#Honestly this whole season was carried on Eric's shoulders...

[sherlock-is-ace]

Finally finished Sex Education. I've got a lot of thoughts about this season, not all of them positive. But one thing I do want to say is that they should have left the only ace representation to be that one girl who barely had any screen time in season 2...

I can appreciate a character being flawed and not perfect, that's not necessarily "bad representation" but I just think things were handled horribly with O. With most plots honestly.

[geekkatsblog]

Grey's Anatomy season 17 episode 4

(Get these characters some Ragu sauce because they've been through enough.)

This episode has been the best for the season so far, I loved it.

_________________________________________

Jackson and Jo

(Never thought I'd have to put them in a title together.)

Jackson and Jo I was intrigued at first when they were being just friends but then they swapped it and slept together. At this point I'm not sure if I like the pairing it's kinda odd borderline cringe, but maybe it'll change. It might be because it came on so suddenly and different. They've pledged to be a friends with benefits thing which is for the best, because Jackson really does go through clothes like he does clothes, but we all know how that is going to end up, someone is going to catch feelings and I don't think it's going to be Jo.

Honestly I'm not sure what they're doing with Jackson. He hasn't had a plot in a really long time it seems like they're just using him as a general filler to put the ladies in relationships, and where did my baby Harriet go she carried the show for the few seconds she was in it last time.

Other than their new arrangement neither Jackson nor Jo have any pressing plots at the moment.

___________________________________________

Link and Amelia

(Currently carrying the Grey's relationship game.)

Before we get into it can I just express how adorable it was seeing Amelia gardening and mothering. She's really doing a great job.

And Link and his one man band serenading his son is adorable as well. He's an awesome father as everyone knew he would have been.

The pandemic and the possibility of Meredith dying is getting to them, as it would for anyone in their positions. I loved that he sat with Amelia and allowed her to feel all her feelings. Link has been the only partner Amelia has had who actually listened to her instead of talking over her concerns and dismissing them and in return she sat with him and allowed him to process his grief in the way he preferred to. Their levels of communication is on point right now and I am excited to see where it goes. Then there's also the scene where she's afraid for Meredith, her and Meredith had a rocky start and even now they don't have the best relationship but still it's great to see the moments where they let us know that they do care about each other.

___________________________________________

Nico and Levi

(At this point I'm sad to put these two names together up here.)

I shipped those two so strong at the beginning but now I just want Levi to stand up for himself and leave Nico hanging, give him some time to let him realise what a good thing he is messing up. I'm still seething at his hypocrisy calling Levi a baby gay and lowkey pressuring Levi to come out to and move out of his mother's basement only for him to find out that Nico hasn't come out to his parents either and worst of all basically left him homeless by putting him out.

I was sad to see that Levi was falling down the same rabbit hole again. Levi hunny you deserve better. At the beginning of the episode when they had that awkward hi moment I was like oh no here we go again. Jo's reaction to finding out about them was perfect their friendship really has grown on me. It was a little odd at first but I approve of them as each other's persons, and for Jo to let him know he's worth more until Nico gets his crap together.

___________________________________________

Owen

Oh Owen, no just no, he miss diagnosed a patient because he didn't look at the whole picture and just saw a piece, however he took the time to educate himself so I'm feeling a little better, I was expecting him to get mad or offended but he wasn't he took it in stride usually some of the doctors would tend to get snippy at the resident's when they pointed out that they made a mistake but he didn't. This is a common mistake made where doctors don't take into concept ethnicity when they're diagnosing patients and I'm glad they touched on this topic.

Owen has no other current plots at this point to touch on, at least until him and Teddy talk again.

___________________________________________

Richard Webber

Meredith better be alright and come out unscathed, because if she does that will destroy Webber. He was so stressed all episode trying to make the decision of whether to put Meredith in the trial or not and I could only imagine the panic that went through him when he heard her mention George. Finally he made the decision to put her in the trial. Her reason for putting her as her POA was because Richard tends to be calm in most situations but she underestimated how important she is to everyone in the hospital they were all literally only interested in her during the briefing, and seeing him in her room all the time was adorable she was alone yet not alone at the same time because he was always in the room watching over her. He is the father that Meredith never had.

__________________________________________Bailey

(Her plot is apparently coming next week)

She really didn't do much other than educate Owen, worry over Meredith and express her concern about her parent's recent move to an assisted living facility.

Seeing her and George together again warmed my heart and seeing her on the beach with Meredith was a surprise as well especially because the few conversations they had in season 16 were the most I'd seen them talk about things that didn't involve work, but they've been together from the beginning along with Richard and been with her through it all, they're all a family and even though her and Meredith have their ups and down they have a similar relationship to Amelia and Meredith they fight sometimes but when push comes to shove they are there for each other.

___________________________________________

Teddy

(A moment of silence for season 5 through 7 Teddy. May she rest in peace.)

Her plot wasn't so much as about her as it was about Meredith but I understand her concern about Meredith dying under her watch. The whole hospital was basically looking over her shoulder with pitchforks for incase she screwed up. It's a lot of pressure when Meredith Grey is your patient, and after the whole her being heard cheating on Owen with Tom by the whole OR the eyes were probably sharper than ever.

