#And I love drawing Francis with his hair tied up

[arthurianlegend144]

I said that I needed to draw more Alfred and force myself to draw muscles, BUT hear me out: Francis Bonnefoy, but he looks like a "hot milfs in your area". I couldn't just not draw that.

[seleneshelby]

Captivating Beauty

Summary: Y/ N decides to ride a horse in the forest and relax by the lake. You sing as well with draws Tommy's attention. Your song helps Tommy rid of him hearing the sound of shovels.

Prompt: Helping Tommy to Relax

Warnings:None. Just pure fluff. Hugging, comfort, kissing, blushing, and complimenting.

Pairing: Tommy x Reader

Characters: Tommy Shelby, Francis, You, and Johnny Dogs

Romani phrases used in story

1. Stoj- stop

2. Le tu pala lako glaso- go to the lake

3.Nai mishto, ferdi jekh žena džil.- follow the voice of the woman singing.

4. So si nasul?- what's wrong

5. Zhan sigo mai anglal- go straight ahead

6.Hej pačače- hey boy

7.Te žal- to go

The rays of the sun shine through your caravan window like a beacon, giving you the signal to wake up. You always love waking up to a sunny day. Raising up in your bed, you look at the sun, it gives you a happy feeling. Then you walk over to your closet to find a simple dress to wear. You choose the dark green one. Looking at it makes you feel bright as day. You put it on with a smile on your face.

Then you hear your father Johnny Dogs calling your name outside the door.

" Y/N you up", Johnny says looking at the door with a hand on his hip.

" Yes father I am", you say rushing to the door. You just about stumble over your little stool. You were lucky you didn't because you could've hurt your ankle or worse.

" Glad because I got a surprise for you", Johnny says looking at the door still.

" Here, I am." " What you got for me?", you ask with a smile.

" Just follow me and I'll show ya", Johnny says walking with excitement. He had a little skip in his walk that reminds you of a happy horse.

You smile following him in your green dress.

Johnny Dogs leads you to a caravan with a very beautiful horse tied to it. A big smile appears on your face. It was white as snow with a long white mane. Plus the hair on the mane and tail had a shine to it. It reminds you of a horse a princess would ride.

" She's all yours y/n", Johnny says with a nod.

" Where you get a horse like this?", you ask petting the horse's mane.

" A fellow gypsy gave it to me", Johnny says watching you.

" That's nice." " Is this a freisian horse?", you ask with curiosity.

" Yes it is." " You going to name her y/n?", Johnny asks with a nod.

" I thought so judging by the long mane and all." " I'll name her Snow White", you say with a warming smile.

" Perfect name for her." " You going to take her for a ride?", Johnny asks admiring the horse.

" I'd love too, but can I?", you ask with hesitation looking at Johnny.

" Yes you may", Johnny says patting your back.

" Thank you father", you say getting on Snow White bareback.

" You're forgetting something", Johnny says holding up the rope.

" Oh, I'm sorry", you say leading the horse to Johnny.

" Can't ride a horse without a simple reign now", Johnny says making a reign with the rope.

" I simply forget because my mind was on Snow White", you say watching him shaking your head a little.

" I understand." " You're ready to go now", Johnny says patting your leg.

" Thanks father", you say taking the rope.

" You're welcome y/n", Johnny says waving you off.

Then you whispered to Snow White to go. She bolted as fast as a cheetah with her long white mane flowing up. She even leaves a dust of dirt behind. You take in the sights around you. The sky was blue like the ocean giving off a serene and peaceful feeling in the air. Vast green valleys you can see for miles and miles. Rays of the sun shining bright in the sky giving off a jovial feeling.

In the distance you see your favorite forest with the lake. You tug on the reign lightly to indicate Snow White to slow down. " Good girl", you say as she comes to a walking pace. You pet her soft white mane elatedly. Next you pull the reigns to the right, so she goes to the forest. She obeys walking the trail leading to it.

An array of beautiful flowers line the path, giving off sweet and fragrant smells. The sound of nature fills the air with calmness. Birds chirping in their twig nest as you ride by. You smile looking at the beauty of nature. Nature always has a calming effect on oneself. Snow White does a cute little neigh making you chuckle.

" You must like the forest", you say looking around.

Up ahead you see sparkling white reflecting off the lake like a diamond. You've always thought of it like a guiding light.  " Stop Snow White", you say softly in her ear. She stops letting you off. You let her go to the grassy area, so she can rest. She goes to the luscious green grass near the lake. Snow White sniffs it and eats it.

Walking to find a spot to sit; you see a family of ducks swimming. A smile appears on your face watching them. One is that the ducks were ducking their heads in the water. You thought it was cute how they reacted doing that. The smallest duckling was shaking it's head a little. Other ducklings did what mama and papa did, which was fluttering their wings a little. You take your eyes away from them to find a spot close to the water. Sitting down, you go to watch them again. The family of ducks was lining up in line. Mama and papa duck was qwaking as they started to swim again to the other side of the lake.

Your eyes wander off from the ducks to look at the water. You spot a school of tiny fish swimming in the water. All the fish look magical to you because they all sparkled like the stars do at night. Also, they created a ripple effect in the water that mesmerizes you. It reminds you when you used to skip a rock in the water, which created the ripple effect. After the fish swim out of your sight, you start singing looking at the flowers.

Tommy Hears the Shovels

He sits in his office looking at a picture of him when he was in the war. The longer he looks at it a familiar sound overcomes him. That sound was shovels hitting the wall. He gets up from his desk quickly; throwing the picture on his desk with a scared look. It was like he seen a ghost.

" Please stop!", Tommy shouts walking out of his room with haste.

Francis rushes from the kitchen to him.

" Mr. Shelby, are you ok?", Francis asks coming to him. A worried look appears on her face.

" No, I'm not", Tommy says looking at the walls.

" Need me to give you something?", Francis asks standing before him.

" I don't need nothing Francis." " I'm going for a horse ride to clear my mind", Tommy says walking to the door.

He quickly grabs his coat putting it on. Next he puts on his cap with a worried look.

Francis watches him without questioning him.

" Be careful Mr. Shelby", Francis says with concern watching him leave.

" I will Francis", Tommy says with annoyance as he walks outside.

Tommy goes straight to the stable grabbing his saddle and reigns. He goes to his horse Dangerous.

" Hej pačače", Tommy says as he puts the horse gear on his horse.

Dangerous stays still obeying Tommy. His tail swooshes a little back and forth.

Then he gets on Dangerous.

Tommy says," Te žal" to get Dangerous to move. He gallops into the green field leaving dust behind. His black mane and tail billow up in the air like the wind. Tommy takes in the beautiful sights around him as he rides his horse. The blue sky and forest near by eases his mind of the sound of shovels. It's like those things blocked the sound to him. Tommy sees the forest and decides to go there.

"Zhan sigo mai anglal", Tommy says to Dangerous patting his black mane. Dangerous takes the path to the forest. He notices Dangerous ears go up. Then he neighs a little.

"So si nasul", Tommy says softly looking around the forest.

He notices nothing of danger, but hears a beautiful voice of a woman singing in the distance. Her voice was drawing Tommy's attention.

" Nai mishto, ferdi jekh žena džil", Tommy says softly to Dangerous. He calms down and stops neighing. He keeps listening to her singing. " She's singing about love", Tommy thinks to himself.

" Le tu pala lako glaso", Tommy whispers to Dangerous.

His horse keeps going straight up the path. Up ahead he sees a lake. Clear crystal shine sparkles from the top of it. " Stoj", Tommy whispers to Dangerous. He gets off him walking towards you. A look of surprise appears on Tommy's face. One is that you were very beautiful in his eyes. Two your voice was captivating to him.

You keep on singing unaware of Tommy coming near you. Your horse Snow White goes to stand near you. She nudges your hand to pet her, but you keep singing. The song you were singing was about love in general. You pet her as you sing still. In the corner of your eye, you see a handsome man coming towards you. Eventually, you turn around to face him, singing still. Tommy goes to sit next to you and listens. A smile appears on his face. You smile back at him while you sing. Plus a blush appears on your face because you find him attractive. Your voice was soothing to his soul making him relax. He stares right at you looking into your eyes. It was like he was reading your mind.

You finish your song, to talk to him." That was very beautiful", Tommy says softly looking into your eyes. A tear sheds from his eye due to how beautiful the song was. You notice that with a look of surprise on your face.

" Did I make you sad?", you ask looking at him.

"No, that was just a tear of happiness luv", Tommy says softly with a big smile.

" That song must've touched your soul", you say moving closer to him.

" Yes, it did", Tommy says softly watching you.

" Thank you", you say with a blush.

" My name is Tommy Shelby, but you can call me Tommy", he says softly with a warm smile. His name sounds familiar to you. One is that your father Johnny Dogs has told about him in the war.

" My name is y/Dogs", you say softly.

" Beautiful name." " You must be Johnny's daughter", Tommy says as he remembers Johnny Dogs telling him about you. An image of you standing by your caravan appears in his mind. He'd always smile to you every time he seen you. A big blush appears on his face as he looks right at you.

" I believe we met once", Tommy says as he gets close to you.

" When was that Tommy?", you ask putting your arm around him.

Also, you notice how tense he is when you hug him. It was like he was frozen by your touch. His expression on his face was solemn. Many of the people in your family said that your hugs had an effect on people. That effect was relaxing them to rid what was on their mind.

" After I came back from the war", Tommy says resting his head on your chest. He closes his eyes seeing shovels hitting the wall. Just the word war startles him. " The shovels are back", Tommy says shaking in your arms. You quickly look down at him.

" Tommy wake up", you say patting his head.

Tommy open his eyes quickly looking at you.

" Please make them go away", Tommy says with fear in his eyes.

" I will Tommy." " I'll sing another love song", she says kissing his forehead.

" Thanks y/n /Dogs", he says calming down some.

It's like your kiss took his fear away. He watches you with calmness in his eyes. Then you start singing looking right into his eyes. A gypsy bard told you that singing soothes the persons overall being. You notice that Tommy's body gets less tense, the more you sing.

Then Tommy starts looking into your eyes. A blush and smile appears on his face. His eyes remind you of an ocean full of emotions. The time when you first met him plays in your mind while you sing. You remember blushing at him. Plus complimenting how handsome he was. Also, he called you his gypsy princess. Just thinking about that makes you feel whole inside.

After you sing, Tommy raises up from your loving arms. He looks around for the sound of shovels. A look of fear shows in his eyes.

" Are they gone luv", Tommy asks looking back at you.

" Yes, there gone Tommy", you say softly to him.

" I'm glad because that sound haunts me at night or when I say anything about it", Tommy says looking at you.

" It' won't bother you ever again Tommy", you say with a warm smile.

" I believe you luv", Tommy says getting close to your lips.

You smile at him without saying a word. " I owe you a kiss my gypsy princess", Tommy says looking into your brown eyes.

" You do Tommy", you say nudging his nose with yours.

He nudges your nose playfully back. Then he kisses you passionately. His kiss was deep and soft. It feels like it lasts forever because the flame of love was lit inside you both.

" I love you Y/Dogs", Tommy says after he kisses you.

" I love you too Tommy", you say softly with a loving smile.

" Also, I have a lot to make up to you", Tommy says grabbing your hand in his.

" Which is what?", you say cutely to him.

" Spending more time together", Tommy says softly squeezing your hand lightly.

" I'd like that Tommy", you say softly looking at him.

" I like to thank you luv for making the shovels go away", Tommy says looking at you.

" You're very welcome Tommy", you say softly squeezing his hand lightly.

Tommy blushes at you with a loving smile. Then he puts his left hand in his pocket to check his watch.

" It's getting late my luv", Tommy says looking at his watch.

" How late?", you ask looking at him.

" It's 5:30 p.m. luv." " Better get you back to your father, eh", Tommy says putting his watch in his pocket.

" You're probably right Tommy." " I've been gone since this morning", you say getting up from the grass.

" Don't want your father Johnny Dogs to hang me by me toes for keeping ya out late", Tommy says getting up as he lets go of your hand.

" My father wouldn't do that now Tommy", you say walking to Snow White.

" I'm just joking my gypsy princess", Tommy says going to Dangerous.

" I know Tommy." " It's good to joke around now and then", you say with a chuckle getting on Snow White.

" Makes one's day and happy for once in their life", Tommy says with a smile getting on Dangerous.

" Want to ride together in the forest back home?", you ask grabbing the reigns.

" I'd love to my luv", Tommy says guiding his horse beside yours.

Then you two ride together in the forest with you two's horses side by side.

The End

@runnning-outof-time @stevie75 @thats-what-cill-said @gypsy-girl-08 @cillmequick @pherelesytsia @shelundeadxxxx @watercolorskyy @babayaga67 @notyour-valentine @moral-terpitude @dandelionprints @madame-wilsonn @evita-shelby @shelbydelrey @allie131313 @adoresmiles @kathrinemelissa @frostingguruu @grungebabyblu @midnightmagpiemama @midnightmystic @julyzaa @dragons-are-my-favorite @sydi22 @emmanuelle19 @theshelbyclan @thomasshelbee @swordofawriter @star017 @kittycatcait219 @thegreatdragonfruta

@lyarr24 @l1-l4 @zablife @creativepawsworld

[crabussy]

brief alter introduction because a lot of them use this account now and again!!

—————

robin- me!! the host. freak of nature, creature, horror/wilderness enjoyer. mentally i’ll about aotearoa for whatever reason. enjoyer of cringe. he/they/it, 16

phoebe- she’s soooo cool. overuses the cat face emojis but we love her. music taste is insane. projects images of cock and balls into my brain because she thinks it’s hilarious. she/her, 19

alastair- nervous wreck, resident academic, adores astronomy but knows next to nothing about it. messiest fucking room ever, thank god dust isn’t a thing in headspace. he is like a wizard to me. he/him, 24

bee- everyone’s mom. would make killer jam if she had access to good fresh fruit.. SUPER good hugs. literally the nicest ever, very concerned about my questionable life choices. she/her, 36

jasper- pretends to be stone cold and mature but in reality he’s kind of a softie. diet consists of cherry flavoured everything (GROSS) and cola (ACCEPTABLE) reminds me of a young crowley in some ways. he/him, 21

circe- local witch. pronounces her own name wrong. deeply appreciative of dark fairycore and fairygrunge, listens almost exclusively to molchat doma and phonk???? swamp enjoyer. very cool. she/her, 17

nat/nathan/natalie: shares names with both my aunt and uncle which is kinda weird!!!! the most pirate ever. very chill but also very unchill when shit hits the fan. she’s very very cool and intimidating and I am sometimes nervous to talk to him. she/he/they, 22

francis- geeky, nervous, extremely lanky and super sweet. she’s very nostalgic about kiwiana stuff (chocolate fish!!!! footrot flats!! waiheke!! L&P!!) and tied to our childhood memories. super fun, has awesome mint green frizzy hair. she/they, 16

claire- absolute hippie /t. tie dye tapestries and stained glass wind chimes and healthy food. she’s awesome, wine aunt of the system, somehow likes salad and kombucha. very nice gal!! she/her, 25

oliver- Normal Guy of all time. the only vaguely unusual thing about him is that he’s ginger. enjoys cooking, sculpting/stop motion, and browsing reddit. very exploratory with his hobbies which I admire (: he/him, 16

katie- shark enthusiast. gave herself sharp teeth just because. completely nuts, sharp as a tack, Observer Of Details. likes bugs too, and really enjoys street food. short LOL HAHHAHAAHA. she/they, 14

chester- I keep calling him max by accident. little bear cub ankle biter, first thing he ever did while fronting was put 10 kilos of hair gel in our hair and make devil horns out of it. evil. where the wild things are enjoyer. he/him, 11

julian- fashion king, makes zebra print look good, loves peacock feather motifs. possibly a satyr?????? or something??????? no clue. he’s very fabulous, reminds me of zulius from centaurworld. he/him, 27

silas- aspiring botanist, somehow both eccentric and super composed simultaneously. loves plants, finds them fascinating, approaches life with logic and strategy which doesn’t always work but hey. he/him, 40

jon- former head archivist of the magnus institute etc etc. gets up in the middle of the night to shuffle around, talk to my cat, and be paranoid. love him. he has long greying hair and a great fashion sense. very knowledgeable!! tired. he/they, 29

martin- polite but also a bitch. he’s allowed honestly. lover of pecan pie, and most pastries. stronk…. big…… Holder Of The Jon… enjoys travelling and occasional company. fluffy strawberry blond hair and thick dark eyebrows. has custody over our only turtleneck jumper. he/him, 31

zoe- like a mini phoebe (don’t tell her I said that /j). likes tennis and racing games, listens to music that sounds like you’re being put in a blender. enjoys neon highlighter-like colours and being a Menace. she/her, 13

caleb- super funny and creative. very neurodivergent, really likes dragons and other mythology. likes drawing and making up stories, very chatty. he/him, 10

sun- oh so cheerful!! so much fun, mischievous at times, super good with kids!!! resident robot. loves to wear clashing patterns and colours, sticks his tongue out when he thinks, a bit clumsy but also very agile. sweet tooth, loves shiny things and crafts. he/they/she/sol, ageless

moon- super graceful. calm and collected, great sense of humour where you can never tell if they’re joking or not, loves silky clothes and shiny accessories. capable of lulling anyone to sleep except itself </3 loves figure skating and deep sea life. other resident robot!! great singing voice… they/he/it, ageless

selene- bubbly and intense!! life of the party, wearer of the pinkest clothes ever, fashion icon, very passionate about womens rights and queer struggles. so much blonde hair. she’s like if a bimbo was a woman in STEM. love her. she/her, 23

aries- kind of an asshole, getting better, strong opinions about the way the system functions. they’ve decided they have curling ram horns and love the colour purple-red. good music taste, dresses like they’re from genshin impact. they/them, 18

xavier- cool boy swag, formerly known as crowe, super laid back and doesn’t talk much. wants a pet raven so bad, doesn’t listen to music much, wants to create music tho. Ive never seen him wear colour ever. he/him, 18

that’s everyone for now!! some of them have their own blogs accessible via @menagerie-crew

tl;dr: there are FRUITS IN MY BRAIN AND THEYRE COAXING ME INTO DOING DUMB SHIT. I LOVE THEM ALL

[ego-meliorem-esse]

A portrait study turned into a portrait of Matt. Can't say I'm too pleased with it or that I'll actually finish the drawing...

(Also yes I added the curl because why not it adds charm don't mind me pls)

Appearance, fashion and demeanour:

What if?? Matt was actually???like veryy handsome and good looking?? But??? Isn't vain at all?????

In my mind, Matt is a sight for sore eyes. He looks nice from every angle. This perfect overgrown French-Canadian twunk (twink/hunk lol)! I love to contrast that with the fact that he doesn't care much about his looks. Unlike his father, Francis of course. While Francis is very prideful about his appearance, Matt just can't be bothered.

I headcacon that Matt ties his blond, shoulder-length hair almost all the time. He likes his hair (It's the one thing he will actually admit to liking about himself the poor bastard baby) and refuses to have it shortened.

Matthew has high cheekbones, fuller lips and a delicate nose. These features would make him look almost androgynous if his physique was smaller. But alas, he is a big boy indeed!

In Arthur's opinion, Matthew looks way too much like Francis when it comes to his face and hair. Just that fact alone made Arthur deeply dislike the boy when he initially took him in after the Treaty of Paris in 1763. Things have changed of course, and finally Arthur sees Matt as his own person after a while of living under his roof. The fact that Matt didn't act anything like Francis also helped a lot.

His eyesight was damaged by poison gas after the Second Battle of Ypres in 1915, so now our boy needs glasses. He doesn't wear them always, though most of the time he will have them on. He has deep blue eyes, but you hardly get to see them in their full glory due to his glasses.

Matt wears whatever is comfortable. He has a very plain style. A white-shirt-and-jeans kind of style. Not to say he doesn't have a sense for fashion. He does know what looks good on him, but rarely goes out of his comfort zone in regard to his clothes. His style is also very Canadian... I'm all for the denim jacket and jeans combo for Matt. Also, of course our boy has a closet full of those plaid flannel shirts in every color.

As for his personality, I don't see Matthew as shy, just reserved. To me he is the perfect type of person to be involved in the medical sciences. In my mind Matt always wanted to help people and was always interested in medicine. In modern times he would be an excellent doctor, and during war he would make an amazing war medic.

Family and Friends:

Buckle in lads, My headcanons for Matt's early life are somewhat different.

Since he was born (and I headcanon that countries are actually born, and they don't just appear), and up until Canada was traded in exchange for some sugar colonies, he was living in France with his papa (though I'm hesitant to call Francis that). His whole life was that of a little French noble. And although he didn't know better, he knew that this was not what he wanted. He liked the outdoors and Europe was always just a tad too warm for him. In his early days he would have visited his own land maybe two times, and would be swiftly returned to France after a short while.

