna borrow her real quick” Kie said, smiling innocently while looking from her dad to Ella. Ella was confused as she was pulled away from her boss, stumbling she turned around to face Kie as her father just laughed at the two, happy that Kiara had another friend that wasn’t the three hooligans she usually hung out with.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Kie asked, her face lighting up excitedly.

“Nothing that I know of. Why what’s up?” Ella asked, still skeptical since her and Kie had never hung out outside of work before.

“We’re going out on the boat today and I want you to come with. Sarah can’t come and I do not feel like being the only girl today, plus it will give us more time to bond. So? Will you please come?” Kie was giving her best puppy dog eyes and it was hard for Ella to resist. Besides it’s not like she had anything else to do today.

“Alright I’ll come, but we gotta stop by house so I can grab proper boating attire” Ella laughed as she looked down at the clothes she slept in, consisting of sweat shorts and a large t-shirt. Nodding fervently, Kie grabbed Ella’s hand dragging her outside so they could make their way to Ella’s house and then head down to the dock where the boys would pick them up.

A short walk later, they make their way into Ella’s house and up to her room, Ella started rummaging through her drawers looking for a bathing suit to wear. Finally settling on a blue tie dye bikini, she went to change in her bathroom. Walking back out into her room to grab clothes to cover her up, she heard Kie whistle from behind her.

“Damn Ella, you’re hot. And I mean that in the most non-creepy way possible.”

At this Ella just chuckled, “Oh sush! Have you seen yourself?” Ella couldn’t help but admire Kiara’s natural beauty, subconsciously comparing herself to the girl, though she graciously accepted the complement.

“I’m serious! JJ’s not going to know what to do with himself today.” Kie said smirking. Ella felt her neck heat up at the mention of his name. She knew he would probably be there today, but was she ready for him to see her so exposed? Not saying anything, Ella just smiled to herself and pulled on a tank top and some shorts, sliding her feet into her sandals and grabbing a bag that she usually brought along to the beach, she looked back at Kie, “Ready to go?”

“Yes!! Let’s head down, I’ll text John B and tell him to come pick us up.”

The duo made their way down to the dock, laughing the entire time. Their friendship coming easy, making even the lulls in conversation comfortable. Growing up together, it’s a surprise that the two were never great friends before. They were always friendly with each other, but they never really spoke unless they needed to, maybe it was because the year Kiara took her kook year was the same year that Ella met Grace and Sophia, or maybe it was just out of the fact that growing up Ella was shy and reserved. But now, they both felt that their lives were better with the other in it. They were becoming best friends and they welcomed this new friendship with open arms.

Five minutes go by when they hear the sound of the HMS Pogue pulling up. Parking the boat at the end of the dock, John B held his hand out, helping both girls onto the boat.

“Ahoy ladies!” John B said once they were both safely on the HMS Pogue, making sure to salute them.

“Boys this is Ella, Ella that’s John B, Pope and you know JJ already.” Kie said, introducing you to her friends that she considers family, hoping that you’ll end up as a part of the group too.

“It’s nice to officially meet you.” Pope said extending his hand for you shake, John B following in his footsteps.

Smiling at the two boys, you shake each of their hands, “Likewise. I’ve heard so many stories of the infamous pogues so I’m excited to experience it first-hand.”

“Well I hope we don’t disappoint” John B laughed before starting the boat up again and heading out into the marsh for a day of fun.

JJ had been oddly quiet from the moment he saw Ella standing on the dock with Kie. He was caught off guard that she had managed to infiltrate his friend group without him, and he was a little upset at that. It’s not that he didn’t want Ella to get along with with his friends, but he just wasn’t ready to introduce her to them quite yet. Obviously Kie would know her as they worked together, but John B and Pope, they were something else. Both of them like brothers to JJ, but that doesn’t change the fact that they were both good looking guys with great personalities and JJ feared that Ella would like them more than him. It was a dumb fear because Ella didn’t seem like that type of girl, but it had happened before, which is why JJ wanted to make sure Ella liked him, and only him, before he brought her around. Now that was ruined.

He sat at the back of the boat, watching her joke around with his friends, sulking. She looked so happy and carefree, that made him smile slightly, knowing she was comfortable in this setting. Sipping on a beer and admiring her from a far, JJ was certain she would become a pogue. The other three already seemed to love her and she them. Ella had barely looked at JJ since arriving, they made eye contact when she first boarded the boat but since then she’s only sent him a glance here and there, whereas he could barely take his eyes off her. But that was Ella’s personality, she gave her undivided attention to whoever she was talking to, a characteristic about her that JJ loved and admired. Looking back at the blonde, seeing him sitting alone, Ella smiled and made her way over to him, smiling and shuffling so she was sat next to him.

“Hi,” she smiled while looking down at her lap, suddenly the strings on her shorts very interesting.

“What are you doing here?” JJ asked, tipping his beer back and finishing it. It came off ruder than he had intended but he had to keep his armor up even more now that he wasn’t in control anymore.

Taken aback by the sudden attitude and shift in JJ’s demeanor, Ella replied cautiously, “Kie invited me. Said she wanted to hang out outside of work. Plus, I was excited to see you.” She mumbled the last bit under her breath, hoping he didn’t hear and think she was clingy.

Even though she mumbled, JJ still heard her, and he felt his heart swell. The fact that she was excited to see him put him slightly at ease, but he was still on guard. Not replying, he just nodded his head and grabbed another beer from the cooler in front of him, propping his feet up on the closed lid.

“Do you not want me here?” Ella asked, JJ could hear the sadness in her voice at the thought that he didn’t want to be around her. Which was a stupid thought because JJ would be more than willing to spend every moment with her, but that alone terrified him. Besides Kie, he had never felt this close to a female. Never had he had a connection with any of his hook ups, they were all superficial relations that only went surface level and never lasted more than a night or two. But with Ella, it felt different, even different from Kie. He felt like he could tell her things and there would be no judgement, that he could trust her with his life. Around her, JJ forgot any problem he had going on around him. She was his entire focus, it was like she put up blinders and all he could see is her. He wanted nothing more than to keep her happy because the sight of her smile and the sound of her laugh made JJ happier than he’s been in a long time.

“Of course I want you here. I just wasn’t expecting to see you and now I’m caught off guard because I wanted to be the one to introduce to my friends, not Kie.” He replied to her question, not sure if that was necessarily the best thing to say as he sounded like a control freak, but he was trying to be honest.

“Okay good, I was nervous that maybe you were getting tired of me” she smiled over at him gently. In which he simply glanced at her, taking in her beauty as the light reflected off of the water and onto her golden skin and replied, “never.”

--

Around three that the afternoon, the Pogues and Ella had returned to shore.  Parting ways with promises to hang out with them again soon, Ella started her trek home. Ella only lived about 10 mins from John B, but she was going to go see Grace and Sophia and they lived on the cusp of Figure 8, so it was closer to 25 mins.

Hoping in her car and heading to where her friends were, she pulled into their driveway and walked into the house. Knowing her friends were most likely in Sophia’s room, she made her way up into her room, and plopped on the bed where her two friends were already laid out.

“Hey where have you been? I feel like we haven’t seen you in forever!” Grace exclaimed, while rolling on top of Ella and pulling her into a hug.

“I’ve been working like crazy, but I have the rest of today and tomorrow off so I thought we could do something together.”

The three hung out on Sophia’s bed for majority of the evening, happy to be together again. They laid there laughing, sharing stories of their days and plotting their next outing. Sophia, the partier of their little group, informed them of another boneyard party happening that night. Wanting to let loose and have fun, they decide to go. Getting ready in record time, they arrive with the party already in full swing, with more and more people arriving by the minute.

Instantly getting drinks from the keg, the three stood around and scoped out who was there. Sophia and Grace were not only looking for themselves, but earlier in the week they had planned to hook Ella up with someone at the next party, they just weren’t sure on who. What they didn’t know was that Ella was still talking to JJ Maybank. As far as they knew, Ella had heeded their warning and had left it alone. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Ella was hanging out with JJ almost daily and while they were looking at guys to take home, Ella was looking at one blonde haired boy standing in a circle laughing with his friends, not a care in the world.

Smiling to herself, Ella let her mind wander to what could potentially become of her and JJ. She pictured them in a relationship, her standing in that circle with his arm around her waist, her leaning into his side and using him to keep her standing as they laughed at something Pope said. She imagined them curled up on her couch on a rainy day, her playing with the rings on his hand as she laid against his chest with the tv playing quietly in the background. She imagined his lips on hers, and how she would be able to feel them anytime she wanted. She pictured him standing on the dock, looking out into the water and her coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, resting her head on his back, peppering kisses along his spine. She thought about spending every afternoon like they had today, laughing on the HMS Pogue with John B, Pope and Kie. She could truly picture them being happy together.

Lost in her daydream, she hadn’t noticed that Grace and Sophia had picked a friend group they were going to infiltrate. Feeling someone nudge her arm, she looked up to see that her friends were starting to walk over to a group of three boys. They were definitely attractive, Ella had to admit, however they were no JJ. Ella was very surprised when Sophia and Grace hugged the three boys now standing in front of her as she had no recollection of knowing them.

“Ella, this is Jake, Eddie and Pat.” Sophia said pointing out each one respectively, “Boys this is Ella.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Ella said smiling, but then glancing curiously at Grace, as if asking ‘how the hell do they know them?’

Graced laughed at her friends confused facial expression, explaining that her and Sophia had met the boys while out in town running some errands one day while Ella was working. Grace and Sophia didn’t have jobs, so they spent their days running around doing god knows what, though it seemed to be spent flirting with boys. Nodding her slightly and turning her attention back to the group, Ella fell into conversation with Eddie. They talked about anything and everything, jobs, hobbies, pet peeves, anything they could think of they discussed. Conversation flowed effortlessly between the pair; as they laughed and joked Sophia and Grace internally high fived thinking, they did great in setting their friend up.

Eddie and Ella broke away from the group of their friends, opting to walk around the crowded beach. They drifted towards the edge of the water where they sat on a branch staring out into the dark. A comfortable silence fell over them as they sat there, both lost in thought.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ella inquired, looking over at the boy.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“How do you know if you love someone?”

“Well, for me, I know I love someone when I’m able to look at them and feel at peace. Just their presence alone gives me comfort, a stable feeling. There could be a storm going on around me, but as soon as I look at that person, I’m grounded, I’m safe. Also, when I genuinely enjoy being around them, but not just hanging out as friends. More like when we hang out, I don’t care who else is around because just knowing that person is there makes the whole time better. It’s hard to explain, but deep down you just know, if that makes any sense.”

Ella nodded, taking in every word that Eddie spoke, “have you ever been in love?” she asked quietly.

“Once.” He replied, not making eye contact with her, just staring at the waves breaking in front of them.

“What happened if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Nothing happened, I’m still in love with her. I know she’s the one for me, I knew it on our second date that she’s the girl I’m going to marry.”

Surprised to hear that Eddie was in a serious relationship, Ella spoke, “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

“I do, we’ve been together almost a year.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, sorry if I lead you on.”

“Oh, you didn’t, the reason I asked was because there’s this boy and my friends don’t like him, but I think I’m falling in love with him. But we haven’t even gone on an official date, so I was just looking for some insight.”

“The best advice I can offer you is just tell him how you feel. Life is too short to not know and succumb to the ‘what ifs’. If you really want to know, you just gotta go for it. And as for the friends not liking him, if they’re really your friend, they would see how happy he makes you and learn to like him.”

“You are very wise beyond your years.” Ella stated smiling over at the boy, hoping they would stay friends as she very much enjoyed their time talking together.

“As are you young grasshopper.” Eddie chuckled, lightly shoving Ella with his shoulder, the pair laughing and continuing on with their conversation, both telling stories about the people that hold their hearts.

Standing not too far away, JJ saw the girl he was falling head over heels for laughing with some guy sitting by the water. He would recognize her smile anywhere and it pained him to see someone else be the reason for it. Seeing the guy she was with bump his shoulder with hers broke a little piece of JJ’s heart. He knew it was too good to be true. Why would she actually want to be with JJ? He was nothing short of a fuck up and had more issues than he could count. But what hurt the most is actually thought she liked him back. She laughed at his jokes even though he knew they weren’t funny. She smiled at him when she caught him staring, always staring back. She never told him to leave her alone when he bothered her at work, and never objected to hanging out after her shift. But maybe she was just being polite and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Seeing Ella and the mystery guy get up and start to walk towards him, JJ quickly shook himself off and went to find someone who could distract him from his approaching heartbreak, not knowing that Ella had spent most of her time with the boy talking about JJ.

Rejoining their friends, Ella and Eddie had made a mutual agreement to stay friends but let Sophia and Grace think something could become of them until she could find a way to tell them about JJ. Thinking of the boy for the thousandth time that night, she looked around for his mop of hair and shining blue eyes, that she knows would probably be red rimmed from being under the influence. Finally spotting his golden locks, she smiled until she saw the brunette girl tucked under his arm. The girl had her hand pressed against JJ’s stomach as she stood talking to her friends. He looked unamused, tipping his drink back and taking a big gulp of it before looking straight at Ella and pressing a kiss to the top of the girl’s head.

Her heart ached at the sight, realizing her friends were right and that JJ was just using her. She had hoped that they had been wrong, and that JJ was actually as decent guy who would give her her first taste of love, not heartbreak. But her she was, trying to hold back tears and act like everything was fine as to not concern her friends. Sophia and Grace had drank more than Ella so they were oblivious but Eddie noticed her change in demeanor. Following her stare to the blonde boy, he whispered to her, asking if that was him. She nodded her head slightly, to which he then asked if she was alright. With a tear slipping from her eye, she shook her head no and started to walk away from the group.

JJ was not impressed with the brunette who was pressed against his side. He wished for nothing other than that it was Ella he had pulled close instead of the girl he couldn’t remember the name of to save his life. Ashley maybe? Or perhaps it was Kate? Either way it didn’t matter to him and he wouldn’t bother to learn it. JJ wasn’t paying attention to the conversation in front of him, instead he continued to watch Ella from a far. Watching her laugh with her friends, not even seeing the boy who couldn’t help but let his wander to her every chance they could.

Finally making eye contact with the girl he couldn’t get off his mind, he panicked. He did the only thing he could think of to show her that he didn’t need her, and that was place a kiss on top whatever her name is head while making eye contact with Ella. Upon doing that he realized what a mistake that was because he watched Ella’s heart break in front of him. He watched the way her smile fell, and her eyes seemed to well up with tears. His heart shattered even more knowing he might have overreacted and fucked everything up. He watched as the guy she was with earlier bend down and whisper in her ear after looking at JJ and her responding with a few motions of her head before running off. Not even thinking twice about it, JJ dropped his arm from the girl’s shoulder and started after Ella.

As he walked by the group she was just standing in, the guy who Ella had spent most of the night with grabbed his arm; “don’t fuck this up. She really likes you dude.” JJ just nodded, pulling away to go find Ella and beg for forgiveness.

-

Taglist: @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​ @agirlwholovescoffee​

[roaringgirl]

Books read in January

I am keeping this as a little record for myself, as I already keep a list (my best new year’s resolution - begun Jan 2018) but don’t record my thoughts

General thoughts on this - I read a lot this month but it played into my worst tendencies to read very very fast and not reflect, something I’m particularly prone too with modern fiction. I just, so to speak, swallow it without thinking. First 5 or so entries apart, I did quite well in my usually miserably failed attempt to have my reading be at least half books by women.

1. John le Carré - Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (1974): I liked this a lot! I sort of lost track of the Cold War and shall we say ethics-concerned parts of it and ended up reading a fair bit of it as an English comedy of manners - but I absolutely love all the bizarre rules about what is in bad taste (are these real? Did le Carré make them up?).

2. John le Carré - The Spy Who Came in From the Cold (1963): I liked this a lot less. It seemed at the same time wilfully opaque and entirely predictable. Have been thinking a lot about genre fiction - I love westerns and noir, so wonder if for me British genre fiction doesn’t quite scratch the same itch.

3. David Lodge - Ginger You’re Barmy (1962): This was fine. I don’t have much to say about it - I was interested in reading about National Service and a bit bogged down in a history of it so read a novel. As with most comic novels, it was perfectly readable but not very funny.

4. Dan Simmons - Song of Kali (1985): His first novel. This is quite enjoyable just for the amount of Grand Guignol gore, and also because I like to imagine it caused the Calcutta tourist board some consternation. Wildly structurally flawed, however. Best/worst quote: ‘Hearing Amrita speak was like being stroked by a firm but well-oiled palm.’ Continues in that vein.