As any colonizer, France liked showing off his overseas colonies. And even though he may not like to admit it, Francis kept Mathieu in France mostly for that reason. Of course he loved the boy, but with his lifestyle, being a parent is not really an option. Not to say that Francis treated Matt badly, in fact, he was very spoiled as a son of a nobleman. Francis loved him in his own distant and very selfish way (he was kind to the boy but rarely actually spent time with him).

After moving to England and having 'Mathieu' changed to 'Matthew', our boy finally met someone whom he grew very close to. Alfred was a ray of sunshine. A spoiled brat with huge ambitions and a need to just absorb information at any given opportunity. On one hand they didn't understand each other for at least 1 to 2 years (until Matt learned English), but on the other hand, they were inseparable.

That changed of course when he was abandoned for the second time in his life, when Alfred left to lead a revolution against his old man. It would be a while before he opened up to another person again.

At least after Alfred left, Arthur finally let Matthew live (at least for a while) in his own land. Québec was a fairly cold place but it was home after all. He was the happiest during those times when he was allowed to return home.

When Australia and New Zealand came along, Matt was still very guarded but opened up a bit later on. Their relationship is another very interesting thing for me. It developed into a bond after the first world war and just strengthened after the second one.

Since Matt is very easy to talk to and is an amazing listener, he has very few nations whom he can argue with or generally be on bad terms with. Throughout Canada's history, he has formed some strong friendships around the world. Be it with The Netherlands, Germany, Slovakia or any number of other nations. Canada is just very well liked, compared to his brother in the south.

I'm sorry that this was more tragic than fun, but I just needed to get my thoughts sorted about this absolutely beautiful boy who deserves some damn peace and quiet. Also sorry If this doesn't make much sense. This character is one of my absolute favourites to draw. Even write about, though I'm still learning English lol

[darling-i-read-it]

The Wrath of the Lamb

3x13

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4.7k (this is officially the longest thing i’ve ever posted, i beat my own record three times with this series lmao)

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, guns, pregnancy, burning, canniablism, death, gore probably more idk 

Author’s Note: My very favorite thing about this rewrite is watching the show and seeing how those writers and creators took pieces of the original source material to create their own show and I took both the novels and the show and just did this. I am very very proud of this. I am so happy I decided to do it. I was going to make a substantial change to the ending but I honestly am hoping that one day, season 4 will happen and maybe I’ll stil be writing. Thank you all SO MUCH for getting this far. I am so happy we got to share this together and that this show is as good as it is. I hope I did it justice because this show is so complex. I hope that you all enjoy and thank you again. 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: Will orchestrates a plot involving Hannibal in hope of slaying Francis Dolarhyde; Bedelia is concerned for Will and the lives of those close to him.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) 

You looked in the small window of Reba’s hospital room. You were standing outside of it beside your husband, your hand tight around your upper arm. You were almost cradling yourself in a way. This reminded you of when you had come to visit Abigail, when she was still in the hospital. As your eyes went from the window to Will you were once again thrown to the reality of now. If it had been Abigail in that room you would have looked to see a shaking, sweating puppy dog Will Graham who was so unsure of the world around him. This Will was so different. His hair was done, his shirt ironed. You had ironed it. 

He met your eyes and you gave him a small nod. He opened the door and you let him go inside. You did not follow him. He had enough empathy to give Reba and he understood where she was standing. You and him understood. You had all loved a monster.

-

Will grabbed your arm gently. You and him stood in front of Hannibal’s cage. You had no doubt that Hannibal saw you somewhere else. But nonetheless, you allowed yourself to ease in his presence. A thing Will was once again learning to do.

“Ding-dong, the Dragon’s dead,” Will said. Hannibal raised an eyebrow. He looked between the two of you and his smile faded.

“Pity. I had such plans,” he promised. You believed that. “Are congratulations in order?” Will approached the other man, just against the glass wall. 

“I didn’t kill him. Neither did Y/N. Suicide.”

“I would have liked to kill him as well,” you muttered. Hannibal seemed disappointed at that.

“Then he wasn’t as strong as the Dragon after all,” Hannibal whispered. 

“He was trying to stop,” Will argued. You weren’t sure why Will was arguing for Francis. You hated that he was. He had hurt you. Francis had scared you. You didn’t mention it but you could feel that Hannibal caught the emotion

“I was rooting for you, Will. I figured you would adore killing the man who attacked your family, it’s such a shame. You came all this way and didn’t even get to kill anybody. Only consolation is Dr. Chilton.” Hannibal paused for affect. “Congratulations for the job you did on him. I admired it enormously. Did you do it together? Was the idea hatched in the duo?” You straightened your back. 

“No,” Will said simply. 

“What a cunning couple you are,” Hannibal said anyway. 

“Are you accusing us of something?” you questioned.

“Does the enemy inside you agree with the accusation? Even a little bit?” Hannibal questioned. 

“We came back to stop the Dragon. He’s stopped,” Will stated. 

“Your family was on his itinerary Will. You’re safe now, all three of you. You can go home again. If there’s any point?” Hannibal suggested. You gave him a look. 

“I like my life,” Will said but he did not sound convincing. 

“It won't’ be the same. You’ll see it’s not the same,” Hannibal promised. You stepped closer to the glass.

“I want it to be the same. Together, we will make it the same,” you promised.

“Mutual assurances you try to exchange in the dark and in the day will pass through some refraction, making them miss their mark. When life becomes maddeningly polite…” Hannibal thought about his words and made you both think about them as well. “...think about me. Think about me, don’t worry about me.” 

Will was ready to leave. You could feel it. 

“You turned yourself in so I would always know where you are. You’d only do that if we, together, rejected you.” Will put his hand on the nape of your back. “Good-bye Hannibal.” Will started to lead you out. 

“Will…” He turned. “Was it good to see me?” 

“Good? No.” 

Will walked out and you followed him. He kept going but you stopped as the doors behind you shut. Your mind reeled and he could see it. 

“I need my own goodbye,” you whispered. He gave you a long look. He knew that this was what you needed. He knew it was. Still though, he didn’t want it. He wanted to protest. 

“I’m going back to the motel. Meet me there?” You nodded. He walked down the hall. You could feel his tenseness but ignored it as you walked back into the room with Hannibal. He was clearly surprised to see you. 

“Was that not good-bye?” he questioned. You shrugged.

“That was Will’s good-bye. Not mine.” 

You walked in front of the glass and sat down. Hannibal did the same. You were arguably one of the only people he would sit down like that for. 

“I take for granted, on occasion, that you enjoyed my company,” you told him. You played with the hem of your pants. “I recognize, to a fault, that you would eat me if let out. You would eat my husband. You would eat my baby. But still…” You smiled, reminiscently. “I loved you.” 

He was pleased to hear this. He was so pleased.

“You never would have left him. Not even if I killed him in the kitchen,” he suggested. You thought about that for a moment. You thought back to that terrible day and felt it again.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“When you came in to interview for the secretary position I had already picked someone. I didn’t want to be rude, so I let you in.” He stopped. That was the end of his story.

“Why would you let me work for you?”

“Because I liked you. And as it turns out, we would have met eventually. Through Will.” You nodded.

“But it would have been different.” 

“Yes. Yes it would have.” You pressed your hand against the glass. He looked at it and he did not put his hand on yours. 

“Will is right. I turned myself in so you and he would always know where I am. Because you rejected me.” Your hand fell off the glass slowly.

“I deserved that.” 

You stood up and took a deep breath.

“Good-bye Hannibal.” 

-

You walked up to the hotel room and started to grab the key from your purse. You struggled for a moment but eventually found it. You slid it into the lock and unlocked it, walking inside. Your mind hung over Hannibal still when you were grabbed. You had just been able to see Francis coming at you enough to push him off, hitting his head. He ran out of the door and you followed him but eventually he went too far and you had to stop. You turned back to the room and ran back, your hand on your stomach as you breathed hard from adrenaline. 

Will sat in the chair, tied down. You rushed to him, locking the door behind you. 

You started to untie him.

“Who was that?” you asked. 

“The Red Dragon,” he breathed. You scoffed.

“Not dead then.”

“Clearly.” You got him out quickly.

“Are you alright?” you questioned. He nodded, rubbing his wrists. 

“Yeah. He didn’t hurt me much.” 

“What did he want?” 

You stared at each other. He didn’t need to tell you. You knew. 

-

Will, you and Jack Crawford stood in the hall leading to the morgue. 

“The obvious thing is to try to get him to come to us. Bait him with something he wants more than us,” Will said. Jack gave him a look.

“He’d be an idiot to go for it,” Jack muttered. 

“I know. Want to hear what the best bait would be?” you asked. Jack stared at you. You stared back at him.

“Not from you.”

“Hannibal would be the best bait,” Will said so that you didn’t have to. Jack shook his head.

“Why in God’s name would anybody want to meet Hannibal Lecter?”

“To kill him, Jack. The Dragon could absorb him that way, engulf him, become more than he is,” Will explained. It gave you a moment of just realizing that was how he used to speak about killers he didn’t know. 

“You sound pretty sure Will.”

“I’m not sure. Who’s sure? I’m not even sure Hannibal would draw the Dragon. I say it’s the best shot,” Will explained. 

“Set up how?” Jack asked.

“I would be hell to do, I know that. We’d take Hannibal into federal custody,” Will said. You gave him a look. 

“Because Y/N and Alana would never sit still for what you’re about to suggest?” You gave Jack a bitter role. 

“We fake an escape.” Will stared at you for a moment and Zeller called his name. “One moment.” He disappeared in the morgue that left you and Jack alone, annoyingly. 

“You’ll have both their lives in your hands,” you whispered. 

“Since when do you care about if Hannibal gets hurt under my care?” he questioned.

“Since now.” 

-

Bedelia did not look happy. You did not expect her to be happy either. You respected her bit of unhappiness. 

“We assign a moment to decision, to dignify the process as a timely result of rational and conscious thought. Yet what you propose is so thoughtless, I find it difficult to imagine that moment exists,” Bedelia said bitterly. You stood behind Will, walking around the room slowly. Will sat down across from her.

“Decisions are made of kneaded feelings. They’re more often a lump than a sum.” Bedelia stood up, walked to where she kept the drinks and poured herself one. She offered one to you that she then realized you couldn’t drink. 

“However you think you’re going to manipulate this situation to your advantage, think again,” Bedelia said.

“There is no advantage. It’s all degrees of disadvantage,” you argued. Bedelia fixed on you and Will with a piercing stare. 

“‘Who holds the Devil, let him hold him well. He will hardly be caught a second time’.” 

“I don’t intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.” A flicker of alarm played in her eyes. 

“Can’t live with him. Can’t live without him. Is that what this is?” she asked, bitterly.

“I guess this is my Becoming,” Will suggested.

“I just tag along,” you whispered.

“Because you have two crazy men in absolute love with you,” she told you. Will stood up, straightening his jacket. He was done here.

“I’d pack my bags if I were you Bedelia. Meat’s back on the menu.” 

-

Alana looked annoyed. She sat in Jack’s office, a place you hated to the ends of the Earth. You messed with your hair a bit, leaning against the wall.

“Hannibal has tentatively agreed to the deal, as proposed,” Alana said.

“What will make him less tentative?” 

“He wants Will and Y/N to ask him.” She turned to him. “He wants you to say ‘please’.” You gave a bitter smile. So very like him.

“I’ll say ‘pretty please’,” Will said. He was preparing to speak to you. He knew what he had to bring up would not blow over right.

“We will have a stampede when people think Lecter is out,” Jack explained.

“Let them stampede. Authenticity. And let them think I helped Hannibal escape,” Will muttered.

“Authenticity?” 

“Someone has to be close. When the Dragon comes.” He turned to you. “And just one person.” For a moment, the other three people in that room let that sink in. It was a surprise even to Jack Crawford that Will would even suggest that he go somewhere without you. 

“Sorry?”

“You can’t come,” he repeated.

“No I heard you, I was letting you change your sentence.” 

“I don’t think you need to be there. You don’t.” You clenched your fist and looked away from him. You understood where he was coming from. There was no reason for you to be there. You would only be in the way and you had a child. It would be stupid.

But still.

Every piece of you wanted to be there with Will and Hannibal. You were always there with them. They were your boys. 

You shook your head slowly. 

“What do you suggest I do?” you asked. Will thought about that for a moment.

“Whatever you want.” You couldn’t look at him. He pulled a pocket knife out of his jacket pocket and handed it to you. You took it slowly but still looked away from him. “For if you need it.” You weren’t sure what that meant and you didn’t want to ask. 

-

You and Will walked into the room with Hannibal again. You had hoped to never have to see it again. He did not look surprised to see you this time.

“I thought you said your good-byes.”

“We’ve had one last good-bye between us.” Hannibal was tied up in a straight jacket. You hadn’t been this close to him for a while. You wanted to touch him but you held yourself back. 

“You didn’t just say good-bye, though, did you? That little extra bit at the end for you Will. It felt very final for both of you. I believe it’s called a ‘mic drop’. You dropped the mic, but here you are having to come back and pick it back up again,” Hannibal explained. There were nurses in there with you that stopped any kind of intimacy feeling you may have.

“I knew you would keep running if I kept chasing you. I knew you wanted me to know exactly where I could find you. When we needed you,” Will said.

“And you did,” Hannibal commented. 

“I need you, Hannibal,” you said. Will finished it off.

“Please.” 

-

Will stared at Hannibal in his cage. Even as Francis drove by, he stared at Hannibal. His mind became blurry. But still, he saw the outline of Hannibal’s face in the fog that was his mind as it crashed. People died. People were killed. 

Hannibal was let out. 

Will did not panic. He figured this would happen. He knew this would happen. 

When his mind regained his moment, he got up and stepped out of the broken car. Hannibal crossed to the police car as he took off his straight jacket. He opened the door and pulled the dead driver from the vehicle.

“What are you doing?” Will called.

“You know Will, you worry too much. You’d be so much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself. Are you coming? He’s not going to kill us here. What he wants to do requires something a little more private.” Hannibal behind the wheel was an interesting scene. The side window was smashed, blood splashed across the inside of the windshield. Hannibal pulled up alongside Will, opened the passenger door and shoved a dead police officer out of the vehicle. He leaned over the seat.

“Going my way?” Will looked through the car door and then looked back down the road.

“You know it can’t just be the two of us,” Will said.

“It never was and never will be, just the two of us.” 

-

You sat in Jack’s office. Will’s pocket knife was in your hand tightly. You were getting a play by play that way which was the only reason you were truly there. You sat in a chair, head in one of your hands as you heard the voices go out and static. You looked up and Jack looked at you.

“What is that? What happened?” 

“Hold on.” He dialed a number.

There was an excruciatingly long moment in silence. You held your breath, biting your finger gently as you waited. Someone spoke on the other line. You couldn’t make out what they were saying. 

Then he hung up and looked at you. You stared back at him and waited.

“They were intercepted. We don’t know yet if there are any survivors.” You stared at him and he waited for that backlash. He was ready for it. But there was no anger that went over your face, instead it was just a small laugh. You shook your head and that laugh fell. 

He saw that face and he recognized the look in your eyes. 

“Do you remember the first judge of Will’s trial?” you asked quietly. 

“What?” 

“Do you. Remember. The first judge. In my husband's murder trial?” you asked again, louder this time. 

“Yeah. Hannibal killed him.” You widened your eyes and shook your head slowly.

“No. I did.”

He had no time to react. You opened the pocket knife and leaned across the desk, slashing his throat. 

-

You reached the motel room quickly after that. You pulled in at the same time you saw a car pull into the parking lot behind you. You got out of your car, hands still stained in Jack Crawford’s blood. The car slowed down beside you. You looked into it and the window rolled down, revealing Will in the passenger seat, Hannibal in the driver's seat.

You let out an audible sigh of relief. 

“Jack told me you were dead,” you said as you rushed to the window.

“Get in the back,” Will said gently. He went to grab your hand but stopped when he saw the blood. Hannibal noticed it at the same time. You did not address it, instead you got in the back of the car with them. 

Hannibal pulled out of the parking lot and away.

“The blood isn’t...the b-” Will started but you cut him off.

“No. I slit Jack Crawford’s throat,” you stated. Hannibal, pleasantly surprised, laughed. Will turned around to look at you. He didn’t look exactly surprised at you. More surprised at his lack of shock.

“About time,” Hannibal said. 

“Is he dead?” Will asked. You shrugged.

“I left before figuring that out.” 

You were so happy to be back beside the both of them. You just let out another sigh of relief.

-

You got out of the car and admired the scenery. It was such a Hannibal place, you weren’t even surprised. The sun setting, the cliff, the way the house stood on the Earth. So serendipitous. 

“The bluff is eroding. There was more land when I was here with Abigail. More land still when I was here with Miriam Lass,” Hannibal said. Will looked over the view and down the cliff a bit. Water, crashing. Gorgeous.

“Now you’re here with us,” Will said. 

“And the bluff is still eroding. You and I are suspended over the roiling Atlaninic. Soon all of this will be lost to sea,” Hannibal explained. You walked over to where Will lingered by the cliff. Hannibal walked away from you to find the key to the home. 

“This isn’t the right place for us to be,” he whispered.

“Yes it is,” you countered. 

“Running from the law with a child?”

“Sounds like something we would do and do well.” He looked over at you away from the view. 

“Let’s get your hands cleaned.” 

-

The sun set completely. The moon showed through the glass walls. You stared through the view and Will stood beside you, watching you watch your new life. He put his hand on your shoulder and you leaned into him as Hannibal walked into the room. Hannibal pulled a wine bottle from the rack and poured two glasses of wine. 

“I apologize that I cannot offer you any wine Y/N,” he said. You turned to him. Will’s hand dropped. 

“No worries.  I never liked it anyway,” you lied. Will took a glass. 

“You’re playing games with yourself in the dark of the moon,” Hannibal said, moving toward the window as well. “Wasn’t surprising that I heard from the Great Red Dragon. Was it surprising when you both heard from him?”

“Yes and no,” Will said. 

“Surprised me. I just wanted to sleep in my own bed,” you whispered. Hannibal smiled gently but that quickly fell off his features. 

“You intend to watch him kill me?” Hannibal questioned. You shook your head but Will spoke first.

“I intend to watch him change you.” Hannibal took that in, a sad smile on his face as he fingered the corkscrew. He saw it in his hands and wondered if he should kill you. Kill Will. Get it over with. Instead, he uses the tip to cut the seal on the wine bottle. 

“My compassion for you both is inconvenient,” Hannibal stated.

“If you’re partial to beef products, it’s inconvenient to be compassionate toward a cow,” Will muttered.

“Save yourself, kill them all?” Hannibal asked.

“I don’t know if we can save ourselves. And maybe that’s just fine,” you said. 

“No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend’,” Hannibal recited. Will looked out the window and sensed the danger.

“He’s watching us now,” Will whispered. He looked at you and you looked back at him. You were staring at each other the second that the glass wall shattered, impaling Hannibal in the stomach. You turned quickly, moving toward Will subconsciously. Hannibal’s wine bottle dropped from his hand and a large red stain on his sweater blossomed with blood. Glass shards fell through the air and beyond them, the patio is just the black knight. In the darkness came Francis Dolarhyde.

Hannibal slid down to his knee. Blood pumping from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Will grabbed you but Francis raised his gun to the two of you. 

“Don’t run. I’ll catch you.” Hannibal glanced down at his belly wound.

“Hello, Francis,” he said.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” he echoed. Francis pulled a tripod from his bag and tossed it to you before pointing the gun at your head. Will took the tripod from your hands and began to set it up. 

“I’m so happy you chose life, Francis. Suicide is the enemy.” 

“I had one rag of pride that Reba McClane gave me. It told me that suicide was a sorry end,” Francis explained.

“You were seized by a fantasy life with the brilliance and freshness and immediacy of childhood. It took you a step beyond alone.” Francis pulled out a 16-mm camera from his bag and handed it to you who fixed it on the tripod, still at gunpoint. 

“I’m going to film your death, Dr. Lecter, as dying, you meld with the strength of the Dragon.”

“It’s a glorious and rather discomfiting idea,” Hannibal muttered. You back away from the camera and he reached for the gun that was in his waistband. You wanted to reach for Will’s knife he had given you but hesitated. 

“Watching the film will be wonderful, but not as wonderful as the act itself.”

Before you even knew what was happening, a knife slammed in Will’s face. You screamed. Francis shot you in the stomach. You stumbled back and then moved forward again. Will fell through the broken wall you attacked Francis. You had enough strength to get him outside.

Francis lifted Will off the ground and Will stabbed him with the knife that was once in his cheek. As you found your own knife, Francis started to again fight Will. As you moved you saw Will rag-doll across the stones. Will’s blood spattered across the thick drops to the stone. He got to his hands and knees. You went to stab Francis again but he got to you first, slashing your side. It stunned you enough that you fell back on the stones beside your husband. 

Will pulled his gun out and Francis immediately disarmed him, tossing the gun over the bluff. You wanted to scream but nothing came out. Just as Francis went to slash him again Hannibal came out of the darkness. He tried to snap Franics neck but the man's neck was too strong and he swatted Hannibal away. 

The two of them staggered across the patio. You tried to get up and Will did as well. He tossed Hannibal off but you and Will were up again.

You started to use your knives on his legs, hoping to disarm him. Hannibal grabbed a hatchet that he found off to the side. He slammed it into Francis achilles tendon and then his knee. 

You, Will and Hannibal all stood now. Exhausted but equal. Francis bleeded from his wounds, leg destroyed. Hannibal staggered up to him and bit out Francis throat. He arched his back and blood fell all around him.

Eventually he fell and let out one last breath as he stared at Will in front of him. 

Dead. 

Will started to finally feel his wounds, as did you and Hannibal. He looked down at his hands which were drenched in red. 

“It really does look black in the moonlight,” he whispered. You didn’t know what he was talking about but you didn’t ask. You stumbled to Hannibal who caught you. In his other arm, Will stood. The three of you embraced, not quite hugging, not not hugging. 

You caught your breath together. The night was still otherwise. 

“See,” Hannibal breathed. You did not look up at him. Will’s head was against his chest. You were buried in his neck. You grabbed Will’s hand and he held it for dear life. “This is all I ever wanted for you,” he choked. “For all of us.” 

Hannibal sounded broken. 

You felt broken. 

Will looked broken.

You closed your eyes, brushing back the tears that you didn’t know were there. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying. Will stared at you and he genuinely felt that it was beautiful. He felt what you did. A single tear cut through the blood on his face and fell. 

You held onto him and Hannibal tightly. 

These were your boys. These were the people you had risked it all for. And you did not regret it for even a moment.

Hannibal let out a shaky breath and you felt the Earth underneath you move. You felt the ground and then you did not. 

Where you once stood was drenched in blood. It was illuminated by the moon. If someone was to stand there, despite there no longer being a living person standing there, they would feel the emotions that had left. That place was no longer still. It was breathing. 

The sea underneath it was breathing. It had engulfed three people who loved each other more than anyone had loved anyone. 

The waves crashed against the rocks, the only noise left in the dark of the night.

[magnoliasinbloom]

Lie To Me - 11

AO3 :: Previously

Jamie thinks his uncles might have kept closer tabs on him if he hadn’t acted so compliant in the last few years. Agreeing to marry Laoghaire, staying on at Leoch, keeping his head down. All the while, they’d let the cuckoo in the nest and he hopes he is preparing the massive downfall of the MacKenzie empire—with Claire’s help.

This is how he is able to create a fictitious acquisition meeting in London, regarding an up and coming author. The author is real, but the meeting is not. He has Louise, his executive assistant, register his schedule into the system, and book his lodgings for two days.

Claire books a room at the same hotel.

Laoghaire bids him farewell at their shared flat, glad to see him go; he knows she’ll spend these days with Joseph. He is happy for her. Now, Jamie boards the train taking him and Claire to London, sitting side by side, surreptitiously holding hands. He had tucked copies of the most basic documents pertaining to the investigation into Leoch’s business into his duffel bag.

“What do you mean, you’ve never toured London properly?” Claire leans back from her position tucked into Jamie’s shoulder to look at him in surprise.

“Aye, well, Mam and Da took Jenny and me when we were weans. We went to the Tower, the British Museum, the V&A and such, but I dinna really remember it.”

“Very culturally inclined, your parents.”

“My mam studied art history at uni. She was very much into art and history and culture and wanted her children to appreciate it too.” Jamie smiles. “Now, what made ye decide to be a doctor?”

Her answer is immediate. “Helping out at dig sites with my Uncle Lamb. I was always one of the few women there and I suppose caring for the people came naturally to me.”

“I admire ye, Sassenach. ‘Tis a noble calling.” Jamie lifts Claire’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to her fingers.

“It’s a hard one too. I’m afraid it takes up a lot of my time, days and nights, conferences, emergencies…” She wants Jamie to be aware that, no matter how much she cares for him, her calling to heal often consumes her. It’s something that Frank never understood.

“I dinna mind. I’ll take ye any way I can, Claire.”

X-x-X

They check into the Park Grand separately; their rooms are on different floors. Jamie lingers for a few minutes in the lobby while Claire goes up with her small suitcase. He wishes things were different—Jamie, unattached, a regular lad with a normal job, visiting London with his girlfriend, spending their nights in the same room.

Claire, for her part, closes the door to her own room, resting her palm against the wood, and wishes Jamie had followed her there. Their acquaintance and budding relationship are fraught with so many obstacles and complications, but she is determined to make something of it, to emerge victorious, to help the man she has come to love.

Frank has agreed to meet Claire at the bar in the Royal Lancaster Hotel. Jamie meets her in the lobby and together ride the metro as unobtrusively as possible to the designated location. Claire is nervous; it’s the first time in nearly a year that she’s seeing Frank, but the fluttering is tempered by Jamie at her side.

Claire recognizes Frank by the sharp cut of his hair; he’s sitting at a table in the middle of the bar, his back to them. With a deep, shaky breath, and a squeeze of Jamie’s hand in hers, she approaches and briefly startles her ex-husband with a quiet, “Hello, Frank.”

Jamie notes the way Randall’s neck stiffens and turns slowly to greet Claire. He does a double take when he sees Jamie beside her, holding her hand. He keeps an impassive face while Frank gives Claire a brief peck on the cheek and then gestures to Jamie.

“And who is this? I had the notion we would be meeting alone.” He has a good poker face, but Jamie’s is better.

“James Fraser.” He extends his hand and Randall grasps it out of courtesy, evidently trying to intimidate with the strength of his grip. Jamie matches it and is gratified to see him wince.

“Actually, Frank, he is the reason I’m here.” Claire sits at the table and plasters a smile when the server comes to take their drink order. “Two whiskies, please. Neat.” Left alone once more, Claire lowers her voice and says, “I hadn’t mentioned him before because I thought you might not want to see me.”

“I just didn’t think you would be that… quick,” Frank says, raising both eyebrows.

Claire’s cheeks color slightly, and Jamie suppresses the urge to punch Frank in the face. But his Sassenach is more than equal to the task. “You were quicker, I think, since we were still married.”

Frank offers a tight-lipped smile. “Touché.”

“Mr. Randall, the reason we’re here is that we need yer help with a delicate matter. It’s something that will benefit us both.”

“What is it you think you can do for me?”

“I work for Leoch Holdings.” Jamie senses Frank’s curiosity peak at the name. “My uncles own the business, and I have been made aware of many dealings that are less than… legal.”

“If it’s your uncles’ own company, why are you working against them?” Frank sips casually from a glass of white wine, but it is evident he’s interested.

“They are blackmailing me with false murder charges.” Jamie doesn’t blink even as Frank flinches and he sees Claire clutch her whisky glass tighter at the words. “There is corruption, crime, extorsion, ye name it. My godfather is working within the Glasgow police force to help me, and is in touch with Chief John Grey at the SCD.”

“If you have their assistance, why come to me?” Frank glances between Claire and Jamie, prompting her to reach for Jamie’s hand again and lay them on the table; their connection is evident, as is their support of each other.

“There are a great many people implicated, and there are precious few we can trust wi’ this information. Ye have access to certain resources we do not.”

“Do you have any documentation to go on? Something solid?”

Jamie pulls out papers from his coat inside pocket. “I brought these to get you started. I shouldna have to mention that it’s sensitive information, and the less eyes that see it, the better.”

Randall peruses the documents, rifling through the pages; his eyes widen as he reads the names Jamie has seen time and time again, almost unable to believe the scope of Leoch’s shady operations.

“This is quite an undertaking. Some of these people… the scandal would rock the nation.” Frank’s tone is noncommittal, and Jamie feels his stomach sinking.

“So ye dinna think it’s possible then,” he says dejectedly.

“I didn’t say that.” Frank is quiet for a few minutes, going over the papers once more. “From what I can gather, a key element is finding out where the money is going, all these names and payments… If we can find the accounts, we’d be in business.”

Claire tosses back her whisky. “It’s massive, Frank,” she says quietly, leaning in and he imitates her unconsciously. “There’s politicians, judges, police officers, money, extorsion… if you were to help Jamie—help us—and put an end to this, it will no doubt aid in your efforts to solidify yourself as a model MP. Maybe even PM someday.” She knows the prospect is like dangling a carrot in front of a horse. She recognizes the old gleam of a challenge in Frank’s eyes, and a small swell of relief takes hold inside her. If anyone can help them, it’s this man; despite the crumbled marriage between them, she can trust him with this. Frank seems to read her mind, and asks:

“Why trust me with this, Claire? After what I did to you?”

“Not only is your name not in the documents—and I didn’t think it would be—but I know exactly how important your political career is to you. Much more important than I ever was.” Claire’s voice is steadfast and Frank does not dispute her statement. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I will.” Frank tucks the papers into his own coat pocket, drinking the dregs of wine. “I believe I owe it to you.”

“You bloody well do, Francis Randall.” Claire and Jamie both feel that spark of hope ignite within, a way out of the dark tunnel Jamie has been in for years and that Claire has also chosen to walk.

As they prepare to leave, Frank remains sitting; Claire can feel his scrutiny, appraising them, judging, drawing his own conclusions about what Jamie means to her.

“Is it worth it?” Frank asks suddenly, his parting shot. Claire feels Jamie stiffen next to her and she is tempted to let him thump Frank, but doesn’t want to undermine their efforts quite yet. Claire holds Frank’s gaze and responds simply.

“He is.”

[shini--chan]

May I request Allies with an S/O who's a small country rich in some rare spices/gems and their reaction to an enemy country invading them for those resources? (Yandere and S/O are allies/have close political relationship)

I really enjoyed writing this! Thx :)

Yandere Allies

America

The moment the news floats in, he stills for a moment for a few precious seconds before launching into a fever of planning and hasty communication.

While on a large part Alfred may act like a dope – it means that people severely underestimate him and it is so amusing to see the looks of shock and horror when he does/says something intelligent – he is no wimp when it comes to war.

Believe me when I say he is the last person you’d want to face on the battlefield. The sorry sod that decided to attack you effectively signed their own death sentence.

He is the hero, really Captain America in the way he is the golden boy of the army and ready to swoop in to save his girl. A bright and glorious defender of liberty indeed. However, he very much forgets that he is the anti-hero of his own story.

The end justifies the means, and if the end means have you happily in your arms, then he’ll rain hell fire upon his foes and call it poetic justice later. You’ll do best to remember that, especially when he starts worming his way in and ensnaring you tighter with kind words and half-genuine, half-pretended compassion. All soft power to drive you in his arms and trap you there. Before you know it, he’ll have you thoroughly Americanized and depended on him.

Canada

Yes, Matthew is kind and compassionate and doesn’t like to fight…

…that doesn’t mean he extends that to his enemies and that doesn’t mean he isn’t good at it. The nation that dared attack his lover isn’t going to have an easy time at it.

Of course, Canada is unbelievably patient and will try any other route to secure peace. He’ll negotiate, he’ll point to chartas and treaties and the disadvantages of invading you. And then, when there is no avail, he’ll proceed to give his enemy nightmares.

If you really think that Canada is a wuss that can’t even hold a knife, then go ahead and ask Francis’, heck, even Ludwig. They both can attest that Matthew isn’t just a sweet little wall flower.

Suddenly, the jokes of him being invisible aren’t so funny anymore – especially not in a war zone.

After he has sent his enemy packing, there is nothing that is going to prevent him making the ties between you two even closer. The treaties he’ll draw up will have only the tinest loopholes for you to wriggle to freedom.

China

So, his dear political ally is under attack? By that nation, you say?

Yao will sigh heavily upon hearing the news and demand that the reports be handed over to him. Slowly, as he processed the words, his rage would grow, only disguised by a practised poker face. He’d only unleash his emotions in a controlled environment or directly at the enemy in an onslaught of cutting remarks.

Yao is old, but old doesn’t mean he has become tired of the savoury taste of ambition and victory. If there are a few things that age has taught him, it would be patience and how to obliterate his enemy. How would said enemy feel if everything they held dear would start to crumble to ash.

China will start to throw his weight around and place sanctions or also demand that debts be repaid. Should that not work, or the offender get more desperate to get their hands on your resources, China would start to flex his muscles – a few troops are really nothing compared to what he could actually do, right?

There are a few things in this world that nobody wants to rouse; one of them would be the anger of the Great Red Dragon.

Afterwards, he would ensure that you are fine – strengthen the trade between you. Maybe buy up a few of your resources at that and let a few of his companies settle there. That wouldn’t be a problem, or would it? 

England

The moment England catches wind of the invasion, he is transformed into a seething mess. That switches to icy resignation, the sort that is threaded with rage and promises damnation and then to a melodramatic mess. If the big-shots aren’t already convinced to come to your aid in fear of losing a very important ally, they will do it for the sake of calming the personification down – Arthur is just that bad.

Really, the gall that snotty nosed, twitches weasel of an invader had to attempt to take away what is rightfully Arthur’s. They were just baby steps into a grand project – that of him wooing you, utter and completely so that you would be totally captivated – and then that wench had to ruin half of that hard work. You’re distressed and paranoid – something England can’t tolerate.

But Arthur has always been an opportunist, if there has been any.

Of course, Arthur is a gentleman but that is also just one facet of him. Very clearly he remembers how it was to be an empire and the euphoria of crushing his opponents to ash and dust. So why not take the chance to relive the good old day?

The enemy will have made a mistake in assuming that England had lost his vicious bite.

After repelling the aggressors he’ll be sure to keep some soldiers stationed.

You don’t like it? Oh, please darling, it is for your own good! What is your problem with his officials taking over the resources and conduct the operations? Aren’t you still ravaged by war? You need all the help you can get. (Not that this would end after you have recovered. Arthur is too greedy and possessive for that)

France

That usually so open face hardens. He doesn’t like the idea of you being invaded and filched away from him very unappealing.

Now, first things first. France knows that he isn’t the best when it comes to war, the years have taught him that bitter lesson. And to a former empire like him, that is extremely bitter.

That doesn’t stop him from trying – the notion of you not being close to him drives him to the edge of insanity and he has to resist the urge to carelessly tear his hair out. He is probably burning through a few cigarettes to calm himself down while he goes over the plans with his generals.

He’ll send you a lot of relief in form of men, rations, and medical supplies. On top of that, he’ll help you establish an active and large resistance. It just happens that Francis is best at undercover operations.

He’ll be there for you when nobody else, your anchor in the storm. So that afterwards, he can make it seem like your choice to isolate yourself from all but him.     

Russia

War is something that has always been a part of his life, so he’ll find to very poetic to go to war for his desired. He won’t let it end in a tragedy this time.

At first, it won’t be a full-scale war from his side since the other nations still fear him and are therefore out for his blood. Ivan doesn’t immediately what to give them an excuse to go after him, even if he is spilling blood for your sake.

So, in the beginning, he’ll send arms and men – field doctors, strategists and also a few bodyguards for you. Russia might even join them, to ensure you stay safe under his watchful eye. With his rather flippant demeanour in the face of hardship, you could even need him desperately.

On top of that, he wants to gouge your capabilities and test your mettle on the one or the other occasion – he has to know the strengths and weaknesses of his dearest, their vices and virtues .

If the enemy doesn’t relent, he’ll send a fully armed battalion, to remind you of his love…

Back to business. Keep in mind that this nation is very desensitised to violence and he really knows how to hold a grudged. He has a long memory and can’t be tricked easily. You might want to step in before the battle becomes a slaughter and even then, you’ll have to be very careful, least he interprets your actions and words as betrayal.

Afterwards, once it is just you and him and your people, be careful, for everybody’s sakes. He’ll want to keep a tight hold on you and if you want to worm yourself out, you’ll have to be extremely cautious and appeal to his emotions. And it is even questionable if that will work.

[forlornmelody]

Trust Exercise

Rating: E (Smut with some plot, for flavor.)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: Harley wants to try something new, but Ivy isn't sure her girlfriend is ready to see that part of her.

Note: Commission for @rookie009. Dude, thank you so much for commissioning me again. And insisting I write my faves. <3

->->->

Ivy’s in the lab when Harley finds her, nose-deep in an experiment she’s been running all day. “Oh, hey, babe. Did you get my text?”

“Mmhm.” Harley’s hands grasp her shoulders, her fingers meandering past the collar of her lab coat. 

“So, you know that I can’t do date night tonight.” Harley’s lips find her cheek, then her ear, and the tissue culture Ivy’s been working on for the past hour slips from her fingers. 

“Sure you can.” Her lips meander down her neck, as Ivy stares at the ruined culture with both horror and... arousal. Something hot roils in her belly, and Ivy stifles it as she turns around. 

“Harley. How many times do I have to tell you--”

“Mm. You’re even more pretty when you’re angry.” Harley grabs Ivy by the lapel of her lab coat, pulling her in for a kiss. The jungle surrounding the lab roils as if shaken in a gale force wind. 

Ivy breathes her in, and pushes her back, holding her girlfriend at arm’s length. “Harl, if you want me to tie you up, you only need to ask.”

Harley flushes, biting her lip as she glances away. Ivy draws her attention back with a finger under her chin. “Do you want me to tie you up?”

“Ives…”

“Harleen Francis Quinzel, I promise you I won’t ask again.”

“Yes!” Harley says quickly.

“Yes, what?”

“Tie me up.” Harleen swallows, her tongue darting out to wet her lip. 

“And?”

Her skin blushes pink as one of her pigtails, and Ivy almost doesn’t hear her. 

“What?”

“I said use your vines.”

“You sure?” The words fall out of Ivy’s mouth before she realizes what she’s asking. Sure, she’s usually the dominant one in bed--Ivy knows what she likes and how to ask for it. But this...Damnit, Pamela. What if this is too much? What if being tied up and used reminds her too much of…. Ivy doesn’t even think his name. She just conjures up an image in her head and sets it on fire. 

“Ives?” Harley says, her eyes widening and her mouth shrinking into a small oh. 

“Sorry?” 

“You okay, Pam-a-lamb?” Harley brushes her thumb across Ivy’s cheek, pushing a wisp of hair out of the way. God, she must look like a mess right now. 

“Of course!” she lies, and a nearby fittonia albivenis wilts in protest. Charlie, as she liked to call him, always is a dramatic asshole. “Go on.”

“You sure? Cause George doesn’t look so good.”

“Charlie.” Ivy sighs, rubbing her forehead.  “His name is Charlie.” She nods over at the opposite corner, where a helianthus annuus, commonly known as a sunflower, is giving her a judgmental stare. “That’s George.” 

“Daisy Girl...if the plants are upset, you must be upset.” Harley Quinn leans closer, so Ivy has to meet her eyes. “You can’t lie to a therapist, remember?”

“I can try,” Ivy mutters. 

“I know you too well, Pam-jam. Now tell me what’s eatin’ ya.”

Now, Doctor Pamela Isley could uncover her sordid history with her parents, charm school, the nice conservative respectable university her parents sent her off to--the one she dropped out of and ran away from, the respectable open minded one she graduated from, the mentor who ruined her and created her, and the day they met in Arkham, but Harley already knows she doesn’t dump her past out of the trash can for everyone to see, especially when there’s a bed in sight, metaphorically speaking. God, what a buzzkill that would be. “I want to believe you, Harls. When you say you want this.” Ivy presses her thumb into Harley’s bottom lip. “But how do I know you’re not just saying this to make me happy?” Like she always would with...well. 

“Easy. You trust me.”

Does she? 

The powder-mix lemonade crashes against the opposite wall, barely missing her therapist’s head. “Stop fucking analyzing me. I’m not your rat.”

Dr. Quinzel doesn’t defend herself or argue against the insult. “You’ve good aim.” She does, however, flinch. Something twists in Ivy’s gut. At first, she thinks the Morton’s cafeteria slop has turned sour yet again, but Ivy notices the feeling runs deeper this time, and it spreads like frost throughout her middle, all the way to her lungs. “Softball?”

Fucking hell. She’s feeling remorse. “Gymnastics.” The answer spills out of Ivy’s mouth before she can stop it. 

And then Dr. Quinzel’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Me too! Did you compete? Which team?” 

Ivy spills some more, and they swap memories, apparently having crossed paths without remembering the other at one point or another. Not that Dr. Quinzel would have ever recognized Dr. Pamela Isley when she was a tween with braces and an awkward smile. Or Dr. Isley would have remembered Dr. Quinzel was a spirited overachiever with a chip on her shoulder. Actually, Pamela takes that back. She can see some of it now. She also notices Dr. Quinzel’s hands intertwined with her own. And the warmth between them. 