5. Richard Vinen - National Service: A Generation in Uniform (2014): If you are interested in National Service, this is a good overview! If not, not.

6. Sarah Moss - Ghost Wall (2018): I absolutely loved this. About a camping trip trying to recreate Iron Age Britain. Just, very upsetting but so so good - a horror story where the horror is male violence and abuse within the (un)natural family unit.

7. Kate Grenville - A Room Made of Leaves (2020): Excellent idea, but not amazing execution - the style is kind of bland in that ‘ironed out in MFA workshops’ way (I have no idea if she did an MFA but that’s what it felt like). Rewriting the story of early Australian colonisation through the POV of John Macarthur’s wife Elizabeth.

8. Ruth Goodman - How to Be a Victorian (2013): I mostly read this for Terror fic reasons, if I’m honest. I skimmed a lot of it but she has a charming authorial voice and I really like that she covers the beginning of the period, not just post-1870.

9. Gary Shteyngart - Super Sad True Love Story (2010): I read this on a recommendation from Ms Poose after I asked for good fiction mostly concerned with the internet, and I thought it was excellent - it’s very exaggerated/non-realistic and that heightening of incident and affect works so well.

10. Brenda Wineapple - The Impeachers: The Trial of Andrew Johnson and the Dream of a Just Nation (2019): What a great book. I had to keep putting it down because reading about Reconstruction always makes me so sad and frustrated with what might have been - the lost dream of a better world.

11. Halle Butler - The New Me (2019): Reading this while single, starting antidepressants and stuck in an office job that bores me to death but is too stable/undemanding to complain about maybe wasn’t a great decision, for me, emotionally.

12. Halle Butler - Jillian (2015): Ditto.

13. Ottessa Moshfegh - Death in Her Hands (2020): Very disappointed by this. I don’t really like meta-fiction unless it’s really something special and this wasn’t. Also, I’m stupid and really bad at reading, like, postmodern allegorical fiction I just never get it.

14. Andrea Lawlor  - Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl (2017): This was really really hot! I will admit I don’t think the reflections on gender, homophobia, AIDS etc are very deep or as revealing as some reviews made out, but I also don’t think they’re supposed to be? It’s a lot of fun and all of the characters in it are so precisely, fondly but meanly sketched.

15. Catherine Lacey - The Answers (2017): This was fine! Readable, enjoyable, but honestly it has not stuck with me. There are only so many sad girl dystopias you can read and I think I overdid it with them this month.

16. Hilary Mantel - Wolf Hall (2010, reread): Was supposed to read the first 55 pages of this for my two-person book club, but I completely lack self-restraint so reread the whole thing in four days. Like, I love it I don’t really know what else to say. I was posing for years that ‘Oh, Mantel’s earlier novels are better, they’re such an interesting development of Muriel Spark and the problem of evil and farce’ blah blah blah but nope, this is great.

17. Oisin Fagan - Hostages (2016): Book of short stories that I disliked intensely, which disappointed me because I tore through Nobber in horrified fascination (his novel set in Ireland during the Black Death - which I really cannot recommend enough. It’s so intensely horrible but, like Mantel although in a completely different style/method, he has the trick of not taking the past on modern terms). A lot of this is sci-fi dystopia short stories which just aren’t... very good or well-sustained. BUT I did appreciate it because it is absolutely the opposite of pleasant, competently-written but forgettable MFA fiction.

18. Muriel Spark - Loitering with Intent (1981): Probably my least favourite Spark so far, but still good. I think the Ealing Comedy-esque elements of her style are most evident and most dated here. It just doesn’t have the same sentence-by-sentence sting as most of her work, and again I don’t like meta-fiction.

19. Hilary Mantel - Bring up the Bodies (2012, reread): Having (re)read all of these in about 3 months, I think this is probably my favourite of the three. I just love the way a whole world, whole centuries and centuries of history and society spiral out from every paragraph. And just stylistically, how perfect - every sentence is a cracker. I’m just perpetually in awe of Mantel as a prose stylist (although I dislike that everyone seems to write in the present tense now and blame her for it).

20. Muriel Spark - The Girls of Slender Means (1963, reread): (TW weight talk etc ) As always, Hilary Mantel sets me off on a Muriel Spark spree. I’ve read this too many times to say much about it other than that the denouement always makes me go... my hips definitely wouldn’t fit through that window. Maybe I should lose weight in case I have to crawl out of a bathroom window due to a fire caused by an unexploded bomb from WW2???? Which is a wild throwback to my mentality as a 16 year old.

21. China Mieville - Perdido Street Station (2000, reread): What a lot of fun. I know we don’t do steampunk anymore BUT I do like that he got in the whole economic and justice system of the early British Industrial Revolution and not just like steam engines. God, maybe I should read more sci-fi. Maybe I should reread the rest of this trilogy but that’s like 2000 pages. Maybe I should reread the City and the City because at least that’s short and ties exactly into my Disco Elysium obsession (the mod I downloaded to unlock all dialogue keeps breaking the game though. Is there a script online???)

22. Stephen King - Carrie (1974): I have a confession to make: I was supposed to teach this to one of my tutees and then just never read it, but to be honest we’re still doing basic reading comprehension anyway. That sounds mean but she’s very sweet and I love teaching her because she gets perceptibly less intimidated/critical of herself every lesson. ANYWAY I read half of this in the bath having just finished my period, which I think was perfect. It’s fun! Stephen King is fun! I don’t have anything deeper to say.

23. Hilary Mantel - Every Day is Mother’s Day (1985): You can def tell this is a first novel because it doesn’t quite crackle with the same demonic energy as like, An Experiment in Love or Beyond Black, but all the recurring themes are there. If it were by anyone else I’d be like good novel! But it’s not as good as her other novels.

24. Dominique Fortier - On the Proper Usage of Stars (2010): This was... perfectly competent. Kind of dull? It made me think of what I appreciate about Dan Simmons which is how viscerally unpleasant he makes being in the Navy seem generally, and man-hauling with scurvy specifically. This had the same problem with some other FE fiction which is that they’re mostly not willing to go wild and invent enough so the whole thing is kind of diffuse and under-characterised. Although I hated the invented plucky Victorian orphan who’s great at magnetism and taxonomy and read all ONE THOUSAND BOOKS or whatever on the ships before they got thawed out at Beechey (and then the plotline just went nowhere because they immediately all died???) I had to skim all his bits in irritation. I liked the books more than this makes it sound I was just like Mr Tuesday I hope you fall down a crevasse sooner rather than later.

25. Muriel Spark - The Abbess of Crewe (1974): Transposing Watergate to an English convent is quite funny, although it took me an embarrassingly long time to realise that’s what she was doing even though I lit read a book covering Watergate in detail in December. Muriel Spark is just so, so stylish I’m always consumed with envy. I think a lot of her books don’t quite hang together as books but sentence by sentence... they’re exquisite and incomparable.

Overall thoughts: This month was very indulgent since I basically just inhaled a lot of not challenging fiction. I need to enjoy myself less, so next month we’re finishing a biography of Napoleon, reading the Woman in White and finishing the Lesser Bohemians which currently I’m struggling with since it’s like nearly as impenetrable Joyce c. Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man but, so far... well I hesitate to say bad since I think once I get into I’ll be into it but. Bad.

[taronunwin]

Can you rate everything that Taron has been in from your most fave to least fave? And giving your reasonings why for each eating. I know this might be hard to do since all of his work has been exceptional. I’m asking just because I need more Taron content to watch!

OH GOODNESS. Anon, this is a bit cruel, like making me pick my favourite children. Except I have no children. And I do not like children. I digress. I’ll do my best.

I haven’t seen most of the voice projects Taron’s done so I’ll just list what I have seen and I’ll rank it by things I love/need to watch vs. things I’m okay with watching less often, sort of thing. This is mostly spoiler free but there are a few things that dance on the line. I’m sorry, but it’s really hard not to explain what I love without getting into that territory.

Deep breath. Here goes.

1: Rocketman

When I watched Rocketman for the first time, it was one of the last of Taron’s films I had yet to see because I was the least interested in it. I wasn’t an Elton fan, I don’t care for musicals usually, and I’m not really keen on movies set in the 60′s. So there were three strikes against it and I honestly expected just to start it, click through, and move on because Taron didn’t look hot (I thought then). But by the time he got to the ‘My name is Elton Hercules John’, I was invested. Wholeheartedly. Even when Taron wasn’t on screen, I cared deeply for the young Elton. I was rooting for him, grieving with him, and feeling his pain and triumphs. That movie is an experience unlike any other and by far the best movie I have ever seen in my life. The pure joy that radiates from it… it’s hard to explain.

2: Kingsman: The Secret Service

I’m not a Bond fan myself, I’m not really an action spy genre fan, so, again, I didn’t really think I was going to love this movie. But when Lee Unwin jumped on that grenade, I sat up in my seat a bit. That wasn’t the beginning I expected. And then when his son showed up later, stuck in a life that was so miserable and far from what he wanted, my heart broke. Eggsy had so much depth and went so far beyond just a ‘kid from the wrong side of the tracks’ kind of backstory. The details about him being in gymnastics and giving it up because his mum had married a good-for-nothing creep who influenced him more than he wanted to admit, being borderline brilliant and doing so well in school, only to give that up, too, because what was the freaking point in even trying when he was stuck in a world he wanted desperately out of. And then, when that opportunity presented itself and he was able to join the Marines, the first time in his life he really felt like he had some control and could follow in his dad’s footsteps, his mum wouldn’t allow it because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. So Eggsy was utterly stuck. Until…

3: Robin Hood

Oh, Robin. I think we all have a very special soft spot for the first character we fell for in an actor’s filmography and Robin is it for me. I had seen Testament of Youth in early 2019 with my teary eye on Kit Harington but I loved Edward. However I had no idea that Robin was Edward when I started watching, I just like historical movies and thought Robin Hood looked interesting. When I started, I was pretty smitten by Rob right away but as the movie progressed and the story got more convoluted, I became less interested and actually turned it off. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Robin. So I started watching it again and boy did I fall hard. The movie itself? A stupid, fun, absolutely enjoyable ride. Robin? Well, that beautiful boy is the love of my life.

4: Billionaire Boys Club

I’ve seen a lot of negative things about this film, not just in regards to a certain cast members, but in general and frankly? I don’t get it. I know I’m probably watching it through rose-coloured glasses but honestly, I really, genuinely love this movie. I love Dean’s charisma and charm, how much he loved Joe and wanted the best for him—for both of them. I love Dean’s darkness and how his character gradually yet drastically changed over the course of the film; how he started as just a passionate, excited, enthusiastic young man and ended in such a different place, even willing to give up something and someone that meant so much to him because desperation drove him to do something he would have never imagined himself doing in the beginning. I loved watching the relationships fray and bonds dissolve and I especially loved watching Taron play Dean’s darkness so realistically, paying special attention to how he portrayed Dean’s growing drug addiction. Also? Dean is really hot. There’s no way of sugarcoating that.

5: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

I love Eggsy Unwin. I mean I love him. Like I-would-take-a-bullet-for-him kind of love. And though the charm of the first movie being his transformation from street kid to Kingsman isn’t really in this film, it’s still such a fun ride. My favourite parts are mostly the quieter moments, the little scenes where we see Eggsy, less as a Kingsman and more as himself. His struggles, his doubts, the times where he’s shaken and isn’t really sure of anything anymore. But what I love about Eggsy is how fiercely he gets back up every time. Doesn’t matter what is thrown at him, he will take it all and become stronger.

Also… “Let’s make this fair,” Eggsy says, tucking his right arm behind his back and effectively evening the playing field with his one-armed opponent before he engages in a to-the-death brawl with the man he trained with until snapping his neck with one. hand. still. tucked. behind. his. back.

6: Testament of Youth

I hate this movie so much. But I also love this movie so much. Edward is one of the sweetest angels there ever was and I adore him with every fiber of my body. And watching his story… well… it makes me more unhappy than I’ve ever been. Does that stop me from watching it? No. But it does limit the number of rewatches. It’s one of those movies that’s so perfect for a sad mood. Like when I need a good cry, oh my goodness, I need look no further. But looking beyond just the emotional nature of the movie, Taron’s performance is so so beautiful. Watching Edward’s boyish innocence peeling away to show the more hardened, deeply hurt and disillusioned young man as the war’s grip on him tightens? Honestly, it’s stunning.

7: The Last of the Haussmans

A play? Really? What’s that doing on this list? Well, let me tell you. Taron’s character, Daniel, affected me very deeply and I’m not even being silly. This list is already too long so I’ll spare the details but Daniel… he got me. He’s such a sweetheart, so genuine and pure and good and earnest and wonderful and the kiss scene, well, I don’t even know how many times I’ve watched it. The tenderness he displays, the sweet uncertainty and awkwardness yet visibly bolstering himself so he can do what he’s so unsure about… oh, Daniel. For it being one of his first public roles, I am consistently amazed by how good Taron is. Daniel’s awkwardness does not feel like Taron’s discomfort. Daniel is entirely his own person with his own story and struggles and watching his story unfold is a really lovely thing.

8: Eddie the Eagle

This sweet, fun, encouraging, uplifting, charming movie, oh, how I love it. Though I have to be honest, it isn’t one of those movies I just need to watch like every month or two. I love enjoying it with other people and seeing their reactions but it’s not one that I crave at any given time. Even still, Eddie is a pure sweetheart and I love him and his heart-filled, passion-fueled, wonderful story.

9: The Smoke

I’m actually kinda surprised where this landed on the list, but let me explain. Dennis Severs is so much like Eggsy in terms of being a very layered, three-dimensional, incredibly deep and fascinating character. I love him. Nay, I adore him. I loved watching his ups and downs, his gut-wrenching revelations and triumphant success as he strove hard to free himself of the bondage of his past. But the show itself? It’s, same as Eddie, not something I feel drawn to watch at any given time. It’s intense, very intense, and asides from Dennis’ story, I didn’t really connect with any character, other than Kev. So in terms of watchability and enjoyment of the project overall, this ranks lower, but in terms of Dennis and his importance to me? Well, he ranks much higher ❤

10: Legend

So the first time I checked out this movie, I skipped through, searching for Taron. Next time, I skipped through again. Then I bought the movie and actually watched it, and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. Ignoring the obviously impressive feat that was Tom Hardy playing both main characters, I loved the relationship between Reggie and Frances and found myself caring quite a lot for them. I don’t know that I’ll ever watch it in full again but I do skip through every so often for Teddy and thoroughly that little psycho.

11: Sing

I’ve mentioned that I don’t really watch much of Taron’s voice work because I find it annoying to hear him but not be able to see him. That’s my ultimate problem with Sing. While a very enjoyable movie and one I’ve watched a few times all the way through, I don’t necessary care enough about the other characters to want to watch it from start to finish. I’m happy just skipping through for Johnny’s story, but there’s always that nagging feeling of knowing Taron is back there somewhere, looking breathtaking, and I can’t see him. And for that, I must place this sweet movie at the bottom of this list.

This honestly took hours for me to write and perfect but I think I’m good with it now. Phew!

I’m so sorry, anon, I’m absolutely certain you were looking for like two sentences to explain what I liked or didn’t like about each of these but instead you got a mini review. Whoops.

[mattzerella-sticks]

#ShipWars by mattzerella-sticks (ao3)

Zatanna Zatara expected date night with Kara would be uneventful. Chat about their days, enjoy some delicious treats at Sweet Justice, and soak up as much love as she could from her girlfriend like Kara does with the sun. However all these expectations explode into glitter when they run into Oliver Queen and his boyfriend, Carter. The boys chose Sweet Justice as their destination for date night, too.

Can Zatanna and Oliver work through a simple ceasefire, or will their competitive natures overtake their dates?

Zatanna hooked her arm comfortably in the crook of Kara’s elbow, leaning into her as the chill winds of early winter breezed past. She felt a shiver roll through her all while her girlfriend chuckled.

“Y’know,” Kara said, “you’d be less cold if you wore an actual jacket.”

Scoffing, Zatanna cuddled further into Kara’s warmth. “Please,” she said, “it might not be functional but it’s the height of fashion! I should know, I’m great friends with the designer.” Zatanna ran a hand down her jacket, the purple fabric shimmering under the street lamps. “Besides,” she continued, “you love it when I use you as my personal heater.”

“I like it when you’re close to me,” Kara rolled her eyes, “don’t confuse the two.”

“You’re the one who absorbs sunlight like a solar panel, not me.”