 “Please, call me Harleen.” Harleen smiles shyly, biting her lip. 

Ivy gulps. “Do all your patients get to call you that?”

And just like that the moment’s gone. But Ivy’s hands feel warm long after Dr. Isley has left the room. 

->->->

Ivy should have known this was a set up. The security guard missing from his post. The alarms turned off. The dark room where the lights should have had motion sensors and generator backup. She should have turned back the moment she noticed, but she couldn’t leave this warehouse like this. Not with one of two middlemist camellias sitting inside, ripped from its soil in New Zealand and brought to Gotham for a filthy auction.

The moment Ivy touches the leaves the door slams shut behind her, and she notices the sealant sprayed on all the windows. Oh no. A hose hisses on the floor, and Ivy slowly feels the air being sucked from the room. No. No. No. Not like this.

There’s no chair, no bat, nothing to break the windows with. Just Dr. Pamela Isley and the lonely Middlemist’s Red that will die with her. Pam closes her eyes, and tries not to hyperventilate, counting her breaths just like Harley taught her—

“NOT TODAY ASSHATS.” Glass shards rain on the floor, and an alluminum bat clangs against the concrete floor. “Pambsel?” Soft fingers touch her shoulder. “Ivy? Come on, Ivy. Stay with me.”

“Ivy?” Harley’s staring at her in their bedroom, her eyebrows lifted in concern.

“I trust you more than anyone else.”

Harley brushes her lips against hers. “And I trust you more than a stripper trusts her heels.”

“God.” Ivy chortles despite herself. “That’s terrible, Harley. Maybe I should keep you from talking.” Those words sound so...different once they’re out of her mouth. Like cinnamon candy burning on her lips. 

For once, Harleen Francis Quinnzel has nothing to say. Her mouth hangs slightly open, to the point that Ivy wants to trace it with her fingertip, maybe slip her finger past those lips to see Harley suck on— “Would you?” Harley whispers, blushing as pink as one of her pigtails. 

“I’d love to.” It’s a little unnerving how easily this comes to her. “But there’s only one thing.”

“What’s that?” Harley leans closer, her hands grasping at Ivy’s clothes, pleading without pleading. 

“What’s our safe-word?”

“Puddin’?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Batman?”

“Nope.”

“Come on, Pretty Girl. You’re killin’ me here.”

“It has to be a word we both agree to, Harley. Rules are rules.”

“Says who?” Harley leans in close, her hands on her hips. 

Ivy smirks at her, whispering in her ear. “Says the woman who is about to give you a night you won’t forget.”

At this point, Ivy half expects Harley to say Arkham, but she doesn’t. “Robinson Park.” 

It’s Ivy’s turn to lose her words. Of course, Harley would name her old hideout. Well. Not just any old hideout. The place where they first kissed. “That’s--that’s two words.”

Harley grins proudly, pressing a soft kiss against her cheek. “Does that break the rules, Rosey Cheeks?”

Ivy allows it. She also allows herself to check with Harley several times as she persuades a nearby pharnera vahili to stretch towards them. The plant balks initially at the thought of making its flower buds large enough to penetrate, but Ivy mutters a quiet “Coward” and the plant swells to prove her wrong. Perhaps Peter would be a fitting name for this one? Brushing the buds, she strengthens him, hardens them, really, and shoos any creatures or enzymes that would bring harm to her favorite person in the whole world. 

“Ready, Harley?”

Harley nods, biting a grin. 

Ivy steps towards her, pinching her chin between her finger and thumb. “If this is going to work, I’m going to need you to use your words, Harleen.”

“Yes.” Harley gulps a breath of air, and she closes her eyes as if she’s about to kiss her. 

Pulling out of her reach, Ivy returns to Peter, stroking a few tendrils, feigning more interest in them than her lover. “Then remove your shorts. I’d hate to ruin them.” 

“These always were your favorite, weren’t they, Red?”

Indeed, they are. “Perhaps.” Ivy can’t help but watch them slip down Harley’s cream-colored thighs. She itches to get between them but that will have to wait. “Now lay down.”

“But--”

“It’ll be easier to secure you from the bed, trust me.”

“Always.”

Again, that itch. That burning unyielding need to touch every inch of Harley’s skin, exposed or not. This is just as much an exercise in patience for her as it is for Harley. Ivy whisks her fingers, curling the vines around Harley’s wrists and ankles. “Is that comfortable?”

Harley nods quickly, only to see Ivy quirk her eyebrow impatiently. “Yes, Ives,” she says, her breath ragged. 

“How about now?” The vines lengthen and grow, suspending Harley’s prone body in the air. Ivy wishes she could draw how beautiful Harley looks like this, her mouth parted and arched back, her legs already flushes with need. 

“Amazing.” Harley closes her eyes. “I feel like I’m floating.” 

“And what is our safe word, again?”

Harley starts to say it, only for Ivy to brush between her calves with a tendril.

“That tickles!” 

“Don’t squirm.” Ivy smirks despite herself, stroking the inside of Harley’s legs, from the bottoms of her calves to the narrowest point between her thighs, edging around her center but never quite touching it. 

Twisting in her restraints, Harley groans. “Don’t tease me, Pam-Pam.”

“I believe you asked me to tease you. Isn’t that the point?” The tendril snakes past her middle, scratching under her chin. “To make you beg for it?”

“Please.” The vine edges back down, circling her warmth, now moist with the juices dripping down her legs. 

“Please what?”

“Touch me.” She pleads, seeing Ivy’s lips pressed in a thin line. “Touch my clit.”

“That’s my girl.” Ivy resists the urge to mirror the motion of her plant. Her own thighs twitch with want. Her vine grazes Harley’s lower lips, feather light in their touch, and Ivy aches at the whimper slipping from Harley’s mouth. She keeps circling with smaller and smaller circles until Harley shakes and keens. And that’s when she drags the vine against where Harley wants her most. 

“Oh fuck. Fuckity-fuck fuck.” Harley strains against her bonds, her hips writhing against the vine. 

Ivy licks her lips. “Would you like this vine inside you?”

“Mmhm...y-yeah.” Harley’s voice breaks on the edge of her first orgasm. 

Then Ivy pulls away.

“No, Ives, please. Please touch me. I’m--I’m so close.” 

“I know, Harl.” Ives steps around the now massive bulk Peter has grown into, caressing Harley’s own cheek with the back of her own hand. God, she wants to tear off all their clothes right now and just have her way, but she can’t. Not yet. “I’m going to give you something special.” One nail presses into Harley’s cheek, enough to indent, but enough to break the skin. “Would you like to know what it is?”

Sweat glistens around Harley’s hairline as she looks back at Ivy helplessly. “Yeah.” She manages. 

Shit. She must be thirsty. “Hold on.” She snatches a water bottle, holding it to Harley’s lips. “Drink some water.” Ivy doesn’t pull the bottle away until Harley’s finished it. She downs her tea. Then she rubs her fingers together, until oily spots form on her fingertips. “This oil will heighten your sensations. Do you want it?”

Harley can’t even form words at first, but she manages. “Please, Pammin-Jammin. I need you.”

Ivy also licks her lips, her entire mouth tasting like vegetable oil, but stronger. And the oil packs some heat. Not enough to burn, but enough that she’ll need to wash her mouth out later if she’s going to focus on anything. “I need you too, Harley.” She brushes her lips against Harley’s and want hits her like a gale-force wind. With the way Harley moans into her mouth--she feels that way too. Patience. Even the quickest-growing plants need time to breathe. 

Before Harley can deepen the kiss, Ivy trails her lips down her chin, her neck, and her collar bone. She massages her shoulders, her arms, then up her sides and back down again. Ivy kisses down to her chest, avoiding Harley’s already too sensitive tits and just focusing on the valley between them, pausing a moment to listen to her quickening heartbeat. Harley squirms, and Ivy holds her steady, paying careful attention to the planes of her abdomen. Her hands move around Harley’s hips, pinching either side of her ass, covering her thighs and in between. “Oh, Ivy.”

When Ivy finishes caressing Harley’s feet, she stands up to see Harley’s face caught like a saint in a Raphaelite painting. She guides her own hands around one of the tendrils, slowly, gently penetrating her as if she were using a dildo. And when the tendril is as far in as it’ll go, Ivy grins against her ear. “Ready?”

“Mmhm,” Harley whimpers. 

Ivy snaps her fingers, and the tendril takes on life of its own, pumping in and out of her lover without any guidance from her. 

“Fuck!” Harley gasps, her wrists twisting in her bonds as she seeks purchase to rock back against the vine. “Oh, fuck that’s good.”

Ivy finds her hands drifting down towards her legs. She clenches them behind her back to hold them still. Not yet. Focus on Harley. But focusing on her and how fucked she is seems to be part of Ivy’s problem. Licking her lips, she asks, “How do you feel about anal?”

“Mm?” Harley probably means to ask, but her mm sounds more like a moan than anything else. 

Making a point of rolling her eyes, Ivy snaps her fingers a second time, and the vine pulls out of her. 

“No no no. Please. I was almost…”

“I asked you a question, Harl.” Ivy growls, more from arousal than annoyance, but Harley’s eyes widen.

“What was the question?”

“Do you.” Ivy grips Harley’s chin. “Like. Anal sex?”

 Harley’s eyes brighten and her frown morphs into an ecstatic smile. “Double penetration?” She bites her lip. “Would you?”

“I’d love to. But first.” Ivy pulls out a familiar bottle--her own recipe. She squirts a generous amount on her fingers, and ringing a circle around Harley’s butt hole, and then little by little, probing inside with her finger. “Good girl,” she whispers in Harley’s ear. Her lover starts to tense up, and Ivy holds her hip firmly with her other hand. “Relax. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever known, and you have done the impossible time and time again.” 

“You...you really think t-that?”

“I know that, Harley.” Her finger gets pulled deeper inside, and Ivy works her open gently, as Harley’s eyes glaze over and her mouth drops open. “And tonight, I’m going to make you feel how amazing you are. Do you trust me?”

“Mm. Y-yeah.”

“Then you’re gonna take more for me.” Ivy whispers, taking Harley’s lobe between her teeth. Harley shudders and nods, and Ivy, slowly, gently, and with more oil, adds a second finger. 

“Nn--Ivy, Oh god. Please. I--I need.”

“Need what?”

“More.” 

“More what?”

Harley moans--whimpers in reply, “I---make me come,” she begs, sprawled in mid-air, and Ivy raises her free hand to pull the prepared vines. “Pam-Pam, please.” She croaks. “Please, Pamela.”

The vine droops just inches from Harley’s hips.

“Pamela Isley!” Mrs. Saint-Claire always pops the p in Pamela’s name, and spittle flies out of her mouth. How many times do I have to tell you!” Those skeletal hands jerk her shoulders back. “Back straight! Like a puppet on a string!” Pam’s so tired. She just wants to go home. Well, maybe not home. “And smile for once! It won’t kill you.” Mrs. Saint-Claire yanks her wild curls into a peppy poiny tail. “How are you going to win a man like this?”

“Pam-pam?” Harley’s looking back at her, her eyes still dark with want and pleasure, but her eyebrows are lifted in concern.

Maybe Ivy should hold back, more. What if she goes too far? But Harley would tell her. She’d say the word. She doesn’t pretend, not in bed, not unless that’s...well. Maybe it would be nice to pretend. A different time, perhaps. 

“I’m still here,” Pamela says more to herself than Harley, and she refreshes that vine until it’s erect and moving again. “Are you?” She coats the vine slick with oil, and she slips her fingers out completely. 

“Yes, yes, please.”

“Then take it.” The vine enters her slowly, filling her already stretched hole, pumping in tandem with the other in her cunt. And fuck it, Ivy reaches down and touches her own center, hissing at how sensitive she is already. 

“Yes, yes, yes!!” Harley’s always been loud in bed, but she’s never screamed like this. Ivy smirks, directing a third vine to mimic the motions on Harley’s clit that Ivy’s already doing to her own. And oh, Harley shakes, rattles, so full and so hung she can’t move, only ride the wave as the vines move in and out and around her. “Fuck yes.”

“Are you close, Harley?”

“Y-yeah….” And then her eyes shut, and her mouth forms a silent oh, and her body jerks, clenching around the vines.

“That’s my girl.” And Ivy brings her down slowly until Harley relaxes, and she pulls the vines away, untying her wrists and ankles and holding her close. “How’re you feeling, Harls?”

Her lover doesn’t answer at first, nestled against Ivy’s breast, her eyes distant and warm. “Thank you.” Harley nestles into her breast, breathing her in. “I feel amazing, as promised.” She giggles, and Ivy’s so busy laughing with her to notice the hand creeping towards her now naked legs. “Oooooo. What’s this?”

Ivy gasps, unable to help her moan at Harley’s touch. “Harley, you don’t have to--”

“Jesus fuck, you’re wet. Why didn’ you say somethin’?” Harley toys with her, circling her engorged clit and playing with her labia.

Ivy can’t bring herself to her own defense, too focused on how nice Harley’s fingers feel. She squirms, gripping Harley’s shoulders. “Harley--”

“Shh. C’mere. Lemme return the favor.” And then Harley lays back on a newly formed flower bed. With strength Ivy didn’t think she’d have at this point; Harley pulls Ivy’s thighs towards her face. 

“You sure?”

“Isely you’ve gotta stop asking me that.” She tilts her head up, kissing the inside of Ivy’s thigh. “I love you. Of course, I’m sure.” Her lips drift toward Ivy’s center, half-cleaning up the mess they’ve made, half-making it worse. 

Biting her lip, Ivy swallows her gasps, trying to hold on. “Harl, I--” Oh. It’s like she’s never felt another’s mouth on her, though clearly Harley (among others) have been down more than she can count. 

“Shh,” Harley manages to say between long licks. She edges the tip of her tongue around her clit, drinking her in without drying her up. Fuck, she still has pleasure oil on her tongue. Not as strong as at first, but Ivy doesn’t need that strength. 

Maybe that’s what love is. Trust that the other person won’t let you fall when you step too far off the ledge. Someone to hold your hand when you do fall, so you can fall down together. Someone to pick you back up. “Harley, I need--oh.” Ivy groans.

“‘S okay, Ives. Ride me.”

Ivy doesn’t need to be told twice. She grinds down, not so hard as to smother Harley, but enough to feel her mouth that much more. Oh god, fuck, she’s sucking her clit and--

When Ivy comes to, she’s lying on her side, with Harley playing the big spoon. “Holy shit, Harley,” she says, her mouth dry as cotton. 

“Your turn,” Harley shoves the water bottle in her face, and Ivy drinks it dry. “Not bad, eh?”

“Not bad at all.”

[notasapleasure]

Tis not a prompt but if ever you’d care to post a saga excerpt... I’d love that

Careful what you wish for! Chapter three of Lymondar saga below - chapters 1 and 2 are heavily affected by lacunae and come with footnotes and many ellipses, which will work better on Ao3. But now I actually have a plan for a good 25 or so chapters, so I guess this is happening? I’ll try and make sure I get a chapter a week done or something :)

Kapítuli 3

Francis Crawford was fair and had delicate features. His hair was golden and his eyes were like the bluebells in the woods. People said he was the most comely child they had seen. Francis was accomplished at many things, he could play chess and compose poetry by the time he was three years old, and nobody was his match when it came to games and to swimming. He was very popular and people said he would grow up to be a great man - although some said that he would inspire jealousy in others and that this would be the cause of much strife.This was shown to be true when Francis was still a boy. There was one person only who Francis could never please, and even the sound of his name was enough to anger Gavin. They were completely unalike, and Gavin thought that Francis was weak and unmanly because he devoted his time to poetry and games. Gavin said that Francis was more like a daughter than a son and gave him tasks that he said would make him strong, but were really to humiliate him. Gavin bade Francis clean the pig-sty and catch the wildest stallion in the herd. He bade him carry wool to market and tend to the geese in the yard. Whatever task he gave him, Francis always completed it without complaint, and did so with skill. This made Gavin more angry, and he said the boy was mocking him.While Richard was at Culter he spoke in Francis's favour and helped him with these tasks, because by Gavin’s judgement Richard could do no wrong. But when he was still a young man his father sent him to join the king's retinue, and Richard spent his summers going on viking expeditions on board the king's own ship. He could not help his brother, though he wanted to take Francis with him, and Francis wanted to go.It was common in those days that berserks would travel the land, looking for unattached women to steal away. They would do this when the king was absent on raids so that there were few men of ability left to defend the land.It was thus that a berserk came to Culter one summer while Richard and Gavin were away with the king and demanded the hand of Eloise in marriage. He spoke with threats and said that if anyone there was brave enough to challenge him they should meet him for a duel on the island in the fjord. If no one would meet him he said that he would carry away Eloise whether or not she wanted.Francis was a boy of sixteen, but brave and quick to act. He knew where Gavin kept his weapons and he took the sword Blásíða from the chest and rowed out to the island to face the berserk. When the berserk saw him he laughed and mocked Francis with cruel words and taunts. He said he ought not to fight Francis out of shame at their unequal prospects, but Francis draw Blásíða and struck hard at the berserk's shield, and the berserk saw that he meant business. He grinned and bit the rim of his shield and howled and then he went into his berserk rage and grew fearsome and terrible to behold. He delivered many blows against Francis's shield, and he did not appear to tire, so that when they had fought for some time and the berserk landed another strike against Francis's shield the wood split and left Francis unprotected.The berserk wore a wolf skin that most weapons could not pierce, and he thought it good entertainment to taunt the lad some more, so he cast away his own shield and said it would give Francis a fighting chance. At this, Francis lunged with Blásíða and the point penetrated the berserk's wolf skin and went deep, and gave the berserk a bloody wound. The berserk was astonished and said that it could not be, but Francis struck him again, and Blásíða hit true, and the berserk fell to the ground, dead.The blow that killed the berserk left a flaw in the blade of Blásíða, and Francis lamented the damage done to Gavin's most prized sword. He told his mother and Sybilla helped him to wrap the blade and clean it, and said that perhaps Gavin would never notice it.When Gavin and Richard returned from the king's court, no one said a word about the berserk or about the sword. Gavin continued to taunt Francis as he always had done, and Francis did as he was told, and carried out the menial tasks Gavin asked him to do. For some time, all was quiet at Culter.

[guylty]

How quickly time flies. If Besotted hadn’t reminded me in the comments, I would’ve completely forgotten that I had a last episode of The Impressionists to catch up with. Forgetting the Re-Watch is symptomatic. I may have enjoyed the show, and the wide smiles that Armitage was allowed to brighten the screen with were certainly welcome, but somehow this mini-series was never – and never will be – my favourite of Richard’s works.

It’s not *all* because of the wig and look of Claude Monet. *That* is easily balanced out by the wide smiles! My lukewarm feelings about this mini-series has more to do with my general lack of enthusiasm for impressionism. I fully appreciate the importance of this arts movement for the development of painting and art in general, and I understand the impressionists’ value. In many case I actually do find their paintings particularly evocative, beautiful and touching. I guess, my problem with them is that they have become too popular – which usually makes me turn away from something. That’s unfair – but unfortunately true. But I totally concede that – particularly Monet’s – Impressionist paintings are incredibly beautiful.

Quick Summary

We pick up again in episode 3 of TI with the group celebrating Edouard Manet’s formal recognition as an artist after he has been awarded the Légion d’Honneur. However, Manet is suffering from syphilis and his health deteriorates. He dies in 1883. Monet, OTOH, is living with Alice Hochedé after his wife’s death. The two of them become a couple, marry and eventually settle in Giverny. Monet develops his serial painting technique, always following the changing light.

A large part of this episode is taken up with the life and travails of Paul Cézanne who is seen as a revolutionary new painter by the impressionists. Despite an affluent background, he lives in poverty with his working class wife and illegitimate son. First shunned by the art world, Cézanne’s genius is eventually recognised and he joins the Impressionists as the most celebrated painters in the world. They overcame all the obstacles and changed painting – and art – forever. So much for the summary of episode 3.  

Beards and Hair

I was quite amused in this episode about the changing hairstyles of Claude Monet. Starting out with short hair and a pipe, the next scene in a café he had long hair again. Continuity was a bit lax there, I thought 😂. But at least we could see that RA really knew how to smoke. Yep, as an ex-smoker (almost 6 months to the day) I notice such things. – Eventually the episode settled into short hair for Claude. And I couldn’t help but feel reminded of my personal hero Leon Trotzky…

Tenuous. I know. But fun. Right down to the left eyebrow.

However, let’s stay quickly with the look – ok, I am a not a fan of facial shrubbery at all, and particularly not these kind of standalone shrubs on upper lip and chin. If there has to be facial hair, give me a full blown meadow that covers all (beard) or stay with the manicured lawn aka stubble. Looking at the overgrown goatee on Richard’s chin, however, I am wondering whether it is actually his own. Not only because he has always been so proud of his fast growth and thus the conclusion lies near. No, but also because of the tell-tale triangle underneath his lower lip. Mr Armitage has, indeed, a rather pretty beard-growth pattern (see evidence on right).

Elder statesman or ill-fitting wig?

I was quite taken with the elder statesman look he was given in the latter part of the episode, once Monet had settled down with Alice and concentrated on creating Giverny as his inspirational garden. (I don’t really think that Richard has an old man’s face, yet, though, so I finally was reconciled with Julian Glover playing Monet senior in the framework plot.) In fact, I found myself fascinated by the grey temples and the short hair, and I kept screen-shooting.

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I also enjoyed that his eye crinkles came into play…

Things I Loved

As always, Richard – even considerably younger and less experienced than today – was a pleasure to watch. I loved the scenes where he glowed with enthusiasm, happiness and lust for life, smiling widely with glowing teeth. But I especially liked the scenes where you could hear him laugh. It really doesn’t happen very often at all that you can hear Richard Armitage laugh in one of his roles. He is the go-to man for scowling (Guy of Gisborne, John Thornton), growling (Francis Dolarhyde, Thorin Oakenshield) and frowning (John Porter, Daniel Miller). And yet his laugh is an absolute joy. In German we call his kind of laugh “gurgling” – but that doesn’t quite hit it in English. What I like about it is not what it looks like (although I believe that *every* laugh looks beautiful), but what it sounds like. Reminder:

That’s what he laughed like in his younger years. (I think his laugh now has become slightly deeper, more baritone, whereas it sounded more tenor way back in the early 2000s.) And it is infectious. Bookmark and keep near for any rainy day. It definitely works.

Ok, moving on. The old fogey in me also quite enjoyed the mature-lovestory-section of this episode. We were discussing it somewhere in the comments, I believe, and the series didn’t really get into it, but there are suspicions that Monet and Alice Hoschedé started their relationship even before she split with her husband and moved in with the Monets. Her youngest child may even have been by Monet. In that sense, it was lovely that the series spent a little time with Monet’s and Alice’s relationship. I wasn’t quite convinced by Richard’s choice to play Monet as out of breath as if he had just raced a marathon when he catches Alice in the garden and proposes. But this completely balanced everything out:

Why yes, Mr Thornton, I am coming home with you.

Not to mention this:

Gorgeous crinkles, like arrows pointing at happy eyes.

Ok, bonus for the romantics among you:

Yeah, man, this was such a clean show, it almost seemed as if it was made for school TV. You know what I mean? Your history/art/literature teacher wheeling in the big TV and the VCR, and then you’d sit through an hour of veritable and highly educational but mindnumbingly clean-and-boring docudrama? Well, to be suitable for teenagers, no tit may be shown, no mention of sex may be made and no tongue may be used. 😂

And Where It Went Wrong For Me

And maybe that is what ultimately irked me about this show, or what prevented me from saying ” I love Love LOVE The Impressionists!!” It’s not that I need sex in every TV show to keep me engaged. And I am a big fan of contextualising history and presenting it in a way that the viewers can relate to. In that sense it was great that this mini-series made an attempt at showing the personal sacrifices all those pioneering painters had to make in order to succeed with their art. From losing Bazille in the war, via Manet’s syphilis, Degas’ eye illness and declining fortunes, to the overwhelming poverty of Monet and Cézanne, TÍ  is not simply a list of artistic milestones in the painters’ lives, but a look at how they progress as painters as well as men. And herein may also be the problem for me – I never fully committed to the show, and maybe so because of the lack of women in the narrative. Don’t get me wrong – of course I “saw” Camille and Alice, and Mme Manet, Mme Cézanne and various models. But that’s exactly it, “various models”. Sure, you don’t have to explain to me that the 19th century was still a time dominated by men. But that doesn’t mean that in their private lives, men were uninfluenced (and untouched) by women. Or that women artists did not exist or not contribute to the development of art. Berthe Morisot and Eva Gonzalez were part of the impressionist set – they don’t even turn up in passing in this series. The wives and women remain in their traditional role as nurturer, house-keeper and mothers.

Women. Reduced to nurturers and parasol-bearers?

(Left-field thought: Maybe it is also because this show was made in 2006 that women aren’t represented more prominently?) And all that may also be due to the limited amount of time available (3 hours) for a group of painters. In fairness, it would’ve been impossible to depict the lives and times of the impressionists in detail, and hence also a number of *male* protagonists of the movement (Pissarro? Gauguin? Sisley? Matisse?) had to be left out in order to contain the show. However, for me the whole show remained somewhat one-dimensional.

The Disclaimer

For fans of Richard Armitage, however, TI is definitely a worth-while show to watch. The smiles, the laugh, and the mannerisms that are just delightful to recognise. From Richard’s insistent innovative use of his teeth, to delicate hand movements and holding his head at *that* characteristic angle, there are certain “trademarks” in his acting repertoire that superfans such as us have no trouble identifying.

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And Richard convincingly acts emotions and draws the audience into the emotional world of the sensitive artist.

Lastly I want to commend the mini series for producing beautiful images. I loved the wide shots especially because they illustrated so clearly what the impressionists were after.

These shots play with the impressionists’ emphasis of depicting the *moment*, pinpointing the changeability of art, and the transience of life. The impressionists’ penchant for working plein air is ideally illustrated here. And the series is obviously also conscious of depicting movement rather than static subjects, and the different qualities of light – during the day, the seasons, inside and outside, in rain, sun or locomotive steam – as these are impressionist characteristics that are often also attributed to film (and photography). In that sense the series puts the theory into practice.

Last note: Just as I was watching episode 3 of TI, the news came through that a Monet painting has set a new record price for works by the artist. From the “haystack” series of paintings, the picture was sold for $110m in New York. An indication of how *right* the impressionists were.

I finish with a quote by Berthe Morisot, of all people.

It is important to express oneself… provided the feelings are real and are taken from your own experience.

The impressionist painters did that beautifully, and showed us that it can be done and *should* be done. No one better to portray “real” feelings than Richard. And I am always happy to see how he expresses them.

    Re-Watching The Impressionists [part 3] – Finale How quickly time flies. If Besotted hadn't reminded me in the comments, I would've completely forgotten that I had a last episode of 

[humblereflection]

more parts of the au I wanna write:

Gilbert's family roasting him for being sweet on a hobbit (and Ludwig who's sweet on an elf)

we're gonna start using Lutz instead of Luddy bys bc that's the ACTUAL DIMINUTIVE NAME

elizaveta being the most suited for leadership lmao everyone else is so dumb

the dwarf party consists of Gil (nuisance), Lutz (crown prince and blacksmith), Eliza (blacksmith guild master contender), Roderich (composer, only here bc of his wife), Vash (advisor acting as trip accountant), and Lili (scribe actually the spymaster)

Arthur and Francis live in Hobbiton, Arthur is a landlord and Francis owns a restaurant. their coupling was a scandal.

Alfred and Matthew are biologically their kids (trans dad trans dad trans dad). Al is apprenticing to a local scientist (look just bc hobbits are generally content doesn't mean they're not advancing sciences) and Matt is like, living in smallish hole on the other side of the Brandywine by the old forest. he's usually going off on short journeys.

matt once followed the Brandywine up to the lake, where he found Kuma

who now lives in his backyard in the old forest whoops

Gilbert meeting the bear

Eliza and Lili learning that Francis supposedly has an elf in his ancestry and going nuts bc "LUTZ UR BF IS AN ELF AND GIL UR BF IS A HOBBIT WITH ELF BLOOD LOL"

they get stuck in the shire bc early winter storm and decide to spend the whole season. Gilbert decided he will stay with Matthew who is like ???? but rolls with it bc his hole has like three guest rooms anyways

the rest of the party are slightly annoyed with it bc Matt lives at the other end of the shire but they let him be bc they're like "hmmmm he's so attached perhaps the hobbit is his ONE he's stupid enough not to notice that himself"

so Gilbert realises that like, a month before yule, and he's like "well fuck me" frantically sending ravens to his family asking for help

they pity him bc Matt wouldn't have a fucking clue

he decides his first courting gift will be his yule gift lol but he's stumped bc traditionally the first gift relates to the craft and his is writing and ????? what to do. he ends up deciding to rewrite all of Matt's personal recipes into a neat book, practical bc they're all on random scraps of paper. he even illustrates it

Matthew gives him some new clothes (it's not proper but you are in need for some new clothes) and a very nice traveling cloak. Gilbert doesn't dare dwell on the fact there's tiny gold maple leaves embroidered onto it

after yule, Arthur takes advantage of the raven mail system and sends Matthew a book (after learning from his house guests that Gilbert is trying to court Matthew bc they're huge gossips who are betting on their prince's love life). the book details dwarf courting. his brows furrow. gift one is the proof of mastery of their chosen craft. Gilbert said his was writing. he gave him a hand written book. huh.

the next gift is the courting beads, since Matthew had (unknowingly) accepted the first. Matthew pales as he looks at the courting braids. he doesn't think Gilbert even has long enough hair!

(turns out this is for another dwarven clan altogether)

Matt decides to throw in some hobbit courting, make Gilbert a wreath, which turns to be tricky in the winter, but he manages: red tulips (declaration of love), lavender heathers (admiration), blue violets (I'll always be true), and forget-me-nots (true love) from a greenhouse, all tied together with foraged pine branches (hope) and Holly (domestic happiness). he hopes the message of "i honestly love you, you're amazing and I hope you're happy being domestic with me" gets across but doesn't realise he's rambling

Gilbert is ESTATIC bc he knows ab wreaths and the hidden messages but he can't decipher it so he draws it and sends it to his family who reply "his dad says he wants to fuck." Gilbert is found dead in miami

Matthew ends up explaining what the flowers mean and it's all very soft. Matthew ends up staying cool and collected the whole time but Gilbert is just ready to keel over in affection. he's got it so bad.

they end up kissing and the sexual tension is finally released and they're ab to fuck for real when Gilbert is like "no wait I'm waiting till marriage" and Matthew grins like a loon. of course!! they settle for kissing a lot and just. a lot of cuddling. Gilbert likes being little spoon a little more than he likes being big spoon.

[my-ships-will-never-be-sank]

Terrible Things

Short Very sad fic. not angst as such.... just sad boys </3

*************************************************

Summary:

It's been 10 years since his mother dies and the night of the anniversary Philip hears his father crying in his office.

cue story time and emotions

Philip was a child that seemed to pick up on everything. He knew his father wasn’t a happy man. He worked too much and often left him in the care of his Aunt Peggy (even if he didn’t need it - he was 19 god dammit) for two or three days in a row, that would sometimes result in her getting a call from his dad’s friend saying he had been neglecting his health again.

Philip liked to think he was enough for his father. That they had an incredible relationship, similar to the one they had had when he was growing up. He faintly remembered days sitting at the piano with his parents, singing and laughing, but they are often overshadowed by the days, the weeks, spent in the hospital.

It's just  gone midnight and Philip can’t sleep. He looks over at the pictures he keeps on his bedroom locker, him and his parents at disney world. They are all smiling and laughing with mickey mouse ears on. The second picture is of him and his best friend Theodosia. Well girlfriend if he was being honest but best friend first and foremost.  

He hears a muffled sob from down the hall. Wiping the evidence of his own tears away, Philip slips out of room and into his father’s office. He isn’t surprised by what he finds. His father - drunk, seated at a couch by the window.

“Come on Pops.” he calls in a tired voice. “I’ll help you to your room.”

His father didn’t seem to hear him. He just remained seated looking up at the moon. “Pip… have I ever told you how I met your mother? Or of our lives before you were born?”

He froze at the door to the room, barely daring to breath. “No pops. Never.”

A sad smile crossed his father’s face as he stared out the window, at the stars, and Philip felt his heart break for the man in front of him. The man he had been before he had retreated into the shell he was now. The man who now second guessed and disrusted. The man who kept as far away from love as possible. The man who never mentioned his wife except on the anniversary of her death. Philip slipped into one of the armchairs near the window.

“She was a wicked thing Pip.”  He laughed fondly, tears in his eyes. “She was brash, she was beautiful and she was so, so brilliant. She could have gone on to do anything she put her mind to.”

His father pushed himself up off the floor and stumbled towards his desk, pulling a key connected to a ribbon from around his neck. He unlocked the bottom draw, and philip had to restrain himself from racing to see what was inside. It was always locked. He couldn’t remember a time it had been open.

When his father emerged he was holding a selection of polaroids. He walks over to where Philip is sitting by the window before perching on the armrest.

“It was in the middle of winter. The ground was covered in fresh snow and yet it wasn’t too cold. It was a warm enough night and myself and my dorm mates had ended up in the midst of a bar crawl along with the majority of our year. The college exams had finished and we were celebrating. The moon was out and we were discussing our plans for the future. We wanted to be remembered. We wanted to be heros. We had plans to take the world by storm.”

He smiled fondly and Philip knew he was thinking of his old friends. He knew how their story ended. That was one thing his father had made sure of. “We will tell their story” he often mumbled while drunk before raising a glass in toast to the empty room.

The men who fought for equality, for the freedom of people to marry who they wished, and how many they wished… for polyamorous relationships to be recognised by the law…  it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Three gay men, all so deeply in love with each other.

And the wrong people had noticed.

John Laurens - southern born and raised - ultimately shot by a white police man while he was walking his niece Francis home. Ruled as an unfortunate accident.

Gilbert de Lafayette - the french man who had fallen in love only to end up hanging from the end of a rope tied to a street lamp in the same place John had been shot. Ruled as a suicide.

And Hercules Mulligan - the Irish man who drank himself to death unable to continue without his lovers, his best friends, his boyfriends…

After the death of his wife the loss of his closest friends had left him disconnected from everything. He had thrown himself into work only to get lost along the way.

His father handed him one of the photos.

“The night we met” it showed his father and his mom- both so young and carefree… his mom was laughing at something his dad had said, evident by the small smile that played on his lips. Philip did a double take realising they weren’t that much older than him. Second year of college if he had to guess.

“She was the most beautiful girl i had ever seen. I didn’t actually talk to her at first. I had seen her standing by the bar laughing with your aunts Peggy and Angelica. I hadn’t even realised I had been glancing at her all through the night until I looked up and she was gone.” his dad smiled at the memory. “She had spotted me looking, because when I scanned the dance floor I felt a finger tapping on my shoulder. I spun around and there she was. She was wearing this beautiful sky blue jumper and she was smiling wickedly at me over her drink.

She ended up inviting me to dance, and after we danced we talked… we must have talked for hours Pip…”  His dad’s eyes lit up before they dulled again. His dad took another sip of - Philip took a sniff- Brandy. “I think it's safe to say I fell in love with her that day. She was smart, witty and she had plans of becoming a doctor. We exchanged numbers and the messaging never stopped. We would be texting or talking until 2am or 3am every morning and be wandering into lectures with bags under our eyes nursing coffees and sneaking off messages. It was everything I had never known I wanted, never known I needed.”

Philip listened as he stared out the window of their home. Out into the gardens planted before he was born and the one’s he now tended to. He remembers days spent in the garden with his mom, her teaching him the names of the different plants and explaining how to tend to them. He thinks of the book his mother made him, sitting on his bookshelf and smiles softly.

“There would be days we’d do nothing… relax by the river in summer, sometimes we would go swimming, there was long walks in autumn… we would skip classes to drink hot-chocolate in winter…”

Ashe spoke he showed more and more polaroids to Philip. The pair of them wrapped up in scarves and hats. His mom in a bathing suit. Group pictures of the pair with Aaron, John, Hercules, Lafayette, Peggy and Angelica.

Angelica… Philip couldn’t remember the last time he saw her. She left for England after the funeral and hadn’t returned.

“We watched the sunrise over New York city from down by the river on a spring morning. It was chilly and we were wrapped in blankets. That morning… that morning she told me she was pregnant with you” His father smiled at him and Philip could feel the tears gathering inn his own eyes. “We laughed until we cried and then…  I proposed to her on the spot, pulling out the ring i’d been carrying in my pocket for a good month.” A polaroid of a hand with a ring on it. A polaroid of his father kissing his mother’s slightly rounded belly.

His father layed out more and more pictures and Philip felt the tears streaming down his face.

Engagement party.

Wedding day.

His parents dancing.

The day he was born - him in his mother’s arms, a tired smile on her face.

His father holding him, the look of pride and love etched on it, a look Philip hadn’t seen in a while…

Pictures of Philip fast asleep in his mother’s arms.

Pictures of the three of them in the garden.

Pictures of him and Theodosia sitting on his mom and Theodosia Sr.’s laps

Pictures of his mother and father fast asleep on a couch with him nestled between them.

“Why have I never seen these before?” Philip’s joy and sadness was touched with a hint of anger. “Why, Pops? Why have I never seen all of these photos of Mom? Why have you kept them from me?”

His father smiled sadly, looking down at a picture of their wedding day, a newborn Philip- crying his eyes out- being held by his parents beneath an oak tree. “It hurts Pip. It hurts to remember all the good, because we didn’t get enough of it. Because the bad over shadows it. Everytime I try to focus on the good the bad is there… lurking in the corners ready to jump out…”

Philip was surprised. He wasn’t aware that the death of his mother haunted his father so frequently… daily by the sound of it… life was a daily struggle for him.

And himself… looking at the photos he could see the resemblance between himself and his mother… his cheekbones… the colour of his hair… even the small half smile in one of the photos was an exact replica of his own. From his father though… he had his eyes and his aunt Peggy said his attitude was the same as when his father was his age.

“You hold yourself the same way. You chase what you want and you use that brain of yours to get it. Your a fighter, Philip Hamilton… just like Alexander was before…”

His father surprised him, kept talking. “It was a winter evening when she told me. I think you were at a playdate over at the Burr’s house. We were walking through the forests when she pulled me down near the same spot I proposed.’Alex’ she said. ‘Alex I need to tell you something. I was at the doctors and they found something… Alex i’m sick. And it's bad - it's really bad…’” his father choked back his sobs.

“She told me how after a few appointments she had been told she… she only had weeks to live.”

His father broke down crying and Philip couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down his own face. He remembers the weeks spent in the hospital; the white walls, sterile smells, the wires and the constant beeping of the heart monitor.

“I am sorry Pip. I know I haven’t been the greatest father towards you. I worked long days to try and forget, I left you to more or less raise yourself with the odd assistance from Peggy. You deserved so much better than what I gave you…”

“Pops-”

“Don’t Pip, you know it's the truth. Once your mother passed, I stopped being a father, and i’ll regret it for the rest of my life. You didn’t deserve it. You needed your father and I more or less abandoned you with family. You will never know how sorry I am Pip… so so sorry…” He trailed off in tears.

“I forgive you Pops. I - I forgive you” he threw himself at his father, and was partially surprised when the hug was returned in equal force.

When was the last time his father had hugged him like this?

“I broke the promise I made to you when you were born Pip… I promised you i’d always be there for you. That you’d never be alone. That you’d never know life with an absentee father like I did…”

“We can’t change the past pops… only look forward to the future.”

***************************************************************************************************

Alexander looked down on to the couch where his son had fallen asleep. He can’t believe how blessed he was to have a son like Philip. A son so understanding and loving… one willing to forgive him for all his faults…

Just like his mother,

Eliza… his sweet Eliza.

Ten years.

He looks at the photos that had fallen to the floor.

Ten years of sadness and heartbreak. Ten years of isolating himself. Ten years of missing his sons accomplishments.

He had missed out on over half of his son’s life.

But that would change.

He looked down at the glass of brandy in his hand and downed it. That was the end of it. He’d stop the drinking. He’d be around more. He bent down and picked his son up.

When they got to his bedroom he gently placed his son onto his bed and pulled the duvet cover over him. He sees the picture out of the corner of his eye.  The trip to disneyland. The last holiday they went on together.

And the picture of Theodosia and Philip. He smiled. They were quite the pair the two of them. And they were so in love.

‘Maybe’ Alex thought, ‘maybe it was time to try again.’ He knew Eliza would be mad at this mess he'd become. She had always been so level headed. He knew it had been a decade. So maybe, just maybe something new would come along - and this time he wouldn’t run.

He watched the sun rise from Philips room. It was a new day.

[nedcanquen]

The Most Beautiful Man in the World (One Shot)

This long somewhat crack-ish one-shot was inspired by this:

paladinquen:

One of my friends is a flight attendant who is doing some flights in Europe at the moment. She basically first said “Italian men are the most beautiful men in the world” and then worked a flight to the Netherlands soon after and said “Okay so I was wrong about Italian men”

If I could draw, I would draw a really really smug Ned sitting on a flight across the isle from Romano and Veniziano looking absolutely insulted.