Zatanna carried on, then, filling Kara in on her day. They’ve been too busy to meet up until now for their date. Schedules packed despite the tempting laziness a Saturday offered. Kara stuck helping her cousin as his bodyguard. Not to aid him in crises, instead relegated to distracting Hal Jordan long enough for Clark to make his escape.

“Why doesn’t he just tell Hal he’s not interested?” Zatanna asked when Kara finished explaining how Hal tried convincing Kara to put in a good word for him with tickets to Homecoming.

Kara smirked. “Because he loves the attention, even though he won’t admit it. If Hal cooled it a bit with the hero worship I think Clark would take him seriously… if he can survive Star Sapphire, that is.” They laughed, imagining Carol and her violet ring chasing Clark around the city.

Zatanna’s day wasn’t as irritating as Kara’s, thankfully. Except with her dad not trapped in meetings or rehearsal meant double the stress. John Zatara used his free day to push Zatanna past her magical limits that nearly broke her wand in the process. “If I didn’t notice the clock I wouldn’t have had time to get ready for tonight,” she sighed, “I’d be with him practicing palindromes until morning!”

“Palindromes?”

“Sentences that mean the same thing forwards and backwards,” Zatanna said, “he thinks that the better I am with them the quicker I can think on my feet in case something unexpected happens in an act. Or… in our case, fighting evil. Thankfully he understands how important my social life is…” She grinned, pecking Kara’s cheek. “He says hi, by the way, and expects me home by ten.”

Kara pulled Zatanna closer. “Well, there goes my plans to take you to the Lazarus Pit for a special midnight concert.”

“I know for a fact they’re closed tonight for renovations after someone moshed too hard in their pits.” Sheepishly rubbing her neck, Kara fought against the blush climbing across her face. Zatanna pressed another kiss to Kara’s cheek, smiling against the skin there.

“Not my fault the Black Canaries are awesome ,” she said, glancing down at Zatanna with an arched brow, “Why were you even checking in the first place?”

“Because I’m not taking any chances like last time.”

It was one of their first dates. They were fighting against robots from a recently ungrounded Lena Luthor, and Kara bet she could beat more of them. Winner chose where they went out on Friday. Zatanna wanted to win and finally show Kara how fantastic a spa could be. Except Kara won by snatching the controller from Lena’s hands and pressing the self-destruct button. She was played , and forced to attend a deafening performance from a Scottish screamer. While watching Kara in her element was delightful, Zatanna’s hearing suffered and she missed a handful of cues for her and her father’s act the following day. Now she checked the club’s social pages on date nights to ensure Kara wouldn’t try dragging her to another show.

“Fine,” Kara sighed, “I guess we’ll have to stick with Sweet Justice, then. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds perfect .” The pink and yellow neon beckoned them closer, Zatanna vibrating with excitement. “Hot cocoa and chocolate chip cookies is exactly what I was craving.” She reached out for the handle and wrapped her hand around the cold brass. Before she can pull, however, another hand covered hers.

“Why, Zatanna Zatara ... fancy running into you here, isn’t it?”

Another tremor wracked her body, the cause this time being the boy across from her in the brown leather jacket and ridiculous green ascot. A burning anger erupted in her stomach that spread to her head, flames caught on the grey matter when their eyes met.

She glared, “ Oliver . What are you doing here?”

“For the same reason as everyone else, I suppose,” he said, an imitation of a smile plastered on his face, “to enjoy some delightful treats safe from the frigid weather with my gorgeous boyfriend.” Oliver gestured to the other boy with him, Carter standing behind with a friendly gleam in his hard gaze. His hands were tucked deep in the pockets of his golden jacket and dark hair hidden under a similarly colored hat.

“What a coincidence,” Zatanna mirrored Oliver’s expression, “I had the same idea. Me and my stupendously beautiful girlfriend, Kara , thought that Sweet Justice would be a great place to be alone together .”

“I think the cold might be getting to you, dear,” Oliver huffed, “there were a lot of contradictions in that statement...”

Her smile fell in the same instant his did. They stood with their hands on the handle, neither willing to budge an inch in a sign of defeat.

Kara perked up beside Zatanna. “Hey Carter, how’s it hangin’?”

Carter shrugged, smirking. “Doin’ okay. Shoulder hurts though, think I landed on it wrong during flight training.”

“That sucks. Think you’ll be fine in case of an emergency?”

“Probably feel better in the morning, nothing serious-”

“And what’s not helping his shoulder injury,” Oliver cut in, dragging Carter closer to him, “is standing outside in the cold! He needs the warm comforts of baked goods!”

Zatanna grimaced, squinting at him. “Really? I heard of icing an injury but I don’t think they meant with frosting,” she said through clenched teeth, “Better Carter go home and rest, you two can come by any other night.”

“But it’s so perfect tonight,” Oliver insisted, squeezing her hand tighter, “as long as he doesn’t overexert himself he’ll be fine. Which is why I was going to feed him bites of his favorite cake to aid in his recovery!” He stepped closer, voice rising. Zatanna matched his bluff, making sure there was barely an inch of space between them. Then she racked her brain for a quick spell she could fire off to send Oliver crying home to his mansion.

“Woah, there,” Kara squeezed between them, prying them apart, “let’s cool it you two, I’d rather not get into a fight - which, coming from me, is saying a lot.”

Zatanna turned to face her girlfriend’s soft, pleading stare and found the burn churning within her slowly doused. She deflated for a moment only to straighten and addressed Oliver. “It’s a large space,” she said, “we can share.”

Oliver mulled it over. A tug at his wrist and a stern frown from Carter broke his resolve. “Agreed. We’ll sit at opposite ends if we have to.”

“Good.” She opened the door finally, gesturing to them. “Please, I insist you enter first. Age before beauty, as they say.”

“You’re lucky I’m going to let that slide,” he hissed, following Carter into Sweet Justice. Zatanna attempted to gloat, only for the smug expression to fall when Kara ushered her inside. They didn’t get far, though, Zatanna slamming into Oliver’s back.

“Hey,” she said, “why’d you stop?”

“There seems to be a… problem,” Oliver said, jerking a thumb behind him. Zatanna peeked behind him and understood what he meant.

Sweet Justice overflowed with customers, teens like them hanging out and enjoying the treats the store offered. She jumped from table to table, searching for an empty one. Even the bar had a person on every stool. There was a booth near the back, unfortunately Zatanna found it the only unoccupied part of the shop.

“Or actually,” Oliver continued, smirking, “a problem for you . Since Carter and I were here first - really, thank you for letting us in ahead of you - that booth rightfully belongs to… us .”

Zatanna growled, rounding on Oliver. “Oh no! Technically Kara and I were here first! My hand touched the door handle!”

Oliver tutted and crossed his arms over his chest, reminding Zatanna of every tutor she had growing up on tour with her father. It only served to stoke the fires of her anger more, resurging after the initial snuff. “That argument wouldn’t hold up in court much less here.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, “I’m willing to take this to court if you are!”

“I wouldn’t bother - my family’s lawyers could easily settle this with your family’s lawyers without ever needing a judge to get involved. Only to save your legal team the public embarrassment...”

“As if! Our lawyers were able to litigate against the Luthors when they stiffed us after a birthday party. Compared to the team we faced then, your retainer is like your facial hair - small and pathetic.”

Oliver gasped, petting his chin. “How dare you insult my goatee! It’s not pathetic, it’s stylish .”

Zatanna flipped her hair, smirking. “Please… you clearly don’t know anything about style. Otherwise you’d lose the ascot.”

He shrieked again, one hand moving from his goatee to his beloved ascot. “I will not allow you to ruin our date night,” Oliver said, stomping his foot, “Carter and I are going to order our desserts, and then we are going to sit in that booth. You and your girlfriend can do whatever you want as long as it’s not within this establishment.”

“Is that so?” she asked, tapping her foot rhythmically on the linoleum. Zatanna glanced over at the counter, an idea coming to mind. Grinning, she took a step away from Oliver. “Well… not if we get there first!”

She dashed towards the counter while ignoring the undignified huff behind her. Zatanna leapt into an open space and startled an already distracted Barry, cell phone perched between his ear and shoulder. “Two hot cocoas - extra whipped cream, extra cinnamon - and a half-dozen double chocolate chip cookies please!”

Oliver barged in after her, shoulder pressed hard against hers. “Two slices of cake - one red velvet, the other devil’s food - with generous helpings of whipped cream please, and tea with lemon! Please!”

“I ordered first Barry,” Zatanna growled, shoving at Oliver’s face, “serve me!”

“The bond of brotherhood, Barry,” he reminded the other boy, “deliver my order before hers !”

Barry’s eyes spun darting back and forth between them. As their voices grew and their behavior became more raucous, Zatanna felt a sense of shame building in the back of her mind. The whole building seemed to stare at them making fools of each other. She ignored all of this, though, and shoved her boot in Oliver’s stomach. However Zatanna couldn’t do the same for the force tugging her by her jacket cowl.

Kara held her tightly, a bored expression painted across her face. Carter did the same with Oliver, the smaller boy still kicking in his arms.

“Barry!” Oliver carried on, “if you bring us ours first I’ll tip you as handsomely as my boyfriend!”

“No!” Zatanna said, “I’m a better tipper!”

Barry’s face fell, darkening. He slammed his hands on the counter, “ Enough !” She and Oliver lost their voices - too stunned by the irritation laced within their normally cheerful friend. In the silence a tinny voice warbled. Sighing, Barry directed his attention to his phone. “No, Hal, not you. I’m a little busy can we - can we just pause for a sec? ...Okay.” Glancing between the couples he asked, “Why are you two acting like this… this time ?”

Zatanna answered. “Oliver was trying to steal our booth -”

“Your booth?” he gasped, “That booth rightfully belonged to Carter and I !”

“You’re fighting over a booth ?” Barry scoffed, pouting, “It’s a booth . Booths can fit four people… share .”

“Share?” Both Zatanna and Oliver cried, and then glared for the unexpected echo.

“It’s either that or no one gets the booth,” Barry told them, “I’m already busy enough as it is so answer quickly.” Then, to his phone, “Hal… this is the fourth time you’ve called me about Big Blue. You’re as obsessed with him as much as Carol is with you. ...No, I won’t take that back!”

Kara let go of Zatanna, frowning. “I’m not in the mood to find another spot for our date,” she told her, “so are you and Oliver gonna play nice or what?”

Zatanna huffed, crossing her arms. Unfortunately her girlfriend didn’t let up, and the guilt burned like her heat vision. Sighing, Zatanna faced an equally chewed out Oliver. “I guess we can share for tonight…”

“I agree,” he said, puffing his chest forward “a double date it shall be!”

She groaned, dragging her hand down her face. While spending an evening with an insufferable jerk like Oliver wasn’t exactly how she pictured tonight, it was better than if they were thrown from the establishment and Kara flew home in a bad mood. Zatanna could swallow her pride for an hour or two, no matter how large it may be.

“Barry,” Zatanna said, calmer now, “do you remember our orders?” He nodded, serving ice cream to a small child with their parent. “Good, we’ll be at the booth, then.”

They walked over and each couple slid into one of the vinyl booth cushions. Kara spread her legs comfortably, laying one arm against the back of the booth in invitation. Zatanna curled against her happily.

Oliver yawned, drawing her attention away from Kara. He relaxed into Carter, nuzzling against his chest. Peeking one eye open, Oliver raised a brow at Zatanna as a non-verbal raise. She squinted, tamping down the urge to meet his challenge.

While she wanted to give Kara an enjoyable night the habit of overshadowing Oliver bubbled within like a horribly shaken can of soda.

It was awful when they were competing to prove who was the most talented performer and only became worse when they entered into relationships. Now it wasn’t satisfying in confirming their talent but also showing off their significant others so everyone knew who had snagged the best catch.

Thinking back Zatanna would say this contest began in the library during a free period. She and Kara were studying for an exam they would have later on in the day, Zatanna quizzing her girlfriend on different chemicals and their attributes. After spouting off all she knew about Krypton - along with some extra tidbits - Zatanna threw her notebook in the air and kissed her cheek. “You’re going to do so well on this quiz Kara!” she whispered, “and when you get an A I can parade you around school so everyone knows how much of a genius you are!”

If they were anywhere else Zatanna might not have heard the scoff. But due to the reigning quiet in the library it stood out easily. Her smile fell and she whipped around to see who made the offensive sound.

Oliver tipped his chair as far as it could go, resting his feet on the table next to them. Carter sat to his right focused on his book.

“You have something to say, Oliver?” she asked.

“Why yes I do,” Oliver said, “I find it funny is all... that you would try and celebrate  your girlfriend for that when everyone already knows how smart my boyfriend is.” Carter glanced up from his book with a blush. “On the Honor Roll, exemplary tutor, President of the Archaeology club and the Oliver Queen fan club-”

“I’d say that last one would count as a mark against his intelligence,” Zatanna smirked, “and his taste .”

He nearly upended from his seat. Righting himself, Oliver glared at Zatanna and she matched his fury.

“My boyfriend is the best!”

“No,” Zatanna huffed, “my girlfriend is! She’s like the sun, so radiant, brings joy wherever she shines, and hot - she makes everything better!”

“Well Carter’s better than the sun! He is like - like - like the moon ! Mysterious, magnificent, and beautiful !”

“Ha! We all know the moon’s just a sad reflection of the sun! ”

Oliver gasped, slamming his hands on the table. “You take that back! Carter is the best person in the entire world!”

“No!” Zatanna argued, voice rising to Oliver’s level, “Kara’s the best person in this galaxy !”

“Carter’s had past lives better than the one Kara lives now!”

“Sorry to trash his past lives, but she only needs to do well in the one !”

A heavy book slammed, disrupting them. The librarian scowled their way, tapping her sharp nails on the cover of the dropped book. Without speaking she pointed towards the door. All four of them shuffled out of the library, Zatanna and Oliver still simmering and their feud far from over.

They went above and beyond in further installments of their competition. Once when Oliver bought Carter a book, Zatanna gifted Kara a guitar and it ended with both of them getting their credit cards revoked for a month after an incredible shopping spree. And another memorable moment was during lunch one afternoon when Zatanna posted a cute picture of her and Kara that accrued over one hundred likes. Only Oliver posted one of him and Carter that garnered more than theirs. Unacceptable . This led to her and Oliver taking different pictures with their partners in a variety of places and, ultimately, being sent to detention for sneaking into the principal’s office because at one in the afternoon the light from the window was perfect.

Every time they fell into one of their stubborn, competitive streaks both she and Oliver rode a short high and suffered in the long run.

But then Barry dropped off their orders. He placed the plates and mugs on their table all the while chatting with Hal. “If you’re only going to cry if I tell you Superman doesn’t think you’re handsome than how can you trust my answer is really genuine? No, no - don’t!” Barry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Frowning, he looked at the group. “If you need anything else just wave, I’ll spot you.” Walking away they heard him mutter, “I was talking to customers… Because it’s my job and I’m at work , Hal!”

Oliver reached for his fork. Instead of spearing a bite from the devil’s food cake in front of him, he took from the red velvet and guided it towards Carter’s mouth. “You sit tight Carter,” he told him, “I’ll take care of this for you.”

Between bites, while Carter’s eyes were closed, Oliver glanced over at her and winked. Zatanna crushed one of the cookies in her hand. Letting the crumbs fall, she grabbed another and held it out to Kara. “Darling, you have to try these cookies. They are fantastic! ”

Kara, cheeks stuffed already with a cookie of her own, tried pushing Zatanna’s offering away. “It’s okay,” she said, crumbs spraying, “I’ve got my own -”

“There!” Zatanna stuffed it into her mouth, grinning at Oliver, “All the hard work you’ve done today, you deserve as many cookies as you can get!” She used her hand to help her chew, then, relishing the sound of it until Kara swallowed.

Oliver nearly bent the fork with his shaking grip. Setting it down, he used his free hand to wave. Barry sped over.

“I think we’ll be needing more desserts,” he said, not breaking eye contact with Zatanna, “can you prepare a sundae?”

“Kara and I could use a couple of milkshakes as well,” Zatanna added, lips curling maliciously from cheek to cheek.

“Three dozen macarons.”

“Cake with fresh strawberries on it.”

“We’ll take the whole of the red velvet off your hands, Barry.”

“I think I saw some brownies, can we get two trays of them?”

“And some rice pudding!” Oliver slammed his fist on the table, “Because my boyfriend deserves it!”

“Kara deserves chocolate-covered cherries!”