I originally started writing this to fulfill the ‘Together/Apart’ prompt for NedCan Week 2017 but I finished this tonight and found that it didn’t really suit the prompt (I mean it could, if continued, but it’s a one shot for now). 

So...Matthew is an airline steward AU!

Tags: Cabin Crew AU, Modern AU, Social Media

Pairing: NedCan

Characters: APH Canada (Matthew Williams), APH Netherlands (Daan deBoer), APH Seychelles (Michelle Velle), APH North Italy (Feliciano Vargas), APH South Italy (Romano Vargas), APH Portugal (João Fernandes), APH France (Francis Bonnefoy), APH England (Arthur Kirkland), APH Germany (Ludwig Beilschmidt), APH USA (Alfred Jones)

Rating: Teen

Image from Pexels

Matthew Williams

January 15, 2015 - Toronto,Canada

Finally got promoted to international flights! So grateful to be seeing the world with Maple Airlines! Europe here I come!

36 Likes

Comments

Michelle Velle - Congratulations Matt! Trevi Fountain or Colosseum? Matthew Williams - We’ll flip on it, sounds great either way!

Arthur Kirkland - Congratulations, celebrate now when you’re still excited about only staying in a place for two days before flying off again. Matthew Williams - Thanks Arthur!

Alfred Jones - TOKYO Bro! Get the flights to Tokyo! I wanna see you! Matthew Williams - I’m working on it!

--

Matthew Williams January 22, 2015 - Rome, Italy

That was rough but I gotta say...now I get why those statues look the way they do. Rome is beautiful

22 Likes

Michelle Velle - Just admit it outright! Matthew Williams - Shell, no Michelle Velle - So this guy runs back into the galley and tells me ‘Italian men Michelle...they’re the most beautiful men in the world! Matthew Williams - SHELL! Feliciano Vargas - Don’t be shy Mattie! Romano Vargas - It took you this long to realize?

Francis Bonnefoy - Oooh. My boy, it is a crime that you have been an air steward for this long and still haven’t joined the mile-high-club Matthew Williams - NO! And no one is on my watch! I’m not cleaning up that mess! Michelle Velle - You tell him Matt!

--

Matthew Williams February 12, 2016 - Toronto, Canada

Promoted to Business Class, I’m so honored! Alfred Jones I’m flying to TOKYO!!

62 Likes

Alfred Jones - W00000000000000!!

Another plane another journey. Daan deBoer is not looking forward to this long flight from Toronto to Tokyo, not when he had already endured a long flight from Amsterdam just two days before, but this is just part of his job. Daan is just grateful that he gets to travel on business class on his company’s money. He doesn’t know how people manage to squeeze into economy. He certainly couldn’t, with his height he’d basically be sitting with his knees up to his chin. Business also meant better service, food on your own schedule (and not the plane’s) and a cabin crew that actually listened to your requests. As much as he loved travelling, the actual experience of flying was hell - his brain knew that his body wasn’t meant to fly. At least on a ship you could swim, but a disaster in the air? Daan dealt with it by always working during his flights to avoid thinking about that, and so, it helped to be able to request for things and eat on his own schedule.

He finds it funny that people romanticize air travel. There is nothing romantic about it, it’s boring as shit once you did it often enough - the same announcements and safety procedures, the same canned speeches and on business class, stewards and stewardesses who went through the same training and-

“Good morning Mr Fernandes and Mr deBoer, welcome on board and thank you for choosing Maple Airways, my name is Matthew and if there’s anything you need during this flight, please feel free to ask me. You have a choice of a welcome drink, would you prefer...”

Daan bit back an impatient grunt, he was typing out a last minute email on his tablet before the cabin crew would make him turn it off. It would be a good half an hour before he would be able to turn it on again and by then it would be too late. He tapped the ‘send’ button and looked up, expecting to nod at whoever his steward would be and…

Damn.

For all that those Asian and Middle-Eastern airlines boasted about the attractiveness of their cabin crew, they all just lost out. His steward was looking at him politely with vibrant violet eyes. Who the hell in real life actually had violet eyes? Apparently his steward, who also had a kind face with a strong jawline, framed with loose blond curls - not too long, but not as short as most stewards wore their hair either, which was intriguing.

The man next to him says something but Daan can only stare, until a momentary flicker of uncertainty passes across Matthew’s face, that disappears as quickly as it comes. “If you don’t like any of those drink choices Mr deBoer, is there a personal preference? I can try my best to organize something.” Matthew offers with a smile and Daan comes back to himself. Welcome drinks, right, shit. He had just been sitting here ogling an air steward, he swears the man next to him is smirking. “Orange juice.” He finally says, for lack of any clear idea and Matthew smiles, nods and turns to introduce himself to the passenger sitting in the middle aisle.

How can a man look so sexy from the back? Daan had been able to mostly ignore cabin crew until today, but now he appreciates the cut of the uniforms the stewards wear - basically a three-piece suit sans jacket, black vests, black trousers, white shirts and red ties with a shiny outline of a maple leaf on it. The trousers do nothing to disguise the fact that Matthew could be an underwear model. This is going to be a long flight.

Once Matthew was two rows behind them, and Daan had been staring at his tablet and doing...nothing with it, the man next to him leans over with a shit-eating grin. “You know it’s bad form to stare at the cabin crew in such a manner.”

Daan looks over sharply. The other man extends his hand. “João Fernandes.” Daan shakes his hand but doesn’t quite like the look of him, he looks a little too much like a certain Spanish man in his sister’s continued circle of friends that he could never stand. “What brings you to Tokyo?” João continues.

A talker. Joy. “Daan deBoer,” Daan introduces himself. “And business.” Thankfully João senses his mood and relaxes back into his seat. Daan tries to look at his tablet again and wills a distraction to arrive. No chats from Belle or Christian, or Mathias, no work emails because of the time difference.

“Orange juice Mr deBoer.” Matthew smiles, “Your wine, Mr Fernandes.”

He turns and Daan now realizes that the woman sitting across the aisle from him accepting her glass of juice is sitting by a baby carrier. He falls back in his seat with a sigh. Babies always wail and who could blame them with the altitude change? The evidence is not pointing to this being a particularly pleasant flight.

It’s only five hours later that Daan decides he needs to eat. He steels himself to finally look at Matthew again without eye-fucking the man, which he’s managed to avoid entirely so far by just not looking at him. He swears he can feel the amused gaze of his neighbor turn to him and he’s about done with this flight, but there’s still another five plus hours to go.

Matthew duly serves him the chicken parmesan with a smile (which is his job, Daan reminds himself) and pours Daan the coffee he’s asked for. All in all, it’s a relatively safe interaction and Daan is proud of himself.

Until the plane starts shaking and the seatbelt sign ‘dings’ on. Great, just great. The captain announces that he’s discontinuing the service of hot beverages, but it’s too late for Daan because despite the fact that he’s now holding up his cup of coffee (more stable than being set on the table), it’s shaking and spilling everywhere, including him.

This is in fact, the worst turbulence he’s ever experienced and that is really saying something. People have different tolerance levels to turbulence and fear of flying but he knows he’s currently sharing a plane with an entire cabin of people who aren’t so sure if they’re going to make it. Even the baby knows what’s up and wails. A woman laughs maniacally in the back, which isn’t helping matters and Daan has only just realized that he’s been swearing loudly the whole time. “We’re going to fucking die, that’s it, fuck.”

He tries to focus, coffee spills on his arm and blanket and he thinks of the time he got into a fight with his sister Belle. He thinks about his baby brother Christian, and the fact that he’s adopted Daan’s pet rabbits and Belle’s dog because his older siblings travel so much. Daan thinks about how he often wakes up and doesn’t remember exactly where he is and how he’s always physically apart but everywhere at once and always connected. What has been the meaning to his life?

“I would give anything to go back to the days when we could sail around the fucking world!” João says a little too loudly next to him and Daan can only agree. “The seas are dangerous but at least there’s a chance over the entire plane dropping out of the sky!”

“Fuck yes.” Daan is allowed to swear he decides, someone else has done it now. Next time he’s travelling by boat, even better, cargo ship where there are no other passengers to bother him. Who cares if there’s no internet connection and that the journey takes a couple of months?

Matthew emerges from the galley, calm as if the plane isn’t bucking up and down and making people see their life flashing before their eyes. He sits in the empty seat next to the mother who is trying desperately and failing to calm her wailing baby. Some words are murmured and she agrees to hand the baby over.

What happens next is a miracle.

Matthew rocks the baby and sings an old French lullaby in the most soothing voice Daan has ever heard. He sings loud enough to overcome the sounds of Daan’s shaking tablewear and the creaking of the plane.

The baby starts to quieten down, the maniacally laughing woman eventually shuts up. Everyone in fact, is desperately listening to the sound of that voice. The turbulence lasts for half an hour and by now Daan’s coffee is all over him and he’s holding an empty cup. He doesn’t care. How is someone supposed to care about coffee when a literal goddamned angel is on a flight with you?

Daan doesn’t even notice when the turbulence finally ends, he’s been desperately fixated on Matthew all this time, Matthew who is still holding the now gurgling and playful baby, and he’s making faces at it. Daan knows he’s terrible with children but suddenly feels like kids themselves, well, they’re not a terrible idea. Maybe…

“Please have a new blanket Mr deBoer. May I take your cup?” He’s jarred away from staring at Matthew by the stewardess who usually works the other aisle. Her nametag says ‘Michelle’.

“Thanks.” He hands the cup over to her and makes quick work of his meal. Once the tray is cleared he stands to get his carry-on out to retrieve a fresh change of clothes. He is not going to sit on this flight for another four hours covered in coffee. Another passenger rushes into the larger of the lavatories before he can finish finding the pants he packed and Daan groans. He can barely fit in the regular-sized lavatories because of his height just to relieve himself. Changing would be impossible.

But...Michelle appears busy now caring for all the passengers while Matthew is still occupied with the lone mother and baby. It won’t take that long to change, it’s the plane’s fault for having such small bathrooms anyway.

Daan sneaks a peek into the galley and as expected, finds it empty. It’s probably not allowed but it beats giving the rest of business class a show. He drops his bag and makes quick work, stripping his shirt and wiping off the remainder of the coffee with the clean parts of it before throwing on the fresh one, and is halfway through taking off his stained pants when of course, Matthew walks around the corner and jumps back with a small yelp.

Daan pauses, turns and looks up, they lock eyes. Considering what cabin crew must experience with crazy customers, Daan is a little shocked that Matthew is shocked, but still, he uncharacteristically feels the need to explain himself and stands to his full height with just his shirt and briefs on. “I can’t fit into the lavatory.” After a pause he quickly adds, “Sorry.” And continues changing, his cheeks burning. This was going to go into the annals of cabin-crew gossip, this much he knows. ‘I walked into 1B changing in the galley like he owns the place!’

Matthew looks up at him, noting his height and Daan belatedly notes that the other man is about half a head shorter than him. “Right.” Matthew says, pink in the cheeks. “Um...I can relate.” He laughs a little and Daan smiles back, and finishes changing into the fresh pair of pants.

Before he moves back to his seat, Daan finds himself stopping. “That was amazing by the way, what you just did.”

Matthew looks back at him in surprise. “Oh um...thanks.” He smiles even brighter and Daan has to swallow because it feels like his heart is dislodging itself from his chest. “I’ll let my mother know that the lullaby still works its magic.”  

Daan knows that some people just don’t know how to take a compliment, but it usually strikes him as dishonest. It’s a social form that you can’t be seen preening about yourself so you fake humility. There doesn’t appear to be any faking here, nothing but adorableness and someone who doesn’t seem like he can be real.

“And Mr deBoer, I’ll give the airlines your feedback about the size of the lavatories, but you really can’t change in the galley.”

Matthew Williams February 15, 2016 - Tokyo, Japan

I can’t even...right when I thought that customers couldn’t surprise me anymore. So I walk into the galley and one of my passengers is changing! In my galley!! Seriously?! But...I couldn’t really say much of anything because...wow.

Michelle Velle - What happened to the most ‘beautiful men in the world?’ He didn’t look Italian to me Matthew Williams - I was wrong about Italian men. Romano Vargas - FUCKING WHAT?! Feliciano Vargas - EXCUSE ME?! Matthew Williams - I didn’t mean it like that! I wasn’t thinking I’m sorry!!! Romano Vargas - I’m insulted! Feliciano Vargas - We are insulted! Where is this passenger from?! This is war! Matthew Williams - guys...come on Michelle Velle - I didn’t talk to him much, how is he? Matthew Williams - I don’t know? He spent most the flight ignoring me but he was really nice in the galley, probably because he was caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. Romano Vargas - And THIS is more beautiful than an Italian? No Matthew, no. You have spent too much in the fucking air, it’s killing your brain cells.

86 Likes

“Thank you so much!”

“You literally saved me from having a heart attack!”

“Are you free to babysit?”

“I’ll have you know I wrote an email right after the shaking stopped to commend you to Maple Airways.”

The best and worst flight that Daan has ever been on is finally over. He’s at once relieved and disappointed. The reason why is standing in front of him by the plane’s exit, just a few people in front of him. He knows as soon as the faces of the other cabin crew looking at him, that everyone already knows he’s ‘that guy who changed in the galley’.

“Thank you for flying with us.” Matthew says the common line, a dust of pink on his cheeks, while Michelle looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

“No, thank you. And…” Daan waves in the general direction in front of him of all the people who are disembarking after giving their praise. “Everything that they said.” He wants to say something else but he also doesn’t want to hold up the line. “Take care.” He steps off the plane and takes a deep breath of relief.

“I think everyone in business class has fallen in love with that man, or are desperate to hire him to babysit their little ones.” It’s João and he seems very amused at everything. Daan figures, shit-eating grin aside, the man was a fairly acceptable neighbor on the plane and mostly kept to himself.

“Can’t blame them. I didn’t mean to be short in there, I don’t fly well.”

“Ah yes. I could sense a kindred spirit when I mentioned bringing back ships.”

Daan nodded. “Definitely.”

“This is not any of my business but, we only have one life. I think, you should try asking that steward if he’s willing to get to know you better.”

Daan rolls his eyes. “Me and everyone in business class. Give the man a break, he’s been on his feet for more than 10 hours, including when the plane was practically rolling around.”

João shrugs. “If he’s too tired he’ll turn you down, no? But if he isn’t…”

Daan has had enough of this. “Look, no offense but-”

“But I swear to you, I saw him blush several times whenever he approached our seats and I really don’t think it was for me.”

That makes Daan’s jaw shut and he stares at João in disbelief. The other man laughs and waves. “I have shopping to do, but good luck!”

Damn the man. If he had stuck around to be entertained at whatever disaster those words were causing in Daan’s mind, he would suspect João of setting him up for amusement. But no...it’s just information freely exchanged.

Lost in a daze of thoughts, Daan makes very slow progress through immigration and customs, getting lost a few times in the terminal simply because he wasn’t paying attention. He keeps thinking about Matthew, and wonders if the man can be real, but realizes that he won’t actually know the reality of him unless he actually has the courage to try. Daan hasn’t slept in more than ten hours, his heart is beating so hard he can barely hear, and if he’s going to make a fool out of himself in front of a gorgeous man, it’s good that his chances of seeing a steward again can be greatly reduced by simply flying with a different airlines. It was actually a bit of a fluke that he flew on Maple Air this time around rather than his national carrier.

Oh God Daan, stop talking yourself into this, you know you want to do this.

He was going to do it. He was going to ask Matthew out on a date, and maybe find out his last name. He had no idea what Matthew’s schedule was, maybe he’d fly out tomorrow, maybe the best they’d be able to manage would be breakfast, but João was right. Daan only had one life and Matthew was a one-of-a-kind. Maybe Matthew was already taken (Daan wouldn’t be surprised if he were), maybe Matthew wasn’t interested in men, maybe the blush was for another reason. Still...if he didn’t try, he’d regret it forever. From a purely practical perspective, Daan wouldn’t be able to focus on work at all tomorrow if he just left the airport now, haunted by a kind smile and violet eyes.

He’s been so stupid walking around this airport he may have missed the crew entirely. Shit.

Daan runs to baggage claim and hopes he isn’t too late. He isn’t because there was a delay in releasing the bags. Thank goodness for small favors. Daan steels his courage and approaches the group of uniformed crew members where Matthew looks somewhat distressed, scrolling on his phone, while Michelle is laughing so hard she’s holding onto his shoulder for support. Other crew members are giggling too, probably some private joke of theirs.

Daan keeps approaching, now or never, he breathes in deep, lets out his breath and puts one foot in front of the other until he’s close enough to distract the group from Matthew’s phone. Daan’s not paying attention to the rest of them though, he’s just focused on Matthew. Matthew who notices him with wide shocked eyes and quickly pockets his phone, pink slowly blossoming on his cheeks.

“Mr deBoer,” Matthew straightens himself, going back into steward mode, but Daan has met steward Matthew. He’d like to get to know the rest of him. “Um...is there anything I can help you with? Airline related, I can’t do much about the airport, but I can try.” He let out a nervous laugh and Daan can only stare at him for a moment.

“It’s...I um…” Great, after working himself up for so long, now Daan can’t find the words. He’s grateful though that suddenly he’s left relatively alone with Matthew, as the rest of the crew have retreated. “The thing is…”

Matthew simply looks confused, and he’s about to say something when Daan finally finds his words.

“Look, I know you’ve probably had to beat off every single loser in business class by now, but if you don’t mind...if you have the time...would you have dinner with me tomorrow?”

The crew was not *that* far away. It was painfully apparent now with the increased chatter and not so subtle camera-phone clicks and Daan did not plan this out well at all. He did not plan, that’s a mistake and maybe Matthew is embarrassed because of it. He usually plans everything but he doesn’t have enough information - is there some employee code of conduct that prevents Matthew from saying yes? Should Daan have waited until they at least exited the airport? Does Matthew have a partner in-

“Yes….?”

Daan blinks. That’s the most confusing ‘yes’ he’s ever heard because it sounds like a question. Matthew is looking at him as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing or hearing, but at least he’s not acting like a steward any...oh crap, he hopes Matthew doesn’t feel obligated to agree for whatever crazy customer service reason.

“Yes as in...you want to?” Daan has to ask just to make sure.

“Ye..Yes! Yeah, uh...haha sorry about that um...I just didn’t quite believe what was happening. Are you...okay just to make sure. Are you asking me out on a date?”

Unbelievable. “Yes! Yes, I’m...asking you out on a date, is that okay with you?”

Matthew laughs. “More than okay, I’m just surprised because well...you didn’t seem to like me for most of that flight.”

Oh God. “I liked you a lot. I was trying not to be creepy about it.”

“Oh! Thanks.”

That smile should be illegal.

Matthew pulls out his phone with a blinding grin. “In that case, yes to the date, yes to dinner, are you on roaming?”

All the tiredness and tension leaves Daan as he pulls out his own phone to exchange numbers. He can’t stop looking at Matthew’s blinding smile, the titters and the noise from Matthew’s crewmates don’t even matter anymore. Eventually though, they do have to part, Matthew’s brother has arrived to pick him up but tomorrow…

Tomorrow.

Daan can’t wait. It’s only afterwards when he picks up his bag that he realizes his cheeks are hurting - he’s been grinning so much.

Michelle Velle February 15, 2016 - Tokyo, Japan

[video]

Take a shot for every time they say ‘yes’

HONESTLY!!

163 Likes

Matthew Williams - WHAT?! You took a video?! Omg Shell really? Michelle Velle - It was so cute though! And you’re happy! Feliciano Vargas - Is this the galley guy? Romano Vargas - What the fucking...THAT IS NOT A MORE BEAUTIFUL MAN! Feliciano Vargas - That’s not beautiful! You want to see beautiful? Ludwig Beilschmidt - FELI NO!

--

END

[silver-stargazing]

Storytime with Joel and The Bots

My submission for @aggressivelyarospec AggressivelyArospecWeek. I wrote about Joel Robinson from Mystery Science Theater 3000, who I headcanon as aro/ace and also as someone who, at one point in his life, wanted children of his own.

Please note that this is entirely a headcanon and that you are more than welcome to have a different headcanon from mine. Draw a picture, write a song, compose an awesome play, make a goofy post, whatever it is that helps you express your important headcanons! I’d honestly love to see more headcanons about these wonderful characters!

And for context: this takes place a few days after Women of the Prehistoric Planet, so this would be very early in the show’s run and only a few months into Joel’s captivity. The only thing you need to know is that they had a couch briefly on the bridge.

AO3

Word Count: 2572

“C’mon, Joel! Hurry up!”

From the Satellite’s kitchen, a slightly muffled voice responded.

“One more minute, Crow! My hot chocolate’s almost done.”

“How long does it take to make one cup of Swiss Miss?” Tom Servo shot back. “It’s like you’ve been in there for hours. Did you fall into the stove again? Do we need to call LifeAlert?”

“You keep up with that sass, Tom, and there’ll be no RAM chips for any of you guys. Now I said a minute and I meant it.”

The Bots both groused for a moment. Then the bridge of the Satellite of Love fell into a restless silence as its robotic crew waited impatiently on their big comfortable couch.

The past few days had really tested the patience of the Satellite’s crew, both robots and human alike.

They’d had to sit through a particularly dreadful film called Women of the Prehistoric Planet and deal with a doomsday device that did nothing but aggravate them even further. Then, once the experiment was finally over, they ended up flying through a nasty solar storm that resulted in a brief black-out, shorting out many of the Satellite’s essential functions including the heating.

According to Gypsy’s calculations, the Satellite would return to normal after a few days of system updates and reboots. Until then, though, no heat.

To compensate for the coldness, warm blankets and pillows had been dragged out of every nook and cranny and stockpiled onto the bridge. The Bots had their built-in heaters, but the chill of the Satellite mixed with the general frigid coldness of space was more than enough to get everyone to bundle up. Crow and Tom were wrapped up tightly with several multi-color afghans, Gypsy had a bright pink shawl tied up around her head and body, and even Cambot had on a little winter hat made from spare fabric.

Joel Robinson, the sole human occupant of the SOL, walked into the room holding a small stack of books and his coffee mug. He looked to all the world like he’d just come out of a blizzard. He had three different layers of Gizmonics sweaters on over his regular jumpsuit plus a cozy wool jacket. His hands were covered in several gloves, each with a built-in heating unit of his own design. His face was barely recognizable under the length of scarf covering it, but from the warm crinkle lines around his eyes, the Bots could tell that he was actually enjoying the change in climate.

“Peculiar weather we’re having for June, huh?” he joked. “Reminds me of those summer days back in Minneapolis.”

He placed the pile of books down in between Tom and Crow and set off to the far opposite of the room where Cambot lay nestled on a pillow.

“Sure you don’t want to join us, little guy?” asked Joel softly while adjusting the bot’s tiny hat.

The bot narrowed his lens and nestled even deeper, indicating he was comfortable where he was currently.

Joel nodded and gave Cambot a little pat on the head before returning to the couch. The little bot had always been a bit more standoffish by nature, anyway. Always happy to simply be around his family but not directly interact with anyone. Joel could understand that.

Grabbing a heap of blankets, Joel settled himself neatly between Tom and Crow on the couch. He cradled his hot coco in his gloved hands, cherishing the taste of chocolate and appreciating the warmth. It was so warm, in fact, that it was almost enough to put someone to-

“Hey, don’t go to sleep yet!” Tom called out, jerking Joel straight out of his daze.

“Yeah, remember?” said Crow, nudging the pile of books with a small golden claw. “Stories?”

“Stories!” Gypsy exclaimed excitedly.

Storytime was a relatively new tradition on the Satellite of Love. A week ago, when Joel first found the couch in the loading bay, he also came across an old box full of fairy tale and folk lore books. Why they were there in the first place, he never knew why (then again, he’d learned by now to stop asking too many questions when it came to the Satellite anyway).

Originally, he read the stories to test the Bots’ comprehension skills and experiment with how much information they could retain. Overtime, though, storytime turned into less of a lab test and more of a nightly gathering for the residents of the Satellite to take a break. To hear stories that were designed to lift their spirits up rather than break them down. Sure, their evil overlords down in Deep 13 would probably take away both the stories and the couch as it would mess with their data, but for now, everyone on board appreciated their time spent together.

“Well, all right. We’ve got storytime and then a letter from Earth to read after that.” He began to flip through the stack of books. “Which story should we read tonight? We’ve got Little Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk, Pinocchio-“

Tom shuddered.

“Never again with that one. Way to traumatize me away from show biz, story.”

“Not me!” said Crow enthusiastically. “Hollywood ain’t seen nothing ‘till they sees the likes of Crow T. Robot! I’ll be up there with the legends. Steven Spielberg, Billy Wilder, Francis Ford Coppola…”

“Yeah, more like Ed Wood, Coleman Francis, and Sandy Frank,” muttered Servo.

“Hey!” Crow squawked indignantly.

“Girl!” croaked Gypsy, distracting everyone from the brewing fight between Crow and Tom. The purple robot pointed her head in the direction of the book stack.

“Do you want us to read a story about a girl, Gypsy?” asked Joel, proud of her for taking the initiative in choosing a book. She was usually so shy and introverted around the rest of the Crew during their nightly storytime.

She nodded her head vigorously. Both Tom and Crow groaned.

“A girl book? Aww Joel? Do we have to?”

“Hey, you should have said something before Gypsy. Besides, I happen to recall that you, Mr. Tom, have chosen the last three stories in a row.”

Servo sighed.

“Alright, we can give Gypsy’s story a try.”

They silently rummaged through the story books, occasionally showing a book to Gypsy only for her to reject each offering.

Crow waved a book in front of Joel’s face.

“Ha-ha. Hey! She looks just like how you used to look!”

On the cover was a young woman with impossibly long blonde hair. Rapunzel.

“Very funny, Mr. Smart Guy,” replied Joel dryly. His right hand ghosted over where his old hair length used to be. That extra hair probably would have helped to keep him a little bit warmer, he lamented.

“What do you think about this one, Gyps?” asked Crow, holding the book up for Gypsy. “She’s got really long hair just like you’ve got a really long coil.”

“Yeah! Yeah!” she responded, nodding her head eagerly.

Crow passed the picture book off to Joel, who then held the book up for Cambot to see.

“You all right with Rapunzel, Cambot?”

The bot’s lens widened and his whole form whirred with excitement. Joel smiled at the quirky response.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He quickly drained the remaining dregs of his hot chocolate and set the mug aside.

Cracking open the book, he gave a dignified “Hem” and began:

“Once upon a time in a far-off kingdom…”

And so, Joel recounted the tale of the maiden Rapunzel, of the evil witch who imprisoned the young girl in a tower, and of Rapunzel’s noble prince. He paused occasionally to address any questions and allow for riffing from his captivated audience (that was, after all, what the Bots were originally designed for. To make jokes at stories no matter how good or bad they were. Joel found no point in discouraging them from what they were built to do).

“And Rapunzel and her Prince rode off to the Prince’s kingdom where they lived, happily married and with several wonderful children, for many long and loving years. The End. So, what did you all think of the story?”

“Yay!” exclaimed Gypsy, enthused by the story’s happy ending. Cambot similarly buzzed with delight.

“Thought the second act could’ve been stronger. And that ending? Is it believable in that era that a peasant would marry into nobility? The whole kingdom would be thrown apart by scandal! It would be like Wallis Simpson and King Edward all over again!” Tom argued before adding hesitantly “It was nice that the Prince got his eyesight back, though.”

Crow, meanwhile, seemed to have his focus elsewhere entirely, his ping pong eyes darting everywhere in concentration.

“Crow, buddy, what’d you think of Rapunzel?”

“Wait a second…Joel!” Crow finally cried out. “Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel! Remember how I said you looked like the lady?”

“Yeah, I remember. And I should really have a talk with you about-”

“Oh, I was joking then, but Joel! What if you did grow out your hair long enough so that it could reach Earth? We’d be saved!”

The human could only chuckle at the Bot’s suggestion.

“I don’t know if that would work too well,” was all he could respond before laughing again.

“What? Why not?! We’re all basically stuck in a tower like Rapunzel anyway. Let your hair grow out, toss it out the airlock and wait for a wayfaring prince to come and rescue us! C’mon, it’s foolproof!”

“Crow, space and human hair do not work-”

“Oh yeah, and then maybe you and the prince could get married and we could all live in a castle!” Servo chimed in. Joel could honestly not tell whether Tom was being serious or not. “Get ourselves some servants, a few butlers, a swimming pool, the whole nine yards!”

“Marriage? Now that’s the most far-fetched thing you guys have said yet!” snorted Joel, before realizing what he had just said.

He awkwardly coughed and gave an outwardly light laugh. Scratching the back of his head, he hoped for something, anything to change the subject. He really didn’t feel ready to have this conversation yet (if ever).

“What’s so odd about you and marriage, Joel?” Tom inquired innocently.

“Yeah, are you already married or something?” came the follow-up question from Crow.

“Wife?” asked Gypsy.

“No, not married. It’s just, I’ve never considered getting married before. Well, actually…at all. Just never been for me, I guess.”

“How do ya’ figure?” said Crow.

Joel opened his mouth, paused and closed it again, considering what to say next.

To him, it had always been so simple. He had long accepted that he would rather be in a lab cooking up a new gadget or planning his next invention than pursuing any sort of romantic relationship. Romance was about as appealing to him as an arsenic and hamdinger sandwich.

But how do you explain that lack of attraction? The Bots only had a scant understanding of human behavior, most of which came from awful B-movies. Joel would have to choose his words carefully.

“It’s like…some folks have lives and stories a lot like Rapunzel and her Prince,” he finally said. “They find someone who they deeply love all romantic like and they hopefully live happily ever after together. But that’s not everyone’s story.”

“Some folks, myself included, have stories more like…more like Geppetto.”

“What? The old geezer from Pinocchio?” Crow responded incredulously.

“Yeah, does that mean we’re going to get a cricket infestation and Crow’s beak is going to grow longer than it already is?” joked Tom.

“No no. Just that Geppetto is so full of love but not in the same way as Rapunzel is for her Prince. He has more of this wonderful platonic love. A love for his craft. A love for life,” Joel reached over to pat Gypsy on the head. “A love for his creations.”

“Aww,” she said.

“I think the word they were using for that back on Earth was ‘aromantic’.”

“Well, I always thought you smelled lovely,” said Tom.

Joel smiled at the word-play.

“That’s ‘aromatic’, you goof. And I don’t remember installing any smell sensors in you, either.”

“Wouldn’t be opposed to an upgrade,” Tom quickly replied. “You know, my vocal box still keeps glitching on me from time-to-time.”

“I’ll see what parts I can scavenge to build you a new voice box. Might take a while but we’ll fix it.”

Joel paused and looked upwards.

“Hey, Magic Voice. How are we doing with those system updates? Any estimates?”

“Five more hours, Joel,” chimed a light mechanical but still recognizably female voice over the Satellite’s intercom.

He gave a weary sigh.

“Thanks. Looks like I’ll have to make some actual coffee this time. It’s going to be a long night.” He shifted, getting ready to stand up. “Maybe I’ll sniff out some RAM chips while I’m in the kitchen. Gypsy, honey, you want to help me search for some?”

“But-but Joel?” Crow finally said, still processing what Joel just told them. “If we can’t marry you off, how are we going to convince a wandering prince to save us?”

Joel could hear the worry in the golden bot’s voice. He placed a gloved hand on Crow’s shoulder.

“We don’t need any Prince to save us. Crow, you just came up with an escape plan in minutes! Why would we need a stuffy old prince to get us out when we’ve got a couple of expert jailbreakers right here? We’re all smart enough to get home safely together.”

“Well…” Crow started, reconsidering his plan. “We could always modify the plan so that I climb down your hair to Earth.”

“There we go!”

“Yeah! And then, in a thrilling conclusion to our epic odyssey, I’ll lead an expert commando squadron of elite ninja warriors to infiltrate and bring down Deep 13, getting you all back to Earth! I should really check to make sure my ninja contacts are all up to date…”

“Give me an outline of the plan in the morning and I’ll see what I can do for you, buddy” said Joel, getting ready to return to the kitchen. He stopped, suddenly remembering the letter in his jacket pocket.

“I almost forgot, the Mads sent us a letter before the black-out earlier. There’s not going to be an experiment this week until they get the projector fixed but we can still read it.”

“Who’s it from, Joel?” asked Tom.

“From a Mr....Isaac Asimov? From Minnesota, Earth?” Joel looked at the address then back at the Bots. “You guys didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?”

They all shook their heads, even Cambot. The human still suspected otherwise.

Joel opened the letter and smiled wider than he had in months.

It was a crayon drawing of a red jump-suited person being hugged by a red gumball machine, a golden bowling ball pin, a purple snake, and a camera on a wire.

The SOL crew.

Joel felt a tear leak from his eye. Years back on Earth spent in misery, coming to terms with the fact he’d never have a family like he’d often wished for. All that felt immediately shut down by this letter

Here was his family all along, sticking it out together on a satellite orbiting the Earth. An unconventional family? Sure, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The letter simply read:

“HAPPY FATHER’S DAY JOEL ROBINSON!”

Joel’s honestly really important to me in regards to headcanoning him as aro/ace. Here’s a cool and relaxed man who I see as aromantic who has a family and is a wonderful parent to his kids. As an aro/ace person who might like to have kids of her own one day (maybe), it’s kind of reassuring to know that Aromantics can make for great parents.

This is also actually my very first fanfiction and probably my first time writing creative fiction since I was 14 (discounting any songs that I’ve written as writing those feels like a completely different experience). So I apologize if the characters seem OOC. Never was the best with dialogue, so it was probably a poor decision to have my first fic be comprised largely of dialogue...

[my-dear-hammy]

The Calm and the Storm

Masterpost

Chapter One

Chapter Seven: Land Lubbers

Warnings: Smut 

----

"How is your recovery going so far, Mister Jefferson?"

"I'm ready to set sail any day. In fact, the sooner the better," Jefferson replied. It had been months.

"Chafing for the sea?" Chafing was an under statement in Jefferson's opinion.

"Always. It's why I chose the occupation."

"Indeed. It's why I chose it once as well. No one to boss you around all the time. The wind, the sea, and the horizon, magnificent."

"I never knew you used to sail, Andre," Jefferson commented.

"Of course. It seems to be every boy's dream at some point."

"And you gave it up?"

"Didn't have much of a choice," John Andre sighed. "Now I deal with red tape." Andre made his way over to the corner of the room where he poured himself a drink from the decanter, "Would you like some?"

"I prefer wine, thank you."

"Of course," Andre said, setting down the decanter and walking over to his desk and shifting a couple papers around while Jefferson stood watching. "I've read your report but tell me again, exactly what was the situation that temporarily put one of my top Captains out of commission and off the sea."

"I was pursuing my mark, the Hurricane, I just about had him when the French decided to show up. I had taken a ball the left shoulder and already had the previous injury of my first encounter with the Hurricane's broadsides. My ship was taking damage and I was in no shape to give commands, so she returned."

"Yes, Hamilton has become a problem. His sailing skills are legendary," Andre commented.

"Not legendary," Jefferson shot back.

"He took you down," Andre smiled.

"I believe it was more of a draw. I shot him as well and he dove into the ocean."

"Is he dead?"

"No idea. Most would be but he has the tendency of doing the unexpected. Nonetheless, his skills are raw and unrefined. Next time I encounter him he won't be a problem to the Crown any longer."

"I'm sure you're right, however, I am pulling you from the assignment."

"What?"

"Yes, I feel your services are better put to use elsewhere."

"Who are you assigning to actively pursue him then? Surely not some unqualified man?"

"Captain Burr will be taking over the assignment."

"Burr? I've never even heard of him."

Andre smiled into his glass, "Precisely." and took a drink.

Jefferson was not happy. "If he's never even been heard of, surely he's not better than Hamilton."

Andre grinned, "We'll see."

"What's my assignment?" Jefferson asked shortly.

"The Marquis de Lafayette. A French Naval Captain of exceptional skill and standing. One of their best. I'm sure you'll find the assignment to your liking."

"If the Marquis is so great, why not assign Burr to him and leave me my current assignment? I like this one just fine and I have his habits pinned down."

"As much as I'd love to accommodate you, I cannot. This assignment is the best I can do for you and it's certainly not boring. Should you fulfill it before Captain Burr completes his, you may default to hunting the Hurricane."

Jefferson was about to protest some more when another man came into the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I have come to pick up the Hurricane assignment for Captain Burr."

"Ah! Mulligan! Good to see you. Of course. He already knows the details, so just deliver this to him and then you have permission to set sail," Andre said, handing Mulligan a letter tied with a red ribbon. Jefferson watched him go, arms crossed over his chest. The guy didn't even bother to pick up his assignment himself, sent someone to do it instead. Jefferson grit his teeth. Hamilton was his assignment, if he had to blast through the Marquis to get it back, he most certainly would. If that's what it came to.

Andre and Jefferson carried on their conversation until some time later, Mulligan reappeared. "Captain Burr has sent me with his polite refusal of the assignment."

"I don't recall giving him the option," Andre replied.

"The Captain said he will look into it but the current matters he is currently dealing with outrank you. He's already under assignment, Sir."

Andre nodded. "Ah. That makes sense. Have him keep a look out for the bastard and I'll figure something out about Hamilton."

Mulligan nodded and left.

"Andre, reassign him to me."

"The Marquis is a top priority Jefferson but I suppose, if anyone can hunt the two of them at the same time, it'd be you. Do as you will. You probably would've found a way to hunt Hamilton anyway. A personal vendetta now, I'm sure."

"I have a couple scars to pay him back for."

Andre scooped up some papers and handed them to Jefferson, "And I want you to take Master Francis Kinloch as your first mate."

"What?"

***

"I can't take another day on this wretched land," Jefferson seethed, stomping into his temporary housing while he was ashore, compliments of Andre.

Madison didn't even look up from his book, "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Jefferson tore off his coat and threw it over a chair. "Andre just reassigned my first mate."

Madison did look up at that. "What?"

"First he took me off the Hurricane and then he had the audacity to reassign some landlubber to my ship."

Madison set down his book, his brow furrowed, "Why would Andre do that?"

"I have no idea. It makes no sense."

"Maybe he knows something we don't. What's the boy's name?"

"Francis Kinloch."

Madison shook his head, "I don't know him." Jefferson looked ready to burn something down. "Am I still on the ship?"

"Yes," Jefferson breathed, pulling Madison out of his chair. "You have the same positions as Monroe now," Jefferson said, pulling Madison against his body.

Madison could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. "What about Monroe?"

Jefferson's head bent over Monroe's neck, lips grazing the skin, hot breath sending shivers down Madison's spine. "Monroe retains his rank."

"So I've been demoted?"

"No." Jefferson bit at the tender muscles in the crook of Madison's neck.

Madison bit back his body's reaction and said instead, "So what am I?"

®®®

"Mine," Jefferson growled, digging his nails into Madison's shirt, biting down, grinding his hips against him.

Madison couldn't stop himself this time, a small whine escaped from between his lips and gave a needy roll off his hips. "Fuck me, please."

"You're so easy, darlin'," Jefferson rasped, pushing Madison down onto a sofa, pulling Madison's pants off and doing away with his own. Lining himself up at Madison's entrance, hands firmly grasping his legs.

"Please," Madison begged.

Jefferson growled, hot from lust and wrath, slamming into him. A scream ripped from Madison's throat at the burning pain of the sudden penetration.

®®®

***

Jefferson was walking down the docks when he noticed someone he knew. He walked up and bowed slightly in greeting.

"Miss Schuyler,"

"Mister Jefferson," she greeted in return.

"What brings you down to the harbor?"

"I'm looking for my sister, Elizabeth. Peggy is looking elsewhere. She's disappeared."

"What was the last you heard of her?"

"She was sailing home from a short trip to England. Her ship should've arrived hours ago."

"Ships get delayed all the time. Storms, nobles, still winds,-"

"Pirates," Angelica interrupted.

"I'm heading onto the seas to hunt pirates now. If I run into her ship, I'll be sure to inquire. And I'll be sure to fly a flag of truce before sinking any ships to check for her presence."

"Thank you, Captain."

"It's my pleasure," Jefferson smiled, pressing his lips to her hand, saying his farewells and climbing aboard his ship. Only to be greeted by three people instead of two.

"Captain," they all said at once.

A young man stepped forward, holding out his hand, "Sir, Francis Kinloch, your new first mate."

Jefferson grasped his hand and took in his appearance. Black hair pulled back into a small braid, his posture was straight and he held him with a confidence. Sharp blue eyes and a lovely build. Jefferson decided to give the boy a chance instead of writing him off completely. Confidence was rated high in Jefferson book and this boy had it. "Glad to have you aboard. Madison will give you a run down of your duties that you'll be carrying out to the letter. Understood?"

"Perfectly," Kinloch smiled.

Jefferson nodded and strode away, shouting orders to get the ship underway, Monroe joining him. Kinloch turned to Madison, waiting for the instructions Jefferson had alluded to. Madison scowled, "You may have title of first mate but the position is mine. You'll be out of here the next time we touch land. "

Kinloch was quick to respond, "You hardly seem qualified for it. Weak of body. Often sick, I'm guessing? I'd imagine you find the job difficult but cling to it with all your strength for a good fuck. I'm surprised Master Monroe has yet to take your place." Kinloch walked off after Jefferson without another word.