Barry gaped at the order, head bobbing between them. “Uh,” he started, “are you sure -”

“Give it to us!” both Zatanna and Oliver yelled, startling the other boy into action. He zipped over to the counter and into the kitchen, gathering what they asked. In the meantime they helped Carter and Kara finish the treats already given to them.

“Don’t you - gnnk - think that - brrsh,” Kara choked out, “we should slow down and savor - nggh - this ?”

Zatanna paused, staring at Kara with a golden fire burning in her purple eyes. “We can savor the fact that you’re about to be treated to a buffet of delectable delicacies by your loving and appreciative girlfriend!”

Kara groaned, “But all I wanted was - gah!” She shoved another cookie in Kara’s mouth and poured the hot chocolate down there to melt it.

Barry dropped more plates off, clearing the table when Zatanna and Oliver finished stuffing the contents into their partners’ mouths. They didn’t wait for Barry’s grip to loosen on the dessert before taking it and force-feeding their respective dates. Oliver dumped a tray of macarons down Carter’s mouth and Zatanna held Kara’s face to the straw of her milkshake and wouldn’t let up until it was gone.

When Barry dropped a single donut on the table, Zatanna and Oliver went for it at the same time. Their hands brushed and instantly recoiled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Zatanna asked, “That’s Kara’s donut!”

“I think you mean Carter’s ,” he growled, “and if you know what’s good for you you’ll let us have it.”

“Know what’s good?” she scoffed, smirking, “Talking big for a man without his bow . And his weapon .”

Oliver squinted, his teeth bared. “You’d be surprised how resourceful I can be when something as important as my boyfriend’s happiness is on the line.”

“I would say the entire dictionary backwards if it meant Kara would never have to frown again!”

“Uh… guys?”

“ What ?” They turned manically towards their intruder, Barry yelping and hiding behind a chocolate-smeared plate. Shaking, he holds out a small, black leather booklet.

Zatanna arched a brow at him, “What’s this supposed to be?”

“Your-your check …”

“Check?” Oliver asked, “But we haven’t finished ordering!”

“Finished?” Barry gasped, emerging from his ineffective shield. He shifted from fear to irritation with lightning speed, gesturing towards his barren workstation. “You two ordered everything we had left ! There’s no more food to order!”

“There… isn’t?”

Zatanna’s vision zoomed out from the tunnel it was trapped and finally noticed her girlfriend. Kara collapsed against the window, raspberry filling at the corner of her lips. One hand was curled protectively around her protruding stomach while the other hovered by her mouth in case she needed to vomit. Carter didn’t fare any better. He laid face down on the table and moaned every few seconds.

She looked to Oliver, heat steadily creeping up her neck. His face burned with shared embarrassment as they realized the consequences of their actions.

Barry’s cell phone rang, interrupting the awkward tension. He checked it and rolled his eyes. “Come find me when you decide who’s paying,” he said, hitting the answer button, “Hal… if this is about Superman again I swear on every science textbook I own…” Barry dropped the check on the table and walked away.

Neither Zatanna nor Oliver wanted to speak first. However, knowing how bad it would look if their silence stretched any farther, Zatanna decided to go first. “This might have gotten… a little out of hand.”

“For once,” Oliver said, “I agree. Maybe we don’t have to compete over who has the better relationship.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Because, if we think about it, I have the best girlfriend -”

“And I have the best boyfriend,” he finished for her, smiling naturally for the first time tonight. Her cheeks ached with the natural stretch of her own grin. “Excellent thinking Zatanna! And to celebrate and cement this declaration, allow me to foot the bill.”

“Oh no, no, no,” Zatanna said, laying her hand over Oliver’s, “ I’ll cover this one.”

Oliver’s expression shrunk and became something more familiar to Zatanna. “But I was the one who started this whole feeding frenzy to begin with.”

Zatanna didn’t budge. “I think this began when I dashed to the counter, if memory serves me right.”

A beat of silence drifted between them like a dusty tumbleweed. “I’m paying for this Zatanna, it’d be barely a blip on my parent’s bills.”

“My father’s bought artwork that cost ten times what this check says.”

Peace shattered as quickly as they forged it, Oliver and Zatanna played tug-o-war with the check. They argued well into the night while their dates groaned from the sidelines, too worn from eating to intervene. Zatanna would apologize to Kara later, learn her lesson tomorrow - tonight she fought Oliver with all her might to slip her credit card into the booklet.

[shirtlesssammy]

1x22: Devil’s Trap

The Road So Far:

Sam and Dean Winchester are hot on the trail of the thing that killed their mom. She’s dead though, and never coming back. 

Now:

John Winchester is kidnapped by Meg and her fellow demons. They know where the brothers are and they know they have the Colt. Dean decides it’s in their best interest to get the hell out of Dodge Salvation. Sam wants to keep going, fighting for their dad. Dean needs a plan and everything else stops until they get their dad back. And WOW, like to this day Sam loves powering through the tough times and Dean’s emotions mess with how he thinks at times. Resigned to Dean’s plan, Sam asks how they’re going to find their dad. They need help.

*BOBBY ALERT*

The boys head to Bobby Singer’s Salvage Yard. 

He’s an old friend of John’s (and a surrogate father to Sam and Dean, even if they don’t know it yet) and an expert in supernatural lore. He tells the brothers about how demon possessions are on the rise --and whatever storm that’s coming, Sam and Dean are right in the middle of it. HMMM. Chuck’s writer’s block just cleared it seems. 

Meg shows up. She wants the Colt. Sam and Bobby start to slowly back away from her, further into Bobby’s house. Meg keeps talking and walking, until she ends up under a demon trap. 

They tie her up during the commercial break. Dean asks where John is. Meg sasses back so Dean calls her a bitch and I continue to recoil at early seasons’ misogyny. Meg tells Dean that she killed John. Dean can’t process that potential reality so he punches her. Bobby points out that Meg is a demon possessing “a girl”, and I continue to recoil at the word “girl” when she’s clearly over the age of 12. 

They decide to exorcise the demon from the woman. Sam starts reciting the exorcism (and he has to read them, sweet bby). 

Dean continues to interrogate Meg about where John is. She tells him of the gruesome way she killed him. Meg eventually gives up the location of where they’re holding John, but doesn’t know anything about the Yellow Eyed Demon. 

Dean tells Sam to finish the exorcism. Sam wants to keep using Meg for their plan. Bobby says they’ll kill the girl inside her if they do it. (And I’m like, uh Bobby, you really think letting Meg possess her is better than death??) Dean wins and Sam finishes the exorcism. 

Meg, the woman, is still alive. Dean instructs Bobby to call 911 (WHAT?). She’s broken and dying. Before she dies, she tells the brothers where to find John. 

Bobby sends the boys on their way in search of John. 

On the road, Sam, so into his research and not having a decent tablet to work on, starts defacing Dean’s car. He’s drawing a couple devil’s traps to keep the Colt safe in the trunk. 

Dean wants to bring the gun to help with springing John from the demons. Sam argues that John would be pissed that they used the Colt to find him. Sam wins and they leave the Colt behind. 

They find the place where the demons are holding John and realize that demons could be possessing any of the humans around. They can’t kill the humans AND the demons know what Sam and Dean look like. “This sucks out loud.” Dean suggests they pull the fire alarm to remove all the civilians. They’ll have seven minutes before the police respond. 

Sam does his best to skulk suspiciously into the building.

As soon as the coast is clear, he pulls the fire alarm in the lobby. Inside an apartment, a creepy couple look around intently then head into the bedroom where they’ve strapped John Winchester spread-eagle-style. Kinky? ((Grimacing face))

Outside, Dean does his best to distract firefighters from Skulking Sam, who’s pulling yet another wacky prank. “I’ve got a yorkie upstairs and he pees when he’s nervous!” Dean whines. Dean, I am LIVING. Sam picks the lock on the firetruck and steals two fire-proof suits and full face masks. As they walk through the building, Dean reveals that he always wanted to be a fireman and, to be perfectly honest, I now die a little inside. My soul is a weeping storm cloud! (Send me all your firefighter Dean/Cas AUs. I’ll wait!)

They track the demons via EMF and get the creepy couple to open the door. It’s fighting time! Our guys use their water tanks and fists to handily trap the satanic suburbanites behind a door. A little salt circle and they’ve got ‘em trapped. They find John, who’s unconscious on the bed. Sam stops Dean from untying him right away. Thoroughly his father’s son, Sam does the holy water test on John before freeing him. He’s clean!

Outside, an onlooker is suddenly possessed by a demon and rapidly after that, one of the firefighters. Yeah. It’s season one. We’re just learning about demons so there’s no flashy flashy smoky smoky. It’s just a gentle stroke and….POSSESSED. 

The demons head inside. Time for fight number two!

Not if the Winchesters can help it, though. They leave via the fire escape and make it down to the sidewalk. Another demon heads in for the assault, beating the crap out of poor Sammy’s concussion-prone head. Dean shoots the demon, whose head sparks… The demon dies. After all, a shot from the Colt is fatal. The camera takes a moment to really mourn the human who has just died (which is honestly something I miss before we went all stabby stabby knifey knifey). 

Somehow, they all manage to drag themselves to the Impala and out to a safe house. Salt is poured. Probably some alcohol too, let’s be honest. 

Sam admits that Dean saved him, and Dean snarkily comments on how it’s a good thing he brought the Colt after all. (Hey guys, remember that time when Dean brought the First Blade on a job without Sam’s knowledge? I love patterns.) 

Dean’s somber. He’s still thinking about the demon he shot - the man he shot. He tells Sam that he’s not bothered by killing the otherwise innocent demon-possessed man. Rather, it’s helped him to realize, “For you or dad - the things that I’m willing to do. Kill. It scares me sometimes.” 

John appears and praises Dean, telling him that he made the right call. “You’re not mad? I used a bullet,” Dean points out, looking thoroughly unsettled.

“I’m proud of you,” John says. Dean quietly - oh so quietly - thanks him. Suddenly the lights flicker. John rushes to the window and announces that the demon has arrived. He sends Sam to recheck salt lines and demands the Colt from Dean. 

Dean looks at the gun and resolve settles on his face. Slowly, he backs away. “He’d be furious,” Dean says, “that I wasted a bullet.” He points the gun at John. “You’re not my dad.”

Dean tells John (Demon John) that he knows his dad well. And validation isn’t part of the package. When Sam bursts in, Dean tries to explain that John’s “different” now. Please, join Boris and I in this quilt huddle so we can gnash our teeth and think about Dean’s low self image and cracked father-son relationship which helped him realize almost immediately that it wasn’t his father giving him compliments. Let us collect our tears in tiny, artisanal bowls together, then dry that saltwater and sweep up the salt to make Moste Potente Demon Trappes™. 

Sam looks between John and Dean and when pressed, chooses Dean’s side. John tells them to shoot him and it is VERY EMOTIONAL UP IN DEAN’S FACE.

And I’m fine with it. Completely fine. No emotions up in here.

John turns on a dime, descending into mockery before he demon-hurls them across the room.��

The gun falls to the ground and Demon John picks it up. His eyes glow YELLOW. Sam wonders why holy water didn’t tip them off but Yellow Eyes says it has no effect on him. (But come on, it doesn’t even...tickle?) Yellow Eyes tells Sam that he should use his psychic powers to float the gun to himself. (SOLID plan!) Sam does not float any guns. 

Yellow Eyes strolls up to Dean. He tells him that Dean killed his children via exorcism and bullet. (I have to remind myself that Dean and Sam know jack shit about demons at this point, and they don’t know that Meg swirled down to Hell for an iced coffee before heading back topside.) Yellow Eyes then shifts to Sam, taunting him about the death of their mom and Jess. “They were in the way” of his glorious plans for poor Sam. 

Dean snarks and Yellow Eyes shifts his attention once again. “You fight and fight for this family but the truth is they don’t need you. Not like you need them.” DEAN BEAN don’t listen to him! 

Dean taunts Yellow Eyes about his fallen children. As a reward, Yellow Eyes mind-slices into Dean. Blood pours from Dean in rivulets and he begs, “Dad, don’t you let him kill me.” 

I AM EXPERIENCING EMOTIONS! (I used to rewatch this episode way more than was likely healthy.)

Dean starts to slump over, losing consciousness, when John takes control momentarily. It’s enough to stop the bloody torture, and gives Sam the split second he needs to lunge for the Colt. He grabs it and shoots John in the leg. 

John wakes up. He’s unseated Yellow Eyes for the moment, and begs Sam to kill him. Sam lifts the gun. John begs for an end to the demon, consequences be damned. Dean begs Sam to spare John. Sam, torn between them again, makes a choice. He drops the gun.

Yellow Eyes smokes out of John and sinks into the floorboards, leaving John free and clear. And steaming mad. 

They’ve managed to haul themselves into the Impala. Sam’s driving. Dean’s in the backseat, barely conscious. John berates Sam for sparing his life, but Sam’s hopeful. They’ve got the Colt. They’ve got one bullet. They tracked down Yellow Eyes once and gosh darn it, they can do it again!

Then…

THEN

WHAM! Out of nowhere, a semi truck crashes into the side of the Impala. In the light of the headlights, we see all three Winchesters unconscious and bloody. 

And then fade to black. See ya next season.

______________________________

The Mystical Quotes Gun Solves Everything:

“Last time we saw you, you did threaten to blast him through with buckshot. You cocked the shotgun and everything.” “Yeah, well, what can I say? John just has that effect on people.”

You get a demon in - they’re trapped. Powerless. It’s like a Satanic roach motel.

You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask.

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[kazosa]

A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

Summary: All you wanted was to use your skills in automotive engineering and design to open your own custom car shop. When the rug gets yanked out from under you, one of your regular customers offers you a job that you just can’t resist. Will it stay a mutually beneficial arrangement, or will something unexpected bloom?

Pairing: AU Dean Winchester x Reader

Appearances by: Chuck Shurely, Donna Hanscum

Chapter Synopsis: reader and her boss, Chuck, have a talk and it doesn’t go well. Dean has a proposal to solve both of their problems.

Word count: 3450

Warnings: language, thievery, conniving

Tagging: @coffee-obsessed-writer (if you want to be added to the tags, holla)

(this will be a multi-chapter series until I get all the words out)

    Dean flipped the green invitation over in his hands, the gold lettering reflecting the light. It was same card stock the cheap, old bastard always used. This one, however, had a snowflake at the top and requested his presence for the annual Christmas party. The dread was already seeping in. The inevitable questions would come up.

    “Do you have a special someone?” then watching their faces drop when he said ‘no’. The disappointment, the sadness, the pity. If it didn’t come from his family, it would come from the shareholders.

    There had never been a real time-table on when his dad was going to retire, but John Winchester had been hinting heavily at it for the last six months. To make matters worse, Dean’s brother, Sam, had gotten engaged to his long-time girlfriend, Jess, at Thanksgiving.

    Dean never understood why being married was a requirement to run the family business. He didn’t need someone distracting him, there was no time for anything more than a one-night stand. His focus had been on creating new blends and staying relevant in the brewing community. If he was going to have any shot at running the business, he needed to, at least, make it look like he was going to have or already did have a long-term relationship.

    He tossed the invitation on the coffee table and got up from his couch. He had less than a week to get it figured out, but other things needed his attention. Grabbing his brown leather jacket and keys, he headed down to the garages. Baby needed a tune up and he didn’t have time to do it himself.

      Business was good. It was always good, and you were confident it was because of you. You did most of the work in the garage and stayed late to help with the books and maintaining inventory. Chuck was deep in the black and you weren’t being cut in on the profits. Getting your own custom design garage going had been a dream and you were saving up for it. You were still a year, maybe two away from having your start up capital at the rate you were going. With Chuck not sharing the profits you were responsible for generating, you asked him for a meeting to talk about it.

    “Damnit, Chuck, you can’t do this to me,” you pleaded. “I’m the reason you’re going on vacation every quarter. No one is going to give me the loans I need until I get my down payment secured. I was counting on you.”

    “(Y|N), if I hand you everything, you won’t appreciate what you have. You’ll never get the work ethic to see something through to completion without help,” he looked so smug sitting in his desk chair. “There’s nothing wrong with this garage and working here. I don’t understand why you’d want to leave.”

    The deep, throaty sounds of the muscle cars that were the bread and butter of the business were in the background noise of the rage you were feeling toward Chuck. You were vaguely aware of movement outside the door of Chuck’s office.

    “This is a load of bullshit. Do you hear yourself?! Do you actually believe the crap that comes out of your mouth? You know what an asset I am and you’re screwing me over to keep e here,” you could feel the heat of your rage begin to crawl up your neck.

    “I’d like to remind you that you’re under contract until the end of the month. You can either resign for another year, or you can walk.”

    “So, you’ve already made up your mind? This is it?” you were numb.

    “January 1st. 1 P.M. You’re not here to sign, I’ll consider your resignation immediate. No hard feelings,” Chuck’s voice was cool and controlled.

    “Anything else?” you matched his tone.

    “No. You can go,” he was almost glib.

    You were clenching your teeth, willing yourself not to break. Quickly, you turned and left Chuck’s office. the old wood and glass door rattled as it closed behind you. Too caught up in the disaster your life had suddenly become, you didn’t notice the man on the visitor couch until he cleared his throat.

    “The hell do you want?” you growled. “Oh, right, tune up.”

    You saw the car outside first before you’d put the information together.

    “Sorry, it’s not you. Winchester, right?” you asked.

    Dean stood up, but he didn’t move. For a man as big as he is and normally so confident, it was a little odd to see him so apprehensive.

    “Yes, but that’s not all,” he said.

    “Not interested,” you really hoped he wouldn’t be like the shocking majority of your customers and not hit on you. They all seemed to want to take you away, provide for you, or some crap about you being a woman mechanic. No one ever took time to get to know you.

    “What? No, wait. I have a proposition for you!” he tried to stop you from walking away.

    “Get the hell out of my garage,” you ordered.

    “Shit! No, it’s not like that! I mean, it is, but it’s not what you think,” he tried to get you to stop and listen.

    You looked at your crazy customer. Over the last year, you’d seen Dean for regular oil changes and a few other minor repairs you were sure he could have done himself. You’d gotten acquainted with him, but not much more than car talk.

    “Can we talk in private somewhere?” he asked earnestly.

    The ‘talk’ with Chuck was still ringing in your ears. You brushed off your hands on your coveralls and said, “Sure, what the hell.”

    The short walk to the café on the corner wasn’t long enough to cool off your flared temper. This Dean guy was working your nerves, too, but at least Donna’s brought the promise of hot drinks and donuts. Reaching for the door, you puled it open letting both you and Dean in. The smell of donuts, cookies, and coffee greeted you, as well as the owner of the store.

    “Hi kiddo!” she called from behind the counter. “Have a seat, be right with ya!”

    “She’s … cheerful,” Dean observed.

    You were feeling better already. Donna’s was the place you went to almost every day. She had the best donuts in town, a small variety of coffee, and now that the weather had turned, apple cider and hot chocolate.

    “Donna is the best. She takes care of everybody,” you felt yourself smiling. You stopped near your favorite booth and turned to face Dean.

    “Have a sea, I need to go wash my hands,” you held up your grease stained hands. “Donna keeps Lava for me. Be right back.”

    You didn’t wait for Dean to slide into the booth. You didn’t even care if he was there when you got back, but you were curious to hear what “proposition” he had for you. In the bathroom, you barely had time to turn on the faucet and grab the soap before Donna came bursting in through the door.

    “(Y|N)! Oh my gosh, who is mister cutie-pie out there?! And are you two going to…”

    “Donna! Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you warned.

    “What?! He’s CUTE! If you’re not going to, send him back my way, huh?”

    Donna was too much, sometimes.

    “He’s a customer and we’re going to talk business,” you were using the scrubbing soap Donna hid under the sink, just for you.

    “I don’t care, you better get his number, then tell me all about it!”

    “Donna!”

    The woman you thought of as a sister, gave you a wink before she bustled out of the bathroom. The gritty soap worked loose the grease that stuck to your skin and rinsed off your hands. The soap worked well but left your hands dry. When you put away the soap, you put half a pump of lotion in your hand and worked if into your skin. Miraculously, when you did a mirror check, no stray strands of hair had escaped your bandana headband. Calling it a win, you went back out to the booth where Dean was still waiting for you.

    Dean sat at the booth, hands clasped in front of him, looking a little nervous. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen that look on his face. If that was how he looked for a business deal, you didn’t think you wanted to hear it.

    Putting your hand on the bench, you slid into the booth across from Dean. The menu was on the table and you put your hand on it, walking your fingers on it to bring it closer to you.

    “So, ahh,” Dean’s hands rapped out a rhythm on the table top, “you come here often?”

    He couldn’t see your face behind the menu to gauge your reaction to his poor choice in words. You didn’t roll your eyes, but you did raise an eyebrow at him.

    “Almost every day,” you admitted dryly.

    “Donna seems nice,” he said.

    You didn’t look up from your menu. You already knew what you wanted, you got the same thing every time. You were just in a bad mood and wanted to make Dean squirm a little.

    “Look… Dean,” you relented and put down the menu. “I only have so much time for my break.”

    “Seems like you might have a lot of free time soon,” he ventured.

    “And just how long were you eavesdropping? Man, you’re really batting .1000,” your voice rose in volume and attitude.

    “Your boss wasn’t being quiet when he gave you the ultimatum. Tow the line or get out, right?” he paused a moment. “You don’t seem like the conforming type.”

    “Oh really, and what type do I seem like?” your volume increasing again.

    “Hi kids! What can I getcha?!” Donna zoomed over to your booth and kicked your boot under the table.

    You started, “I’ll have…”

    Donna cut you off again, and without even looking at you, she said, looking at Dean, “I know what you want, I was talking to handsome, here.”

    For the first time ever, Donna’s bubbly personality bugged the shit out of you. How dare she be nice to the smug jerk across from you.

    “Any recommendations?” Dean asked, sweet as can be.

    “Powdered sugar donuts are on special,” Donna answered.

    “They’re on special every day, Donna,” you grumbled.

    “Doesn’t make ‘em any less special, sweetie,” she said, the usual cheer in her tone, ignoring your our one.

    Dean glanced at you, his expression wondering what he was missing.

    “Um,” he stalled.

    Donna glared at you.

    “In all fairness,” your attention went to Dean, “they are pretty amazing.”

    “You sold me,” he said and handed his menu to Donna, “Two and a black coffee.”

    “I’ll be right back,” she said, then mouthed the words “BE NICE” to you before going back behind the counter to fill your orders. You gave Donna a noncommittal shrug. She was back in just a few short minutes.

      Dean suspected that (Y|N) would be a tough sell on his plan. The whole drive to the garage he thought about what he was going to say. None of it sounded good. It all came out like garbage. After he parked his baby in the to-service area, he stepped inside the garage through the pass-through doors and to the right.

    (Y|N) was hard to miss. Not only was she the only woman in the shop, she had a style all her won, even in work clothes. She was in the office talking to the owner, Chuck. She had her pulled up, a bandana wrapped around her head. Her coveralls had the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and he couldn’t see, but he knew she was wearing beat up black combat boots.

    He took a seat in the waiting area. It didn’t take long before the conversation in the office became heated. He heard everything, and he finally knew how he could get her to help him. He stuck his foot in his mouth a few times, but she needed to get out of the shop and that worked to his advantage.

    They’d gone to a café on the corner and he found himself in a booth staring at an untrusting, angry (Y|N), and at a loss for words. (Y|N) gave off a vibe that she had zero fucks left to give, so he pulled no punches, even though he found her attitude slightly intimidating.

   “Look, I’m gonna get right to it, I need your help,” he began.

    “Oh yeah?” you were wary of what he might say next, “this is gonna be good.”

    “I’d like to pay you to do some…let’s call it ‘work.’ It’s out of the ordinary, but I’ll make it worth your while.”

    “How out of the ordinary are we talkin’ here?” you were curious.

    “I need a girlfriend for a week,” his voice was hushed

    You started sliding out of the booth, “You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

   He half-stood on his side of the booth to stop you from leaving.

    “Hear me out, please. I swear it’s not what you think.”

    His hand was cool and firm on top of yours. When you looked at him, he was still hovering over his seat, his eyes pleading with you to stay. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was that made you change your mind, but you found yourself sitting back down in the booth to hear what he had to say.

    After you checked the time, you said, “You have fifteen minutes.”

    “My family owns a brewery and car dealerships where I’m from. My dad has been very controlling of it and didn’t want to try anything new or change anything about how business was done and... it was part of the reason I left.”

    “And the other part?” your curiosity about this job, and man, were growing.

    Dean squirmed in his seat. This was the tough part.

    “My dad thought it was important for the person he hands off the business to be in a solid relationship when he retires. They even tried to set me up with a “good girl” they thought would be good for me. Almost married her…There’s me and my brother left to take it over,” he said.

    “And you want it?” you guessed. You had other questions, but this was not the time.

    Dean nodded.

    “What’s the catch? There’s always a catch,” you asked.

    “The old man can spot a lie from a mile out. We’re really going to have to sell it. You might have to become my fiancé. I even have my grandmother’s ring if it comes down to it. The old man won’t give the business over unless he believes we’re real.”

    “What else are you leaving out?” you wanted to know.

    “My little brother got engaged at Thanksgiving. There’s a strong chance this won’t work,” he said.

    “And you’re afraid you’re not pop’s favorite?”

    “There’s that and I haven’t exactly been friendly with everyone and my track record with women has not been stellar,” he admitted.

    “You see he irony here, right?” you asked, and Dean gave you a “what are you gonna do” shrug.

    “Is your brother that much of a dick that he would try to snake the business from you by getting engaged?”

    “All he sees is the profit margins. He doesn’t love the business like I do. Never has.”

    You leaned back in the booth and polished off your donut and washed it down with the apple cider.

    “So, you want me to convince your family that we’re a sickeningly in love couple, so you can snake the business from him?” you deduced.

    Dean nodded again.

    “If I help you do this, what do I get out of it?” you wanted to know.

    “Would my unending appreciation be enough?” he asked.

    You crossed your arms and stared at him, unblinking, unamused by his joke.

    He leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones a though he were suddenly aware hey were in a public space.

    “I can provide the capital you needed that you aren’t getting from Chuck. I wouldn’t even need to be an investor. Just call it a gift, or a payment, or whatever, for services rendered,” he said.

    You definitely had not expected him to make you that kind of proposal. A lot of questions rolled through your head. How did he have that kind of money? He didn’t even know how much you needed. What was his dating history that he came to you?

    Dean was relieved that you were still in the booth with him. He could see you were thinking hard on what he’d offered.

    “And if you don’t get the business?”

    “Then I’m still screwed, and you can kick my ass,” he snorted.

    “I have the boots for that,” you said without missing a beat.

    “C’mon, sweetheart. Mutually beneficial deal here. Would it be so bad to pretend to like me for a week?”

    “No, not for the right price, I guess,” you said. “I’m not doing this for nothing, Winchester. And so long as we’re clear, it’s all for show. I’m not a whore to be bought, I just want my own garage. Why a week though?”

    “Not a problem. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, real or fake. The week is my dad’s doing. It’s the only time each year when we are required to show up. He makes a big deal out of it. Party for the whole company. Speaking of, do you have a dress?”

    You laughed, you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t believe the turn your day had taken. It was all so ridiculous. You had plenty of money saved, but you were unwilling to pony up the cash it would take to dress properly.

    “I have a dress, but I have no jewelry to go with it,” you said. “When do you need an answer about this?”

    You knew very little about Dean Winchester, but you’d found him to be mostly pleasant when you’d spoken to him in the past. You supposed there were worse ways to spend a week, especially with the possibility of losing your real job when you got back. But if it went well, you’d have the money to get your shop going. If it went poorly, you wouldn’t have your garage as quickly, but you might get a new friend out of it.

    “Soon as possible,” he responded.

    “I’ll let you know when you get your car tomorrow,” you started to slide out of the booth. “I gotta get back to work.”

      Dean followed her out of the booth and was going to walk her out when Donna stopped him.

    “Hey, buddy. No dine ‘n dash here,” she called out.

    He jerked his head around to see the back of (Y|N)’s coveralls walking away from him.

    “Nice,” he grumbled at her retreating figure. Turning back to the counter, he walked back to where Donna stood and pulled out his wallet. “My mistake.”

    Donna smiled brightly at him. It was like she had no “off” switch.

    “I used ta be a sheriff, didja know?” she asked.

    Dean shook his head and handed her a $20. Donna’s former career hadn’t come up in conversation.

    “Oh yeah. It gave me a particular set of skills acquired over a long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for guys like you. If you promise you’ll be a gentleman and not break my dear friend’s heart, I won’t look for you. I will not pursue you. But if you do, I will find you, and I will kill you.”

    Dean looked at the blonde woman. He felt like she was serious, but also like she might be jerking him around.

    “Did you just… Taken me?” he asked, waiting on his change.

    “Yeah! It’s good right?!”

    They both nodded and appreciated the reference. Donna turned serious again, her brown eyes burning through him.

    She extended her index finger at him to make her point, “I mean it, buck-o. You hurt her the D-Train is comin’ for ya.”

    She came around the corner, his change still in her hand.

    “It’s business, not happily ever after,” he said, letting her guide him to the door.

    “Well! That’s good, huh?!” she chirped. “Cuz cops know things. Thanks for the tip!” she put his change in her apron pocket.

    “Okay then,” she opened the door. “Thanks for coming in… Dean Winchester.” She patted his shoulder as she pushed him out the door. “Come back real soon, okay? Bye!”

    Dean walked out the door and was waiting for his ride to arrive before he realized he’d been hustled, twice.

    “Sonofabitch.”

Part 2

[katsidhe]

14.12 Final Thoughts

And BOY do I have a lot of ‘em. There were three (3!) important Sam conversations, so buckle up, gents. 

Here’s the thing. Nick is FASCINATING to me, but ONLY insofar as Sam interacts with him. It’s like someone on the writing team heard me say just the first part of that sentence and then stopped listening. 

Nick clearly missing Lucifer in a fucked-up way, choosing him over his own wife, would be sooooo much cooler if Sam had to interact with that hot mess, my god can you imagine. That’s yet another on the list of missed-Nick-opportunities, and yes, I’m keeping a list. It’s long.

(I wonder if before Nick went full-psycho, he considered asking Sam if he ever felt that way? Nick knows just one (1) other person who’s gone through what he has. Personally, I’d be curious.) 

I’m amazed how many times Donatello has evaded death. Score another point for tenure, I guess. 

Sam’s starting salvo after Dean’s nightmare comes with no sugarcoating whatsoever. His strategy seems to be, “yeah, we’ve all been through Hell, you’re quite sure you’re ready to sign up for another round?” 

Sam’s nominally cooperating with Dean’s plan, but he’s being as unapologetically passive-aggressive about it as possible, at every possible opportunity. Which I frankly adore. You can taste his anger building through the whole episode.

Dean’s been slowly coming round to s1 Sam’s point of view on John’s parenting. I love that they’re bringing this up. Sam, on the other hand, really doesn’t care. He’s much more able and willing to brush all of that aside in s14 than he was in s1, to the point where Dean bringing it up just makes him… exhausted. (I discussed this more back in this post.)

Dean’s choice of deathbed amends is one that’s 15+ years back. And I do think that it’s a struggle for Dean to admit that he’s ever been anything but a loyal protector of Sam; even if he knows wasn’t perfect, it’s important to him to insist that he’s always been trying his best, as the most crucial pillar of his identity as a righteous defender. But to make it about their childhood… well, it’s a ~much safer topic than say, Gadreel. It’s something Dean’s got confidence Sam will brush off. It’s also something that Dean’s been leading into for awhile—undoing John’s way of doing things while keeping his own head still firmly planted in the family narrative.

Sam’s been spending this season having his history spat back in his face through a funhouse mirror. Despite that, I wasn’t necessarily expecting a breaking point, but DAMN! am I happy to get one! 

It makes a ton of sense that THIS would be the breaking point, of course: an episode of towing what is essentially Dean’s Cage behind the car. The layers of history and pain and fear behind that fate, the amount of time Sam’s spent this season dealing with alt!Michael and not!Lucifer, and Dean’s latest plan being so perfectly, perfectly on-the-nose? In trying to imagine late-seasons Sam getting properly FURIOUS at Dean, this situation is one of the only ones that would just about do it. It’s delicious. 

I have enough thoughts about their final confrontation that I’ll probably make a different post before I write (more of) an essay, but I’ll just say now that I think Sam’s strained desperation here, the punch, the appeal to Betrayal of Family Values, the violence with which he uses an emotional outburst as a persuasion tactic—it all feels a lot more like a Dean-strategy than a Sam-strategy. Which is super interesting to me.