[ahouseoflies]

The Best Films of 2018, Part IV

Scroll down for Parts I, II, and III. VERY GOOD MOVIES THAT STILL AREN’T TECHNICALLY GREAT--SEE, I LIED, NEW CATEGORY, WHICH REALLY SAYS SOMETHING ABOUT THIS TIER IN 2018 AND MAYBE HINTS THAT THERE WEREN’T MANY MOVIES THAT I GENUINELY LOVED

44. Hotel Artemis (Drew Pearce)- It should be illegal to watch this movie before midnight because it is an exploitation flick to its core. Is it a problem that it's shaped like a triangle, that it starts wrapping up its answers the minute we understand what the questions were? Yes. Is that a problem that Jeff Goldblum, playing the Wolf King, wearing a double-breasted camel's hair coat like a shawl, can't fix? No.

43. Sicario: Day of the Soldado (Stefano Sollima)- Considering how much I liked Sicario, I'm impressed by how close its sequel came to its chilly hardness. Strangely enough, the craft suffers more from the absence of Jóhann Jóhannsson than it does from the absence of Denis Villeneuve. Aside from a lull at the two-thirds mark and the pulling of exactly one punch, this entry feels as vital and astute as the last one.

Which means the real auteur must be Taylor Sheridan. His script mimics the structure of the original while twisting its characters just askew enough to breathe new life into the material. His screenplays just sort of unfold in a way that I find organic--it's hard to even say what the conflict is until halfway through most of the time. And if he wants to write five more of these, I'll gladly take them.

42. The Other Side of the Wind (Orson Welles)- Like almost anyone else, I'm grateful that The Other Side of the Wind exists at all. The fact that it's so more personal and experimental than I expected is a bonus. It's kind of a mess until it congeals at the drive-in, but every choice still seems labored over. (The claustrophobic nature of the party versus the wide open spaces of the film-within-the-film, for example.) Nonetheless, it's hard to go to bat for a movie whose backstory is more captivating than the final product.

41. The Mule (Clint Eastwood)- Besides the breezy glide of the pacing, the performances stand out. Eastwood's is the type that we haven't seen from him in a while. He smiles a lot. He sings and dances and flirts. He's generally carefree and loopy. And he's contrasted with* a nervy Bradley Cooper in one of those humongous-star-taking-the-back-seat performances, sprinkling charisma the way Sean Connery did in The Untouchables.

But there is no elegance at all. Besides Chekhov's cough and the cheesy elbowing of "If only somebody had $25,000 to save the VFW Hall," we get the messy racial politics of Eastwood once again. Whereas Gran Torino worked for me because it's aware of its own racism, this one thinks that it's doing some good. The subtext is that an old White man would never catch trouble from police, but the text is a Hispanic man getting pulled over and nearly pissing himself for laughs. Hard to argue this isn't a fun time at the movies though, despite the fact that it's almost entirely about regret.

40. If Beale Street Could Talk (Barry Jenkins)- Too theatrical and outre for my taste, but it's easy to get lost in its cosmetic pleasures: the lush colors, the lavish costumes, the immaculate close-ups, the best score of the year. I liked it, especially the Brian Tyree Henry tangent, but as the movie is swooning over itself, it's easy to catch yourself thinking, "What is this even about?"

39. Can You Ever Forgive Me? (Marielle Heller)- Can You Ever Forgive Me? hits every beat you would expect from an "in over her head" crime movie, but the time that the film dedicates to the central relationship creates a rare intimacy. If you stopwatched it, I imagine the majority of the film would be McCarthy and Grant talking to each other. That focus, along with a resistance to smoothing over the characters' rougher edges, elevates a kind of boilerplate story.

38. Blockers (Kay Cannon)- Even if the ending is kind of exhausting, desperate to give each character his or her moment, this is hilarious. Not so much in the setpieces showcased in the commercials but frequently in an expression or line reading. The Blu-Ray has a line-o-rama gag reel that is funnier than some entire movies. It's pretty progressive and fair in its portrayal of young female sexuality too.

37. Game Night (John Francis Daley and Jonathan Goldstein)- It gets a little tidy and full circle for my taste, but this movie has some great laughs while being a good example of a film that nails both the characters' "want" and the characters' "need." Rachel McAdams is winning, and Jesse Plemons steals all of his scenes.

Game Night also has way more of a filmic identity than one might expect, since it doubles as a sort of Fincher parody. Besides Cliff Martinez's insistent electronic score and some CGI-for-no-reason establishing shots, Daley and Goldstein borrow the auteur's desaturated palette, locked-down camera, and narrow light range. There's even an elaborate one-r. The visuals elevated a premise that had the potential to be really dopey.

36. First Man (Damien Chazzelle)- I think this is exactly the movie Chazelle wanted to make, but, to match my expectations or his filmography, it's not quite good enough. Cool to the touch, though anything else would be antithetical to who Armstrong was. In the shape of suspense, but with an outcome that is obviously never in doubt. Flipping to the IMAX ratio the second the crew docks onto the moon is a cool trick, but it's as innovative as things get.

The cast is game. Gosling's fastidious brooding resists any of his Movie Star charm but still holds every scene, and the framing of Armstrong's motivation works very well. Foy's reading of "a bunch of boys" is about to become a t-shirt. Kyle Chandler and Jason Clarke and the suddenly mature Patrick Fugit all get their moments. The final scene places the film into the Chazelle tradition of people whose calling is greater than even their most transcendent relationships, and a protest sequence is a welcome break from the eraser-streaked perfectionism.

I'm sorry that I wanted Apollo 13 instead of a hipper Apollo 13.

35. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (Bob Perischetti, Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman)- Within the course of one year, we got two possible solutions for the "problem" of inspiring but self-serious origin stories. At the beginning of the year, Black Panther mastered the form and presented it so solidly that it couldn't be argued against. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse goes the other way, so impressionistic that the final sequence is people flying through abstract shapes and colors, so irreverent that a character cuts someone off mid-sentence as he says, "With great power comes..." Though I would have trouble explaining the film, all of the dimensional comings-and-goings make sense in the moment, and it's easily the funniest Marvel movie ever made.

Maybe purposefully, it is overstuffed though. Six different iterations of Spider-Man is enough to juggle; I definitely didn't need a cadre of villains that was even less defined. I have to admit, even though I couldn't tell you what to cut, I was exhausted by the end, even if I was huffing and puffing fresh air.

34. Boy Erased (Joel Edgerton)- Many characters do bad things in this movie, but they're people trying to help and doing their best, justifying the pain that they're causing. This is a film that easily could have been drawn in caricature, and it never is. It does, however, draw the characters as fairly as they deserve, so the Joel Edgerton gay conversion therapist does wear bad ties and pronounce some words incorrectly. The Russell Crowe character, especially in the powerhouse final scene, is more complex and real, at least if I'm to judge by my own father, who has disturbingly similar moral authority and power moves k thx bai.

33. Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (Morgan Neville)- This one is more cohesive than 30 Feet From Stardom, but these Morgan Neville docs are sometimes too slick for their own good. If you've never made the "jerking-off motion" with your hand, then you'll be tested when he asks his subjects to close their eyes and imagine someone special to them.

That's not to say that the nearly pornographic reverence of Fred Rogers is not deserved or effective. And one of the most daring notes of the film is the suggestion that, in our hostile times, Rogers's message might not have stuck. The jabs at Trump aren't overplayed, but the president is sort of a pall over the entire film. When Rogers says, "The most essential things in life are invisible," it's hard not to imagine the person on our TV daily who is the antithesis of that idea.

32. Hearts Beat Loud (Brett Haley)- This is a heartwarming movie that ends on a high note with solid music. (Important because, if the music that the father and daughter made had been bad, the whole thing would have fallen apart.) Occasionally, it falls into that ensemble problem of "Good news: We got Ted Danson. Bad news: We have to find something for him to do." And it's a weird sideways ad for Spotify. But if I gave Begin Again three stars, then I have to kick this Once-core entry up to three-and-a-half.

If I may, though, I would like to analyze a recommendation that Offerman's record store owner makes to Collette's character. Since she's buying Dig Me Out by Sleater-Kinney, he puts her on to Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion, an album she has not heard of. Which is absurd. Forget that Animal Collective should not be recommended to any woman ever. Any person who knows Sleater-Kinney also knows Animal Collective. She would have heard of them if only because they would be a bad match for someone who likes Sleater-Kinney. But here he is all like, "Check out 'My Girls'--killer song." You're going to recommend the lead single, fam? You're not even going to go out on a limb and push "Bluish"? No wonder your store is shutting down if you're pushing free folk/art-punk onto riot grrls.

31. Western (Valesta Grisebach)- While I was watching Western, I can't say I was having too much fun. It seemed like an adequate story told in a patient, austere way. But in the days since then, I haven't been able to get it out of my head. The way that Grisebach gets so much out of non-professional actors, the way that each character seems to exist not so much as a person but as a totem for something like aggression or labor or exploitation or occupation. Like few other movies--though Beau Travail comes to mind--it's a portrait of masculinity that seems really resigned about its conclusions. 30. American Animals (Bart Layton)- I worry about the potential Boondock Saints effect of this movie: Do I want to be in the same number as the college dorm crew attracted to it only for its style? Is it only style? I don't think it adds up to much ultimately.

But it does have style, and it's way too fun of a caper flick to resist. It presents an interesting bridge in Bart Layton's career, from non-fiction that is a bit too fictional to fiction that is a bit too factual. The segments with the real people involved in the heist serve as decisive punctuation to the florid sentences of the narrative. I also appreciated that the film didn't dwell too much on the trial, since we know exactly where the boys faltered and what evidence did them in.

29. The Land of Steady Habits (Nicole Holofcener)- I loved the rich characterization of the first half, which resists hand-holding as it plops the viewer into a post-divorce setting that is familiar but specific. The film bounces off into tangents from there, some of which are great, but Edie Falco seems to draw the short straw. There are three actors on the poster--weird-voiced Ben Mendelsohn, Thomas Mann, and Falco--but her character is left undeveloped, a bit unfairly, as the proceedings favor the men. The film is still another ground-rule double for Holofcener, a filmmaker who gives the impression that she has no idea what a ground-rule double is.

28. Private Life (Tamara Jenkins)- I don't know anything about Tamara Jenkins's personal life, but there's no way that the details and emotion of the central couple's infertility don't come from her own pain. That frustration and obsession take center stage, and we get filled in with the rest of the details patiently as the film goes on. I don't think we even know what Giamatti's character does for a living until forty-five minutes in, and that's okay. The movie cares more about the supporting characters than I did, but I appreciated the lived-in realism of an apartment with books filling up the fireplace.

27. Flower (Max Winkler)- Although I didn't believe Zoey Deutch as a seventeen-year-old, I was impressed by this script, which moves slowly until it doesn't. I guess "Flower" is good branding since there doesn't appear to be a movie called that already, but I kind of wish this had just been called "Erica." It builds that character carefully, plants her in an impossible situation, then unleashes hell upon her.

An advantage of a movie with teenage characters is that they don't necessarily have to make the most logical decision in a given moment, so even when these characters are being dumb, they're being true to themselves. As the most prominent Zoey Deutch stockholder in North America, I actually thought about bumping this up an extra half-star.

26. Leave No Trace (Debra Granik)- Leave No Trace is partly about how existing outside of society can be as much of a contrivance as buying in, but the way the movie delivers that message is less ham-fisted than my description due to the intense performances at the center. Ben Foster, uncharacteristically restrained here, reportedly worked with Debra Granik to excise 40% of his dialogue, and that choice speaks volumes about the trust the film has for the audience in limiting the exposition.

The only thing holding me back was how exclusively internal the father-daughter story is. Unlike Granik's Winter's Bone, which functions as both a (similarly compassionate) coming-of-age story and a race-against-the-clock thriller, Leave No Trace is tracking only emotional growth. Will and Tom aren't headed anywhere in particular, which is part of the survival-versus-living point. But, you know, get you a Debra Granik movie that can do both.

25. Eighth Grade (Bo Burnham)- Socially terrifying when it isn't being effortlessly funny. Sometimes the protagonist is downright frustrating, which the film doesn't shy away from, but the vulnerability of Elsie Fisher's performance grounds everything around it. Besides nailing adult condescension, Burnham's script works because the big social disaster is always averted until it suddenly isn't, and that's when the moment hits the hardest. Somewhere in the back of my mind though, I kept thinking that perceptive realism is easy to do if that's your only goal. To quote the kids: "Some shade."

I spent most of the movie thanking God that YouTube channels didn't exist when I was thirteen.

24. Three Identical Strangers (Tim Wardle)- I'll be the millionth person to write "truth is stranger than fiction" with regard to this movie. And sometimes having no idea where a movie will go is enough. 23. Green Book (Peter Farrelly)- When a dramatic director makes a comedy, it often feels self-conscious and overt. I'm thinking about Von Trier's The Boss of It All, in which the technique is more important than any audience joy or release. Or Michael Haneke explaining tirelessly why he thinks Happy End is "actually a comedy." Unsurprisingly, the results work a lot better when a comedy director of twenty years decides to go more serious. He knows what audiences want, he already understands how to wring tension out of each scene, and all he needs is the right subject.

The last item is where Green Book suffers. In the end, this is still a movie in which a White guy learns not to be racist. The first third, there seemingly to insist that Tony is the main character, is shaggy. I would wager the men don't get into the car inside of forty minutes. But once we're on the tour? Man, is this a crowd pleaser. The men's respect for each other grows gracefully, and the film's proud sentimentality powers its best moments as they fly by at a clipped pace. I had given up on Farrelly after Hall Pass, which felt amateurish, so a work of such professionally manicured (manufactured?) emotion was a shock.

On a different note, are any of you interested in a thousand words on Linda Cardellini's posture?

22. Den of Thieves (Christian Gudegast)- Despite the February release date, a director with no track record, and the most #basic studio lead there is, Den of Thieves is a caper film as sprawling as it is humane. Even Potato-face Butler is perfect for his role.

I watched the unrated version, which should be called the "depressing version," since I know exactly what was cut. (Hint: The wordless scene of Butler's jilted family ignoring him when he sees them in the grocery store, not anything from the shoot-out.) There's a spot where I would end the movie, and it's way before the Keyser Soze epilogue, but this was a welcome surprise for me. The movie seems to find its star in O'Shea Jackson, Jr. as it goes, and I completely agree. Many more like this please.

21. The Front Runner (Jason Reitman)- Reitman starts with a complicated oner that cranes up and down, zooms in and out of new characters, and times itself perfectly to catch snatches of conversations about "how can you even lay this much cable?" And in all of its Altman-esque indulgence, it's kind of the movie in a nutshell. Something simple--a scene shot with one take--commenting on how damned hard it is. What seems like a straightforward thesis moves at a breakneck pace with a game ensemble until you realize that it was all more complicated than it seemed.

Hugh Jackman has the challenge of playing someone essentially unknowable, but he has an amazing moment in the first third. On the chartered boat called Monkey Business--such a bad look, dude--Gary Hart is composed and dignified until a woman we don't see* sits down across from him, and his whole affect changes. His guard drops, and he seems absorbed by her, giggly. We can't hear what he's saying, but he's asking her about herself and joking about himself. Both or one or neither of those personalities is the real guy. The Front Runner is a movie about a tragic Great Man, and they're always described as if they can't help themselves, as if they're fighting their demons until the magic moment when they aren't. Jackman made that magic real for me when Hart's personality fell out.

20. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (Joel Coen and Ethan Coen)- Patently uneven and bizarrely sequenced, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs doesn't stack up to the Coens' major works--though it demands another viewing. I did think, in all of its bleak absurdism, that it belongs in their neighborhood. To me, there's a dichotomy that most of the brothers' films trace. We're all doomed, but the force that does us in is sometimes fate (A Serious Man, Inside Llewyn Davis, The Hudsucker Proxy, No Country for Old Men) and sometimes the stupidity of other people (The Big Lebowski, Blood Simple, Burn After Reading, Miller's Crossing). This new movie seems to start with the latter, waver sometimes in the more interesting middle stories when Zoe Kazan and Tom Waits break my heart, then end up at the former. Tracking such a thing in miniature can be really instructive.

19. The Tale (Jennifer Fox)- If you can look past Common's goofy voice and the more afterschool special aspects of this movie, then you can realize that it should actually, as disturbing as it is, be an afterschool special. It spins its wheels sometimes, but the questions that this movie asks about memory and abuse are invaluable. Presenting a downright shocking portrayal of grooming and secrecy, it avoids easy answers and over-sympathizing with the protagonist all the way through. (Especially notable because the character is "Jennifer Fox," and the director is Jennifer Fox.)

Laura Dern remains Laura Dern, but I loved Jason Ritter in this. Exactly because he has been in a hundred failed sitcoms, he is terrifying here as a devilish knock-off of the type of guy approachable enough to be on TV.

18. Paddington 2 (Paul King)- At first, during the extended introduction, I was worried that Paddington 2 was falling prey to the curse of the sequel: more, not better. But as each family member pays off what we learned about him or her in the introduction during a sprightly train setpiece that owes more than a little to Keaton, I realized that I shouldn't have doubted the Paddington empathy machine. This one carries over the humor and sweetness but goes even harder on the pathos in its attempt to convince us to have good manners and care about the people around us. I'm not sure any other movie this year hit me harder than when the Browns don't show up for their weekly meeting at the jail.

Hugh Grant, an actor who always seems to be having fun, has never seemed as if he is having more fun.

17. Set It Up (Claire Scanlon)- I guess I believe in true love now.

16. Blindspotting (Carlos Lopez Estrada)- The stylized climax is going to be polarizing, but I thought it was a heightened, artful moment whose seeds had been sown throughout. The film meanders, but its angles on subjects like gentrification and probation and identity show tenderness and openness, and Estrada's visual energy recalls early Spike Lee or Jarmusch or Aronofsky. It's worth seeing if only for its fresh sense of place.

The two leads play off each other especially well. If Daveed Diggs is the fourth lead or whatever of Hamilton, then I guess I finally have to see it.

15. Incredibles 2 (Brad Bird)- Incredibles 2 is a good example of a sequel rhyming with the original in a way that doesn’t feel like a retread. Accidentally topical in its subtext about just rule of law, the film hits upon some of Brad Bird’s ideas of exceptionalism and hope for the future while being slightly more cogent in that messaging than the original. (Slightly. The villain problem is still there. If superheroes are already illegal, then why employ and promote them at all if your goal is to make them even more illegal?)

This entry is a bit more overstuffed, less timeless, and less funny than the original. There’s nothing on the level of “Honey, where is my super suit?” which I still say to my wife fourteen years later. But the fight choreography and the textural animation take advantage of the gap in between films. The Paar family dynamic is altered only slightly, but it’s enough to re-invent the proceedings. Violet has more confidence in herself, Dash is more in control of his powers, and it’s the, yes, thicc Elastigirl who is working solo this time. Especially in the opening sequence, we see how each character’s skills complement the others’. If Finding Dory is the bar for “sequels to Pixar movies that didn’t need sequels,” then Incredibles 2 leaps over that bar.

14. Chappaquiddick (John Curran)- "We need to tell the truth. Or at least our version of it."

After the Kennedy Curse claimed JFK Jr., it seemed as if the culture reached a saturation point with Kennedy coverage. Aside from the occasional "Look who's dating Taylor Swift," we gave them their space. Who would have thought that twenty years later would be the perfect time to dust off the coldest case in the dossier?

See, now that we're having a national conversation about who gets the breaks, there's a little bit of extra weight lent to a scene of Ted Kennedy waiting for a sheriff he summoned as he drafts a statement at that absent sheriff's desk. A sheriff who then helps Kennedy to escape through a backdoor lest he answer any untoward question about his manslaughter. The film is delivered with an even pitch--especially the Jason Clarke performance that could have been overdone--but it makes no mistake about its real subject: privilege.

The attempts to keep Kennedy safe become more brazen as the film goes on, and each dodged consequence--getting Teddy's driver's license renewed on the low, for example--is balanced by Ed Helms's desperate performance as a voice of integrity. In all of the best tragedies, we know what's going to happen in the end. All along, the Kennedy Curse was that they are not like the rest of us.

13. Love, Simon (Greg Berlanti)- Can we all agree that an anonymous gossip web site for a high school is a bad idea? And that, though the film doesn't pursue this angle, the vice principal is the one maintaining it?

This propulsive, observant, and witty movie is an outright pleasure from beginning to end. Hocking spitballs at its PG-13 rating, its greatest strengths are having the courage to get dark and having the wisdom to give every supporting character his or her own moment.