[westallenfun]

Before the Hood - 2/6

For @jade4813 from @backtothestart02

…

Chapter 2 -

Slowing his horse’s gallop to a trot, Julian brought the animal to a stop in front of its stall in the stables and swung one leg over the side to drop down onto the ground, while his stable hand held his grand horse steady.

“Thank you, Felix.”

The boy nodded and guided the horse into its stall.

Julian moved almost immediately after that, heading straight into his residence. His tutor would be in the library, no doubt to teach him more Latin. He abhorred Latin. It had no purpose, given few people could read and only the friar and other clergymen could understand and speak it in turn. Julian had no interest in spending long hours inside the house of God, dedicating his life to that of blind servitude and sacrifice and celibacy. Despite the fact that his knighthood had been forced upon him by his father, one of the highest-ranking guards of the King, he enjoyed the respect it granted him. And training in the art of jousting and archery and sword fighting certainly beat any other job he could’ve been pushed into.

Women fawned over him. Men looked to him as a promising lad for the future. He would go to the Crusades soon, and when he returned, he would obtain everything he wished. Separation from his father, a marriage to the woman Barry Allen loved, and all the gold and jewels he desired.

Maid Iris was a pretty little thing. Her dark hair and skin accentuated by her light-colored dresses, pinks and purples and yellows, all that were of a satin material ever since she’d become Sheriff DeVoe’s charge. Julian went to visit her often, trying to make a good impression. She appeared to be uninterested. But he’d impressed Sheriff DeVoe with his knighthood and manners and shared knowledge of Latin – ironically. Julian knew before he left Collin Woods for the battlefield, he could convince the man to sign a contract in Iris’ place, so they would be wed immediately on his return.

Julian wasn’t blind to Iris’ lack of affection towards him. He knew she’d been closed-minded from the start, unwilling to even consider him an option, because her heart still lie with the foolish boy who’d swept her off her feet before her father and brother had abandoned her in their departure from Collin Woods. As pretty as she was, and as admirably stubborn, Julian had no problem admitting that he wanted her for himself solely so Barry Allen couldn’t have her.

The odds were already against Barry with the scandal of his father taking on a female pupil in the practice of medicine – and not only a girl, but a peasant. Her only place should be that of cooking and cleaning and to marry another peasant at her own level. The fact that another knight, Sir Ronald, had promised himself to her baffled Julian. But he supposed it was not his place. He was even more uninterested in Caitlin Snow than Maid Iris on her own merit. All he cared about was hurting Barry Allen, who had more to live for than he could have dreamed. And he deserved none of it. He took all of it for granted.

Barry not only was able to get by without a real job that would add to the income of his household, but he spent most afternoons shooting off arrows in the middle of the forest. Reckless! If you asked him. Especially since he knew for a fact the arrogant boy had no intention of ever fighting in the great war of their time, alongside their King, who he claimed to miss dearly with the idiotic Prince John in his place.

Henry Allen might’ve preferred his son practice medicine, but he did not disown him when he refused to do so. If Julian had refused knighthood his father would have done exactly that. Thrown him to the streets, because how dare he not want something that came with so much honor, so much nobility, that promised him victory in his life and all that he desired. Despite Julian warming to the idea, he would always be bitter and hold resentment against his father for the pressure he’d put him under. When Julian had announced he was pursuing Iris, his father had just barely approved, and only because her station had been lifted up in Joseph and Wallace West’s departure. He supposed he should be grateful for that. But he couldn’t. It was only another instance in which Sir David Albert reigned supreme.

His father had never mourned his wife or his daughter’s passing. He beat Julian when he caught him in tears over their deaths. Women were not meant to grow attached to, he would say. They were meant for cooking and cleaning and bearing children. In his wife’s absence, Sir David Albert had hired a maid, Louise. Only five at the time, Julian had spent the next eight years being raised by her until he was forced into knighthood by his father. He’d thought it would bring them closer, but it only made him all too aware of what a villain his father could be. It benefitted him that he and Sheriff DeVoe were of the same nature, but Julian swore he would never be like him. He would obtain Iris for himself, but he would never lay a harmful finger on her – something that could not be said of his father’s actions towards his mother.

 If Iris did not wish to clean and cook and sew, Julian would find a maid who would do those things. And he would make her fall in love with him so that she would never want to leave, never cry in the dark when she thought he was unaware. He would overcome his father in that way and also leave Barry Allen a destroyed mess without the woman he loved. Would he come to hate his father? Would he turn on his mother for never trying to stop Henry Allen from tutoring a peasant girl? It didn’t matter. The key would be in seducing Maid Iris.

That was the most difficult task. If he couldn’t do it before they were wed, he would be sure to do it afterwards. Either by turning her against Barry or by making him disappear. The idea of killing or hiring someone to kill the young Allen appealed to him for only a moment before he realized that would be still worse than what his father had done. He would not become worse. He would be better.

But Barry still needed to be poison in Iris’ eyes or he needed to leave. Julian just didn’t know how to go about choosing the latter.

“You’re lost in thought,” his tutor said as he walked into the large, quiet room.

Julian came to a halt and nodded once.

“I am ready for my lesson,” he said.

His tutor gestured to a comfortable chair in front of him, beside which sat a table and piles of books for him to learn from.

“Something troubles you,” his tutor said, looking at him contemplatively.

“When does it not?” Julian asked rhetorically on a sigh, selecting a book and flipping through it to find where they’d last left off.

“Let’s talk about it.”

Julian paused and looked up at the inquisitive, wise, older man, and wondered how best to get out of this particular conversation.

“I won’t tell your father,” he said, setting aside his own book. “Your welfare is my top priority.”

Reluctantly, Julian closed his.

“That’s not what we pay you for.”

“Consider it charity then.”

“I don’t need your charity,” he spat, harsher than he’d meant to.

“But do you need someone to listen? To really hear you, Sir Julian?”

His lips thinned.

“Is it Bartholomew Allen?” he questioned. “Do you want what he has?”

“I am not envious of him if that is what you are asking. I have almost everything I desire, and soon I will have the final piece.”

“The affections of Maid Iris.”

“Her promise to marry.”

“She is willing?” his tutor asked, surprised.

Julian’s brows narrowed. “In time.”

His tutor analyzed him most uncomfortably, until Julian nearly stood to his feet and walked out of there.

“You want something else.” His eyes widened. “To destroy young Bartholomew and all he has.” He paused. “To kill?”

Julian was unnerved by how his tutor could appear to know so much about what he was thinking. There had been rumors of him being a wizard in another land long before he arrived in Collin Woods. Julian had not believed it. But at times like this he wondered.

“You presume too much. You should keep to your studies, and to teaching me mine.”

“Perhaps.”

Julian shook his head and opened his book again.

“Let us get on with the lesson. I will forget this talk, and you should too.”

“As you wish.”

When the two had found their place in the accurate book, Julian met his tutor’s eyes to wait for his direction.

“Tell me what is on your mind, my pupil.”

Julian licked his lips, hardly daring to ask. Once it was out, it was out. If his tutor had truly once been a wizard, it was possible he could grant his request.

“Something…other than murder, something…equally devastating.”

“Betrayal, you think,” his tutor said, then thought again when Julian looked to interrupt him. “The appearance of betrayal.”

“A farce.”

“Within the Allen family. A façade that destroys.”

“Mmm.” Julian nodded. “Yes.”

His tutor’s eyes locked on his, Julian felt for the first time not unnerved, but powerful.

Will you do it?

“Twelve lines down at the beginning,” he directed, and Julian lowered his eyes to the book.

He began to read the Latin words, aware all the time of his tutor’s eyes on him. An agreement had been made. He felt it in every fiber of his bones. Something dangerous was about to happen, and he was responsible for what would unravel, all by the workings of his presumably loyal yet mysterious tutor, Eobard Thawne.

…

Snuggled close to her love, his jacket spread over her shoulders to keep her warm, Iris relished the feeling of contentment that came with being in the presence of and so near to her darling Barry Allen. He was everything to her. He was security and love and happiness and everything she could have ever dreamed. Growing up she resented the fact that women were forced into servitude of their husbands, but as she fell deeper in love with Barry Allen, she knew she wouldn’t mind that one bit. She would make him new jackets and hats. She would cook him tasty soup and roast a nice, hot chicken. She would kiss his worries away and bear him many children. She would do everything and anything expected of her as a woman without complaint if it could be solely directed at her love, Barry Allen.

What’s more she knew if she did decide to toe outside the line and do something for herself, that her Barry would let her. Even more so, he would encourage it. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and both his parents were warm and welcoming and loyal to any cause they took up. After all, Henry Allen had taken on a peasant girl as his pupil. Not to spite his son, but because he saw a yearning in Caitlin Snow to learn the knowledge he had to give. He did not see what society bestowed on her but what she wanted for herself. Barry was every bit like his father, though he undoubtedly had a soft spot for his mother. Even if they were the poorest of the poor, Iris would want for nothing as long as she lived with Barry by her side.

But she knew the possibility of their happily ever after was a far and distant dream. She was kept under lock and key in the DeVoe household. Clifford was a resentful, greedy, arrogant man she detested. He did not beat her, nor his wife that Iris was aware of, but he spoke harshly and had an assuming air about him. In fact the only visitor that he allowed into the house as long as she’d been there was Sir Julian Albert.

Julian’s detest of Barry and vice versa was more than enough of a reason for Iris to dislike him, but his eagerness to impress her in a clear effort to win her affections disgusted her. He knew she loved Barry, and maybe that was why he had developed a sudden desire to see her. She knew it could only possibly be to win her hand and steal her away from Barry. But she would not be stolen away so easily, or at all. Even if she and Barry could never be together, her heart would never belong to another. Especially since Julian appeared to get on so well with Sheriff DeVoe. Never in her life would she consent to marrying him. He would have to take her by force, and she would not go quietly.

But she preferred to push those awful circumstances to the wayside when she was with Barry. When she was with him it was only them. She could pretend they were really together for everyone to see, that they weren’t worrying about who might catch them, that everyone was happy for their union and they were soon to be married.

But as light started to trickle across the sky in shades of purple, pink, red, and orange, Iris was forced back into the reality they lived in. And that reality was that they’d stayed out far too long. And if they were caught, the results would be devastating.

“Barry!” she whispered in a gasp, his jacket falling off of her as she sat up abruptly. “Barry! Wake up!” She shook him fiercely and finally his eyes opened.

“What…What’s going on, Iris?” He rubbed his eyes. “Why are you so-”

“It’s dawn!” she said, stumbling to her feet. “It’s not night anymore. It’s daybreak. If I don’t get back before the DeVoe’s wake up, I may never be able to see you again!”

The gravity of the situation made Barry spring up and take her hand. They ran through the forest, near the sounds of the birds so their running feet could be stifled by other morning noises. When they reached the fortress Iris was meant to be locked up in, Barry started to lift her up so she could find her footing and climb over the other side.

“Barry, wait.” She gripped his arms.

“Iris, we don’t have time. I can’t- I’m not going to be the reason I never see you again.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t want to be the reason either,” she said, clutching his shirt tighter.

“Then don’t be,” he whispered, cupping her face to reassure her. “Climb over that wall, go to your bed, and sleep a few hours more. Pretend you’ve been there the whole night, as you always do, and tomorrow night we will meet at the lake again.”

“Even if it’s cloudy?” she asked on bated breath.

“Even if the earth is shaking and the heavens pour forth water from a thousand seas and everyone is watching, I will meet you at our place, and I will wait as long as it takes for you to come to me.”

“Oh, Barry.”

He kissed her. There in the wakening day, he kissed her hard, pulling her flush up against him, willing this to not be the last moment they shared. When they broke apart, he locked his eyes on hers, begging her to listen to him and follow through with what he asked.

“Go,” he said.

Iris swallowed and nodded, letting him help her up the stone wall. When her legs swung over to the other side, she looked down at him and he smiled up at her – a little one, to congratulate her on her little victory.

‘I love you’ on the tip of her tongue, she decided against it, choosing to believe they would see each other again. She used the vines and protruding stones to climb her way down until her feet touched the grass again. Then she turned around, quietly crossed the yard until she was inside. But when she opened the door to her room, she was stopped dead in her tracks. For there in the chair beside her window sat Marlise DeVoe.

“Good morning, Iris,” she said.

Iris didn’t move a muscle.

“I thought we should talk,” she continued, gesturing to a wooden chair across from hers.

“And if I don’t want to?” she said, indignant in a way she couldn’t be with Clifford.

Marlise smiled sardonically at her young charge.

“I really think you do.”

…

Barry’s heart was racing the whole way back to his house. The sound was so loud in his ears that he couldn’t even hear his own feet on the ground, which he no longer tried to conceal from any early morning risers.

They’d never got that close to being caught. Never.

They’d always been so careful. Meet up at the lake, spend some time getting lost in each other eyes and telling each other how in love they were, and then get back to their homes before anyone suspected a thing.

But this time, he couldn’t recall whose decision it was, but they had ended up lying on the grass in the warm summer air, and before either of them knew it, they had fallen asleep. It was probably the best sleep Barry had in a while if he was being honest. Even the sun stretching across the sky wouldn’t have been enough to wake him up with Iris cuddled in his arms.

So, in truth, they’d been lucky that Iris was a little more likely to startle herself awake when danger was imminent.

And it had been imminent. Barry just hoped it was a close call only and not the last time he’d see her. He didn’t want something terrible to happen to her in that house if she’d been caught. He never asked her about her experience there, not in the six months she’d been living there, but she didn’t volunteer information either, so he figured it either wasn’t that bad or it was bad enough that she didn’t want to talk about it.

He’d let it pass from his mind without a second thought before, but now he worried for her. He’d be going out of his mind with worry until nightfall when they would meet up again. If she met him at their spot, he could ask her what had happened, and hopefully she could soothe his worries. But if she didn’t…

Well, he didn’t want to think about that. Not now. Maybe he’d pester Cisco later in the day. He’d reassure him, right? It wasn’t as if he could go to anyone else. Cisco was the only one who knew about his late-night meetings with Iris, and he preferred it to stay that way.

Finally approaching his home and grateful to see his bedroom window still cracked open, he moved toward it, hoping to get inside unnoticed and a few more hours of sleep before he went in town to distract himself with repairs and babysitting.

The window squeaked a little, but his slim frame allowed him to slip inside and shut the window without alerting his parents who he assumed were still asleep in their bed. Kicking his shoes off quietly, he walked over to his bed and pulled back the covers, intending to will himself to sleep despite the sound of birds and the adrenaline from his taking Iris back to her residence energizing his mind.

But after he slipped into his bed and pulled the covers over him, yanking the drapes shut so he’d be able to shut out some of the light from outdoors, Barry realized he couldn’t hear the gentle snoring typical of his parents when they slept. Instead he heard murmuring from a nearby conversation. He held his breath, his first thought being if his parents knew too. What a thing it would be for both him and Iris to get caught because they’d foolishly fallen asleep in each other’s arms. He certainly wouldn’t be in physical danger from his parents. They’d likely just be worried for him and Iris. Still, it was something he’d been hoping to avoid.

Instead, when he went to his bedroom door and opened it a crack, Barry saw his parents in the living room talking. They were clearly tense, and he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he leaned out a little into the hall – lucky to still be in the shadows – and focused his listening on the whispers coming from the distant room.

“Henry, are you sure?” Nora asked, wrapping a shawl around herself as she moved to shut the open front window.

“Yes,” he said, then nodded. “I know why you’re hesitant, why you worry. But I think we have enough saved up to keep us going.”

“For a while maybe, but-”

“These people need our care,” he persisted when she turned back to him. “And they can’t afford it. Those damn taxes are raised higher and higher every day.” One of his hands curled into a fist. “And that good-for-nothing sheriff of ours collects twice a week now.”

“I know,” Nora said on a soft sigh, placing her hand on her husband’s and slowly uncurling the tight fist, making him relax.

“Just a couple weeks,” he said, leaning his forehead against his wife’s. “With that much money still in their pocket, I can go back to charging a little so we can stay afloat.”

Nora swallowed hard. “And if not? What if the sheriff raises the taxes so the money they would’ve paid you still ends up in his pocket?”

Henry sighed. “Then Barry will have to get a job.” Nora opened her mouth to object, but he continued. “A real job, Nora. Not…babysitting and nailing some broken panels back on.”

“Henry.” She frowned, her brows narrowed in her son’s defense. “He does more than that, and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter what he does!” Henry’s voice rose, and Nora placed her fingers across his lips, making a deliberate nod towards the hall.

“Your boy is still asleep,” she said in a hushed whisper.

Barry was grateful his mother hadn’t actually looked down the hall and therefore hadn’t noticed him. Or if she had, she hadn’t let on to his deep gratitude.

“He needs to get paid, Nora. Helping out the townspeople is all well and good, but he’s taking for granted the fact that I can support us and isn’t pulling his weight. He needs an income to contribute to the household. He doesn’t have one. There’s no back-up plan until he does. I won’t turn my patients away.”

Nora nodded, the end of the conversation in sight.

“P’rhaps it’s good he didn’t want to go into medicine then,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “If you were both in the clinic giving free services, there’d be no back-up plan at all.”

Henry sighed.

“He just needs your approval,” she said softly, rubbing his back. “Tell him you love him and that you’re proud of him, and he’ll find a job that pays a wage.”

Henry groaned. “He’s too good, Nora.” He lifted his head to press a kiss to her lips. “Just like you.”

She smiled slowly. “You don’t think he’ll take a fair wage?”

“I think he has a heart of gold that loves to make people happy. And what makes people happier than free labor?”

Nora chuckled and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“Just have a talk with him, my love. He may be more willing than you think.”

Barry’s mind spinning, he stepped back into his room and shut the door. He should’ve known this might happen, what with the raising of taxes and his father’s gentle heart, his unwillingness to turn people away who truly needed him. In a way he was doing the same thing with the townfolk who needed assistance with their daily tasks. But his father was right in that they both couldn’t be servicing people for free. A doctor’s income was higher than most, but what they’d saved up wouldn’t sustain them for long if the taxes kept rising.

Barry would have to find a job – a real one – as much as he despised the idea. And he knew people wouldn’t be a fan of him asking for a wage when he’d gone around offering his services for free. But maybe they would understand. Everyone except the corrupt sheriff and prince, as well as the Ramon’s, appeared to have a decent opinion of him. Perhaps someone could offer him work with pay.

At any rate, it would be best to go around asking before his father broached the subject with him. Things would start harmonizing a lot quicker between the two of them if he was one step ahead of his worried father.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

A Look Back on the Twilight Saga

I have never felt older than I have this year, in which the film adaptation of the first book in the Twilight Saga turns ten. Ten years ago, that movie came out, three years after the book. And what a book and movie they were! They inspired so much rabid devotion and equally rabid pushback, with people gushing over the beautiful romance in equal amounts as people saying how the books were offensively awful and filled with misogyny and romanticization of abusive relationships. Golly, I sure am glad discussion of fiction has improved since then and we don’t have dumb arguments like that anymore!

All joking aside, it is pretty interesting to look back on the series. With the passage of time, and the release of so much young adult fiction in cinemas between then and now, I have to say that looking back… Twilight is a pretty good film and, for the most part, a pretty good series.

Now, such a bold statement could never have been made in that period during the heyday of the series, where the popularity of the series was slowly souring and people began openly rejecting the series as trash. But I feel that rejection was just part of an obnoxious cycle I’ve seen a lot in recent years, where anything remotely popular with audiences (such as Frozen) becomes hated at the peak of its popularity, seemingly because of the sole fact that it is popular and not really due to anything having to do with the actual overall quality.

See, here’s the thing: despite the series having a reputation for being poorly written tripe, it really is a lot better than anyone gives it credit for. Now, I’m not going to say the writing is on par with other young adult fantasy series of the time, like Harry Potter or Percy Jackson, because that is just patently untrue. What the Twilight Saga was, and what it always seemed to aim for, was the level of quality of a tacky airport romance novel you pick up while waiting for your flight to kill time. It’s nothing but wish-fulfillment fantasy in which an unhappy young woman becomes the reason for living for several unfathomably hot supernatural men, a sentiment that quite frankly resonates with the modern atmosphere towards supernatural romance and the prominence of self-proclaimed “Monsterfuckers.” Bella’s situation is pretty much a dream come true, is it not? Among tacky supernatural romance novels, Twilight and its sequels are easily the queens of the genre.

Here’s the thing that really sets the Twilight Saga apart, though: there is actually a serious amount of thought and care put into nearly all aspects of the romance’s universe save for the actual romance. Every single member of the Cullen family has a fascinating backstory: Carlisle was a vampire hunter turned vampire who proceeded to venture across the world in the ensuing hundreds of years building up a family and practicing a different way of living; Alice was committed to an asylum and has a past shrouded in mystery; Jasper was a soldier in the Confederate army who was turned into a vampire and tasked with raising a vampire army; Rosalie’s backstory is Kill Bill, BUT WITH VAMPIRES!; and Emmet, while easily the least impressive of them all, still died apparently fighting a bear, and considering how he is one can only imagine what on earth he was doing. Esme is the only Cullen without a deeply fascinating backstory, but even what little we do get is a bit tragic: she lost her child and so committed suicide, or attempted it anyway. There’s absolutely no need for all of these rich, complex backstories for characters in a throwaway romance novel, and yet here they are. And that’s not all.

The rest of the world and overall vampire society is presented in a very interesting way. The Volturi in particular are a fascinating idea, a secret cabal of vampires who rule over all other vampires with an iron fist, but one that is, while a bit tyrannical and unforgiving, seemingly necessary to preserve the existence of vampire society. Hell, their rules don’t really seem TOO harsh, and they only really spring to action when there are vampires fragrantly and blatantly exposing themselves to human society. They wish to keep the vampire world hidden in the shadows, where they can feed in peace away from prying eyes. Their position is understandable in a lot of ways. They also have a very interesting history to them, having apparently wrestled power over vampirekind away from a sect of Romanian vampires. Now, I did say they are a fascinating IDEA; in execution, they always tended to be a bit… useless. Their appearances in New Moon and Breaking Dawn are ultimately wastes of time, as they are never really opposed in any sort of meaningful way and get away in the end with the status quo wholly unchanged. No impact is ever made on vampirekind when they’re involved, which almost makes me wish that they were kept in the shadows and used far more sparingly. Their influence over events in Eclipse, where they only send out their powerful agents, showcases that Stephanie Meyers could use them very effectively when she wanted to.

The werewolves are a bit less effective. While they do have an intriguing backstory, there is something a bit… problematic about shoehorning a bunch of fictional elements onto the real Quileute tribe. On the other hand though, a positive and heroic portrayal of Native Americans in fiction is never a bad thing, and Jacob Black is easily one of the more sympathetic characters until halfway through Breaking Dawn. It’s a very tricky, mixed bag. I kind of wish that the issue with the handling of Native American folklore was the biggest controversy with the series, but there’s actually one far worse and even stupider.

The Twilight Saga has come under fire for being a negative influence on young women, for romanticizing abusive relationships and stalking, and for being some sort of massive insult to feminism. Now, these arguments aren’t wholly without merit, but the issue is that they are being filtered through human understanding and imposed on fictional creatures in a fictional universe. If a real-life human acted as clingy, impulsive, over-protective, and obsessed as Edward is towards Bella, yes, it would be absolutely terrifying. Here’s where I let you in on a little secret, though: Edward Cullen is, in fact, not a human. He is part of a race of ageless semi-undead beings who live off of blood and glitter in the sunlight. He immediately sees his soulmate in Bella and goes out of his way to ensure they end up together, acting on the instincts granted to members of his kind. Trying to fit all of his actions into a human narrative is as fruitless as if an ant tried to explain humanity to his colleagues filtered through his ant experiences. The fact is, Edward operates on a far different moral code than humans. This is not uncommon for vampires in any fiction; Marceline of Adventure Time fame is a vampire who is certainly not above doing some rather sketchy stuff, for example. While Edward’s actions can come off as bizarre and creepy to humans, for a vampire, Edward is actually downright romantic and even benevolent. One also needs to take into account that Edward is a kissless virgin who has spent a hundred years doing nothing but reading romance novels and listening to classical music, which would go a long way to explain his awkward and sometimes offputting ways of trying to replicate human courtship rituals with Bella.

The criticisms leveled at Bella are rather unfair as well; while she often finds herself a damsel in distress, it rarely is something she doesn’t want. When Bella is in danger, it’s because she wanted to be there and put herself there. Yes, she does get into trouble, but that’s mostly due to her being a stupid horny teenage girl with zero impulse control. Recall New Moon, where she constantly did dangerous stunts so she could have hallucinations of Edward chastise her. Bella is, quite frankly, an adrenaline junkie, and I feel she’d rather resent being called a damsel. Even the times when she is in danger, it is no real fault of her own, but rather the fact she is a normal human out of her depth in a supernatural world. Bella is not Blade, she is not Van Helsing, she is not Alucard; she is Bella Swan, normal teenage girl, and she tends to be as effective as your average teenage girl in situations where superpowered monsters are hunting her. Imagine if we applied these sorts of criticisms to other characters in fiction… “John Conner in Terminator 2 is such a worthless damsel in distress character, why does he not just fight off the T-1000?” or how about “Why do the kids in The Goonies not take the Fratellis head-on? Why do they constantly flee from them when they cross paths? And Chunk, getting captured by them, what a pathetic damsel moment.” People not being successful in areas where they are out of their element is not some horribly evil thing. I also resent the idea the series is some horrible, anti-feminist work, particularly because the entire series revolves around Bella’s choice, and when she is not given agency she goes out of her way to take that agency. For all the flaws of Breaking Dawn, and there are many, I will give it this: presenting Bella as being in the right for wanting her choices respected is a good thing. With that in mind, I think the entire series is a lot more feminist than many are willing to admit.

And look, I’m not saying this book is a flawless masterpiece or anything like that. I have mentioned this is definitely a book more impressive for the world it creates than for the actual romance it centers around. But I do feel that, generally speaking, the books never descended to the point many who criticized the books say they did. I say “for the most part” because I cannot even muster up enough good will to say a single good thing about Breaking Dawn. But generally, the writing quality is decent. Even some of the twists on vampire lore are interesting and refreshing.

For instance… the sparkling. This is one of the most infamous additions to the lore of vampires in Meyers stories. When in the sunlight, rather than bursting into flames as vampires tend to do in fiction, their skin sparkles and glitters as if it was encrusted with diamonds. It does sound silly, and it really is, especially when they show it off in the movies… and yet, it is actually far more accurate than just about every depiction of vampires in nearly 100 years. You see, the idea vampires are killed by sunlight is actually a relatively new addition to vampire lore, being created for the famous silent masterpiece Nosferatu because they couldn’t come up with any other way to kill the vampire. In the original novel of Dracula, for instance, the titular count strut about during the day with no ill effect. So, by accident or perhaps by some better understanding of the creatures than most writers, Meyers was more accurate than nearly all contemporary portrayals of the characters. Also interesting – but not nearly so to the point I feel the need to dedicate a whole new paragraph to it – the idea of vampires having a sort of “love at first sight” thing that allows them to discern their soulmate was copied by Hotel Transylvania, so I feel like that addition to vampire lore has its merit as well.

The film adaptations tend to not truly fix the flaws with the storytelling, but instead to paint over them with some truly inspired silliness. The utter apathy Robert Pattinson exudes for his role as Edward Cullen is palpable in how he acts, and it tends to make Edward’s creepier actions actually less threatening than the were in the books – and I’d argue there he wasn’t particularly threathening, despite his angsting. Taylor Lautner’s oft-shirtless portrayal of Jacob Black seems a lot more genuinely, but equally cheesy; his and Pattinson’s onscreen chemistry really gives them the feel of two romantic rivals, which makes it easy to see exactly why there was such a devoted following rooting for one or the other back in the day. Then we get to Bella.

As usual, Bella is a horribly misunderstood character here. It’s easy to blame the books for how one-note Bella appears in the movies – as a romance protagonist, Bella has enough personality for you to care while still being enough of a blank slate that you can put yourself in her position so that you can fantasize about the outcomes – but I almost feel like her portrayal was a deliberate choice. Kristen Stewart is actually a very good actor when in the right role, and I feel like even in the past I’ve been too hard on her portrayal of Bella. I think I might go so far as to say her version of Bella is better than the book, because Stewart actually does inject some vapid, awkward teenage girlishness to the role. That’s something wonderful, especially about the films – the teenagers, more than a lot of other series, tend to feel like real people. They say the dumbest stuff imaginable, but really, is that not what being a teenager is? Everyone was a stupid, vapid idiot as a teenager, it’s just how teens are. So all t hat combined with everything else that has been said, does any part of Bella’s characterization truly feel THAT abnormal for an otherwise normal, brooding teen thrust headfirst into the world of the supernatural? I personally don’t think so; Bella is actually one of the most real characters of the series, an anchor to humanity in a sea of supernatural strangeness, a character that is absolutely perfect in her dull, flawed, overly-romantic personality. She may not be the strongest, or most interesting, or even the most pleasant character in all of fiction… but she has an air of realness to her few other characters can hope to achieve. Perhaps this is why a lot of people rejected and mocked her; it’s so much easier to dismiss and belittle something than accept that it is something real, warts and all. No one wanted to accept the less pleasant parts of Bella, and so she was rejected by all except the fans of the book; meanwhile, seemingly disinterested goth girls would be fought over by two equally strange men for her affection, all while she talks in a sort of half-awake near-monotone.

I was in that situation myself. It’s all real teenage bullshit.

I feel like this more than anything explains why the Twilight Saga ended up being violently rejected by so many people: too many people saw through the supernatural elements and into the real life teenage angst and did not like what they saw, as it reflected their own experiences. It’s so bizarre to say, but Stephanie Meyers may have been too real for her own good, and her portrayal of angst-ridden teen love triangles may have been just too close to home for a lot of people. I’m sure a lot of older people had negative experiences in high school as I did, so anything that reminds them of those stupid, painful years is not going to seem pleasant. With other stories that feature realistic elements with supernatural settings, such as Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and so on, they never really faced this kind of scrutiny and rejection as while they also are grounded with realistic portrayals of their teenagers, they also take place in overtly supernatural settings; there is no place where an experience could be like that of Hogwarts or Camp Half-Blood. But there’s probably of plenty of places like the dismal, dreary town of Forks, Washington, a perpetually cloudy town out in the sticks where nothing ever seems to happen. Reading about teen angst in such an agonizingly depressing setting will not go over well with anyone who has had negative experiences in regards to the elements portrayed, supernatural dressing or no.

Looking back at the Twilight Saga, after years of imitators of varying quality and numerous attempts by mediocre young adult franchises to capture this saga’s lightning in a bottle, the stories sans Breaking Dawn seem to have aged quite well, and hold up a lot better. Removed from the rabid fandom, overwhelming hype, ad constant mockery, the series stands as a solid and kind of cheesy young adult romance series, one with superb worldbuilding that I have yet to see any young adult series after it match and an absolutely fantastic ensemble cast that is just rife with fanfiction potential. I find that even the lead trio, be it in the films and in the movie, have a lot more layer and depth to them than initially thought, with Bella in particular a character I feel deserves some serious reevaluation. And while I’d never call the series a masterpiece to rival Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, or Lord of the Rings, I do think that the series is good enough to unironically be enjoyed. While there is of course plenty to snark at here – it’s a story featuring a rather honest depiction of teenagers, after all, and teenagers are idiots – I think there is a lot more to like than the insane hatedom of the book ever gave it credit for.

And even if you can’t bring yourself to admit the series is genuinely good (albeit cheesy), there’s no denying that it had a pretty good impact on popular culture. Aside from being the basis for Vampire Sucks, which has the honor of being the only genuinely good Seltzer and Friedberg film, it put supernatural romance stories back into the mainstream again. The biggest example of a supernatural romance film that I can see got a lot of mainstream recognition was 1990’s Ghost, which is held up as a romantic classic; while there were plenty of supernatural romance films between then and Twilight, none of them seem to be recalled fondly or even at all, and none of them can even come close to saying they had the sort of cultural impact Ghost did. Twilight, though… it had a huge impact. Without Twilight, we probably wouldn’t have gotten Warm Bodies, we probably wouldn’t have gotten Horns, and honestly? We probably wouldn’t have gotten The Shape of Water, or more realistically, the movie would not nearly be as accepted. Twilight for better or worse conditioned us to see the humanity in supernatural entities and find attraction in them (not exactly a new idea as far as vampires go, I know, but it definitely put it in the minds of young adults). I can easily see the genesis of the modern crowd of people lusting after the Asset, Pennywise, Godzilla, and Venom being the Twilight Saga; it was a gateway drug that put in the minds of youths “Hey, monsters can be really sexy. Like, REALLY sexy.”

The Twilight Saga is truly a fascinating work, for better and for worse. There is a lot in it that I really admire, and there’s plenty in it that I resent, but even at its worst I can never say that the series was boring. For all the flack I give Breaking Dawn, it is still far more readable than any of the garbage Cormac McCarthy has ever shat out, and nothing in the series was as overtly misogynistic as some of the dialogue in Ready Player One. As cheesy as the film series got, the first was a surprisingly effective indie supernatural romance and the third was a gloriously Gothic cheesy delight, with the second being the awkward but still enjoyable middle film and Breaking Dawn: Part 1 being the only genuinely awful film in the series; nothing positive could be said for the slew of imitators that crawled in this film’s wake, such as Beastly, Red Riding Hood, and even some of the would-be successors to this franchise such as the cinematic adaptations of Percy Jackson, Divergent, and The Hunger Games among others, which despite them being based off of books of far greater critical acclaim had absolutely no respect for their source material the way the Twilight Saga films did. As silly as some of the acting in the movies was – and it got very silly, considering the lead three all seemed to actively despise their roles – none of their acting was as painfully bad to sit through as Jennifer Lawrence’s attempts at acting in the first Hunger Games film, or the entire cast of the Percy Jackson movies. I would never say that Twilight is the absolute pinnacle of young adult literature, but I think a lot of us had our judgment clouded back in the day, and with the benefit of hindsight I think it’s safe to say the franchise was a lot of fun; I’d even go as far to say that it is an underrated work of genius in many aspects.

Removed from the climate that created it and put into a world it helped shape, I think the tale of Bella Swan and her romance of the angsty immortal Edward Cullen resonates quite a bit better. So thank you to Stephanie Meyers and everyone involved with the film series, because without your work, the world we live in would probably be a much less interesting place, with far fewer people horny for monsters. I really don’t think I would want to live in that world.

[atenementfunster]

all the more reason, chapter 4

ao3 link here!

Roger Taylor, dead as a doorknob, and his best friend John Deacon (also dead) meet some blokes who are decidedly NOT. Dead, that is.

(aka that ghost au that no one asked for, featuring Gay Panic™, John’s sass, and Brian being too endearing for this world. the overall vibe of the fic is not sad, if that’s a concern for you!)

“John, what if he wants to get drinks? He’s gonna look insane, sitting at a table and talking to an empty chair. Or what it he asks for my number? I haven’t owned a phone in almost a year, John!” It’s a good thing no one can hear him - Broadway Market is busy, and no amount of hacking and hollering would drown out Roger’s frenzied yelling.

“These are the things you’re worried about.” It’s not a question. John is even smirking at him, the ass.

“Yes, and they’re all valid concerns!” Roger’s arms wave through the air, a display of his mounting panic. If anything, John’s grin gets bigger, and Roger stomps over to him, pointing a finger in his face with conviction. “We can barely explain why he can talk to a dead guy. How do I see him again and not explain ‘oh, sorry no, the bloke at the bar can’t see me so don’t bother ordering me a pint’? Am I supposed to tell him? How am I supposed to explain something like that?!”

“Roger, you might want to take a second to breathe in between emotional crises.”

“And would you stop smiling at me!” He stops walking, feet planted firmly on the worn sidewalk. The anger starts to shine through the panic, and Roger wants to take John by the shoulders and shake him. This must show on his face, because John raises his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright. For the record, I think this is all a little premature.” He’s using his best placating voice, and Roger wants to scream. “You haven’t seen him in two days. Who’s to say he’ll invite you out for drinks at all?”

Despite his anger, he wrinkles his nose and stares incredulously at the blasphemer. “What, you saying I’m not a catch?”

“I think we’ve been over this.” At least the cheeky smile is gone. A win is a win. “Besides, you have to actually find him again for any of this to matter.”

Roger clenches his teeth to keep from pouting. “What, d’you think I’ve been sitting on my thumbs? I’ve been looking. It’s not like he’s got a damn bell.”

“I know you have,” John says, placating.

Like a teapot taken off of it’s burner, his shoulders drop and he huffs. John has a unique way of extinguishing his hot-headed temper. “I just wish this was easier. There’s not exactly a rulebook for this shit.”

John’s large hand pats his shoulder twice, consoling. “You’ll have to write one then.”

“Yeah,” Roger snorts. “Sure.”

The sidewalk leads them past a rack of bikes and into a familiar doorway. Roger stares at the sign, a simple A frame propped up a few feet away, and swallows. “I didn’t think I needed to remind you,” John says as they enter the Market Cafe, “but you are a catch.”

“Aww, Deaky,” Roger mumbles, a grateful smile catching the melancholy and doing it’s best to snuff it out. He bumps John’s hip with his own, but his lack of attention and momentum sends his other hip into a table. John laughing at him is somehow even better than the compliment, throbbing aside.

They sit by the canal imagining the earthy smell of coffee brewing, of beer-soaked wood warmed by the sun. The light shines across the water in marbled waves, and Roger wonders if John had come to this place when he was at University like he had. Maybe they’d seen each other in passing and not even known it. Had John heard him play here, the few nights a month he’d managed to pry himself away from his essays, from the books he was slowly losing interest in? The railing in front of him is rough and cold to the touch, and Roger can imagine it, knows exactly what it feels like when clenched tight in an angry fist.

“So,” John says quietly, interrupting his downhill thoughts, “and am I invited to these pre-planned dates?”

The question takes Roger aback. “What? Of course you are.”

The crow’s feet at John’s eyes are on full display, and Roger realizes too late what he’s admitted to. Blustering, he adds quickly, “I’m not just assuming that he’s gonna want to pick me up for a night on the town after seeing me again, John.”

“Wishful thinking?”

Even though he knows he’s being teased, Roger still blushes. It’s an angry red, and he turns away, shaking his head so his hair goes a bit crazy around his face. “Maybe.”

“Well, I’m honored.” John’s done him the favor of bowling over the point, and maybe that’s why they get along so well. For all his teasing, he knows when to let up, when to throw Roger the ring buoy to keep him from drowning in anger or embarrassment. “That’s why we’re here, anyway.”

“Wait, what?” And here he thought it was for the express purpose of making him sad.

“Every student at London College drinks or studies here,” John says, like it’s a well-studied statistic.

Roger just gapes at him. They’ve been friends for months, but he knows next to nothing about the goings-on that were once John’s life. “Even you?” He can’t help but push whenever given the chance.

“Maybe,” John’s reply is lofty, elusive.

Roger’s back to pouting, one leg crossed over the other in derision. “Fine then, keep your secrets.” Though there’s genuine disappointment, Roger is willing to sacrifice curiosity for the sake of John’s privacy. Meeting after they’ve died is probably something of a comfort to someone like John, and Roger, for all that he wants to put, doesn’t want to make his friend uncomfortable. Besides, it’s not like he’s disclosed much.

His brooding is interrupted rather suddenly when his view is obstructed by a wide back and too much hair. Roger’s squawk and raised arms elicit a nice set of giggles from John, and Roger would be happy to appreciate it if he weren’t currently being sat on.

It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last, but still, Roger jumps up and kicks at the girl’s shin. She sips at her coffee, unperturbed, and pulls out an intimidatingly organized-looking notebook as Roger seethes. At least her rubbing her arms at the sudden chill makes him feel somewhat validated. John’s outright laughing at him now, and he’s tempted to stomp over to him and sit in his lap. It would only end in him getting dumped on the floor, though, and he doesn’t feel like taking the loss.

Once he finds a new mercifully vacant seat, Roger turns back to John and gives him an petulant look when the giggles keep coming. “Anyway,” he interjects, eyebrows furrowed with derision and elbows propped up on his knees as he leans into John’s space.

John finally quiets, looking over at the girl’s hazy form once more before turning back to Roger. “If you must know,” he says lightly, eyes still alight with amusement and fingers interlaced over a knee, “I studied Electrical Engineering.”

Roger lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Really? Did you build anything? Circuit boards or?”

Johns raised eyebrow perfectly conveys his desire to put his hand over Roger’s mouth. “Yes, yes, and one, but it was only for a midterm.”

Roger’s practically wiggling on the stool. “What did you build, then?” He wants to know how long he was in school for, and if he graduated, and if he was planning on going further with his schooling; all questions that end in the eventuality of “gee, Roger, probably not, considering I died” so Roger’s not too keen to ask. He has some tact.

John probably knows he’s itching to ask all that and more, but seems grateful that he hasn’t. His smile is fond. “An amp, actually. You might’ve even liked it. I know you liked to play guitar.”

Roger grins. “That I did. Drums were my thing, though.” The past tense sours his tongue, and he purses his lips. Frustration tastes like acid, and the bitterness bleeds into his words. “Fuck that. I’m still a drummer, dammit.”

The venom seems to take John by surprise; Roger’s clenches a fist before letting out a breath. “What a pair we make,” he says with a huff, tossing his hair and averting his gaze for a moment to collect himself. When he turns back, John’s smile is faded like the sun perched behind him, but it’s still there, resolute. He reaches over and gives Roger’s knee a squeeze, and it takes a fair amount of self control on Roger’s part to not mirror the action.

“And you’re still an electrical engineer. I now expect you to build me an amp, I hope you know.” Roger points at him. “Ghost amp.”

“Ghost amp,” John affirms with a nod, solemn, hands back in his lap and eyes closed. When he opens them, his gaze darts from Roger’s face to something over his shoulder, and suddenly he looks like a cat that was just presented with a rather large platter of tuna.

“Look at that,” he says, smug. “Looks like I was right. Your Brian is very predictable.”

“He’s not my-” comes out of his mouth, already a reflex, but then the words catch up to him, and Roger’s eyes bug out before he turns with a jerk and nearly falls off the stool.

Walking through the door is indeed Brian May, a mass of frizzy curls and too long legs, and Roger jumps up off the stool and hides behind the door frame. John watches, unimpressed.

“You might want to work on not leaping behind the nearest object every time you see him,” John points out. “If you want him to actually like you, that is.”

“We discussed this!” Roger hisses. “I look like a loser, sitting by myself talking to nobody!”

A flash of irritation shoots across John’s face, so quick Roger could have imagined it. “If you’d like to actually sit by yourself, that can be easily arranged, you know.”

Shame floods his gut like a tidal wave. “Sorry, John, I’m an ass,” Roger says, hands dropping to his sides, turning his back on the doorframe and away from Brian.

John nods. “You are, but I forgive you.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Roger bemoans, dropping to a knee at the tiny table, holding his hands up as in prayer. John laughs, a surprised sound, and Roger bows his head. He gets an open-palmed smack for his efforts.

“You’re a fool, and grovelling is unbecoming. Now go to the bar before he catches you talking to nobody.” The bugger uses air quotations and everything. Roger sticks his tongue out at him, but climbs to his feet, and John’s smile tells him he’s forgiven.

Thankfully, Brian doesn’t seem to have spotted his lunacy, and is ordering what looks like the largest espresso he's ever seen. Toying with the idea of waiting by the canal, Roger shifts from foot to foot, trying to look busy while owning nothing of which to do so while he decides if he wants to approach him or not. Luckily, the choice is out of his hands a moment later, when a light voice calls his name.

“Roger, isn’t it?”

Making the mistake of first catching John’s eye, who grins at him and raises the most mocking thumbs up he’s ever seen, Roger turns.

“Yeah?” he says, hand up in half a wave, in what he hopes looks like a pleasantly surprised expression. Brian’s smile doesn’t scream why did I just greet this git so he must be doing something right.

“Oh, hi.” Shyness threatens to throttle his words, but he pushes on, leaning against the railing, John in his peripheral. This is tantamount to torture. “Brian, right?” Roger asks, as if he doesn’t know his name, his eye color, exactly how short cut his fingernails are.

Brian seems delighted at being remembered, and ducks his head with a little smile. “That’s me.” It’s only been two days since they formally met, Roger marvels, so why are they both so bad at this? And that’s a thought that lodges itself in his brain and sticks there - Brian’s just as awkward as he is, and he doesn’t have the whole living-dead dichotomy to worry about.

He can do this.

“Ditch class for a cuppa or done for the day?” Roger asks, tucking his hands in his pockets. Casual looks good on him, and he knows it.

“Done for the weekend, actually,” Brian says, and takes a sip of his coffee, which looks like it’s trying its best to emulate tar.

“Then why on Earth are you drinking that.” Roger points to the offending cup, nose wrinkled.

Brian, seemingly unmoved, takes another sip while holding Roger’s gaze. Roger mimes gagging, and that elicits a smirk. “Didn’t get much sleep is all,” is what Brian says when he’s done teasing him.

“Oh yeah?” Roger asks with a provocative roll of his eyebrows. John snorts, and it cuts Roger short, his peanut gallery a stark reminder. He’s gotten too comfortable - what is he gonna do, bring Brian back to a home he doesn’t have? Go to Brian’s house and seduce him? He’s dead, he’s pretty sure he can’t have sex with Brian, alive or otherwise. And anyway, should he?

The mounting panic has him blinking quickly in the face of Brian’s amusement who, instead of getting offended, is blushing prettily and laughing, gaze averted.

Well, shit.

“Sorry, get ahead of myself,” Roger says, waving a hand and trying to focus on breathing through his internal moral struggles. Two years ago, he would have been leaning against Brian by now, trying to bum a smoke off him, suggesting he get him a drink. Now, things are about as different as they can be, and Roger finds the thought cloying.

“Quite alright,” Brian says, though he still seems a bit embarrassed. “I won’t pretend to not be offended by your distaste for my drink, though.”

Roger brightens at that. “Well, not everyone can have taste, I suppose,” he says, waving at hand.

“Can I get you one? You can even put milk and sugar in it, if you’d like.” And God, Brian looks so earnest, and Roger only has a second to choke on his grief, to contemplate the what-ifs. The moment passes, and he smiles, and it’s only a little shaky.

“Just finished mine, but next time?” Roger acquiesces, even though he should know better. Brian’s smile is worth it to him, he realizes. It’s kind of worth everything, and the thought is terrifying.

“Bold of you,” Brian says, brows raised and lips pursed. His stance is hunched, everything about his posture designed to make himself seem smaller, unnoticeable. His smirk is shy, and Roger realizes that he’s treading unfamiliar ground too. It’s a bolstering thought.

“Been called worse,” he says. Still, he has an image to uphold, and he flips a lock of hair over his shoulder, body angled so he can see John. Said friend is currently pantomiming tying a noose around his neck, and Roger flips him the bird with a hand behind his back.

Brian is now chuckling at him, a deep purring sound, and oh, his canines are really pointed. What a good thing for him to know. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” the canines say.

Roger swallows, and he doesn’t have to look at John to know he’s laughing at him. Luckily, his attention for all things Brian May’s hands saves him from saying something stupider than he’s already managed - he’s caught a glance at Brian’s fingers as he reaches to scratch at the back of his head, and sees a familiar sight.

“Do you play?” he asks, standing up on his toes before lowering his heels back to the ground.

Brian’s movements slow, and he opens his palm in front of them both, shifting from foot to foot while his smile shifts from something sly to something more authentic and warm. “Yeah, you?”

“Used to,” Roger says, and is proud that his voice doesn’t waver. “More of a percussionist, but I loved my guitar. What do you play? You look like the Fender type.”

His entire posture changes, and Roger knows he’s found something closer to the real Brian May. Eyes sharper and hunched shoulders leaned closer Roger, he sets down the cooled remnants of his espresso. “I do like a Tele, but my dad and I, we recently just finished making one.”

“A guitar?” Roger’s incredulity is matched only by his fascination. “What, out of bits of wood and metal?”

“A fireplace, mostly.”

Roger blinks, and then laughs, loud and bright. “Come off it, really? That’s blinding!”

Shy smile back in place, Brian ducks his head and laughs along with him, shaking his head a bit so his curls bounce this way and that. “He did most of the work, really, but I love it.”

“Oh, I’ll bet. That’s brilliant, you gotta show me sometime,” Roger crows.

“You can come by tonight, if you’d like,” Brian says, fast and all at once, as though he’s inviting him before he has a chance to regret it. It’s charming, but unease creeps across Roger’s skin, and he smiles while trying to catch John’s eye. John, who’s nodding emphatically, giving him shoo, shoo hands, followed by a thumbs up. He doesn’t deserve John Deacon, really.

“Sure,” Roger says, “but only if you’ll let me play it.”

He has absolutely no idea if he’ll even be able to touch the thing. Brian, luckily, seems to have similar thoughts. “I wouldn’t hold your breath, but I have other guitars,” he says, that clever little smile curling his lips again.

Roger eyes the setting sun, and nods, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he smiles. “I can live with that.”