But then onto the worst part, her going to visit Tom. Now I know he said he was going to move on for his own sake, but out of all the times they broke up or separated he has never actually ignored her he would have answered even if it was to say go away and even so he has Covid and wasn't answering the door, why didn't she try to open the door or call 911 that's concerning. She could have even threatened to call the ambulance first just to make sure he wasn't really ignoring her. That would have gotten a response from him for sure. But I just can't fathom how she just left after getting no answer from him.

___________________________________________

Maggie

(Get it hun.)

Her and Winston are so cute and they haven't even met in person yet. Seeing the way how they handled the whole dinner with his father was a nice moment. The dinner was super awkward and he managed to make me hate his dad in one scene. This one seems to be the real deal for Maggie she isn't freaking out at the pace like she usually does and took the invitation to family dinner quite well. I'm glad to see she's no longer a cheerleader but now has a life of her own and probably soon maybe even a plot.

___________________________________________

Tom Koracick

(Take Owen instead.)

NOOOOOO not Tom, we haven't gotten to see his character development yet. And why has he been through as much as someone who has been on the show since season 6 give the dude a break man. The whole time I knew he was going to get worst being asymptomatic doesn't necessarily mean that you won't get them later plus the fact that they sent him home alone was enough to know that something was going to go bad.

First thing first the rest of the doctors are sickening the way they treat him, can he come on strong and be a douche yes but I remember Bailey telling George at one point when he was making fun of Karev that they still had to be on his side even if they didn't like him. They are not on Koracick's side they just sent him home to rot and now it may very well cost him his life. I know Meredith is the sun but they could have at least kept Tom in the hospital to just to monitor him or if that wasn't able to happen they could have kept better tabs on him to make sure he was ok.

Am I the only one who's seeing Helm as his intern later in the future? They clearly have the same taste in video games and they would get along better when he becomes more open to people. Plus idk Helm just reminds me of someone in Nuero or even cardio, she has that tough attitude and strong drive like Cristina and Stephanie etc.

I don't think he's going to die though or at least I hope he's not going to die. Bailey's mother is there for a reason I more see her as the one to die.

___________________________________________

Meredith

Last but certainly not least is Meredith am I the only one who suspected that George was next Ellen Pompeo and T.R Knight have a good relationship off set. If anyone was coming back it was going to be George. I can't see Eric Dane coming back. Chyler is filming Supergirl in Vancouver I think and the others are still alive which makes it more unlikely for them to show up on the beach unless if they heard about Meredith being sick and came back to help or something.

Either way I was ecstatic when I saw George, as I said at some point before he was one of those characters that I didn't like before but the more I watched the show the more I appreciated him until he became one of my favorite characters on the show. He's every bit as 'Georgelike' as I remember him. The only thing was I was a little peeved at the fact that she got to be close to George and talk about her kids with him and not Derek but as I realised later apparently Derek is death and when she reaches him it means she choose to live. Which I'm ok with I guess it was good just seeing them again, and it was even better when we got to see the 4 OG's sitting together again even if it was just in a dream.

She has to pick her kids, they need her and so does GreySloan, she needs to live.

I'm hoping she recovers soon, as much as I would like to see even more visitors at the beach. Has Meredith not been through enough? Although this is as peaceful as I've seen her to be completely honest.

___________________________________________

Next week is looking extremely dramatic already.

Meredith seems to be getting better although who knows how long that will last.

Koracick is worst like I said before I don't think he will actually die but something extremely dramatic is going to happen besides him being near death it might be another peice to the Teddy, Owen and Tom love triangle seeing that they're both working on him.

And the last part I saw was Bailey's mom I knew her talking about her parents all of the sudden meant that something was going to happen to one or both of them. Unfortunately I think she might be the one to die Grey's has a habit of bringing in secondary characters when too many primary characters are at risk. Plus it'll give Bailey her plot which I'm lowkey ok with because Chandra Wilson's Emotional scenes are always on point.

[bard-llama]

When Words Act As Phantoms on Horseback

Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt used to the lack of silence. Without him, the silence creeps up on him and itches at his mind until he must break it. AKA how Netflix!Geralt slowly becomes more like Game!Geralt.

If you like my writing, consider donating to my ko-fi! I am writing gift fics for all donors.

Read on AO3

--

When Geralt had first started on the path, he enjoyed silence. Well, there was rarely true silence with enhanced hearing, but he preferred when the sounds were more distant, when he could avoid human civilizations and the only sounds were the birds and the animals and Roach’s snorting.

Roach was his only companion on the Path for many, many years, and he’d picked up a habit of talking to her occasionally – the mutations hadn’t done away with the need for socialization, unfortunately, though they had made it much more difficult. The conversations usually burst from him and it wouldn’t be until after he was talked out and Roach was nosing at his side for a treat that Geralt would even realize that he’d needed to talk to somebody.

That all changed with Jaskier.

Jaskier, as it turned out, was not kidding when he’d said he didn’t go in for silence, and he had no need for a 2nd party to carry on full conversations. He did appreciate when Geralt made some sort of noise in response, but he also didn’t seem to care when Geralt tuned him out so he could actually listen to his surroundings.

The first time, Jaskier had only traveled with him for a week before the road had taken them different directions. And yet still, once Jaskier was gone, the world felt too silent. The wind whispering through the trees, the lizards and rabbits rustling through the brush, the growls of wolves and wild dogs – it was no longer enough. The silence was instead making him anxious and on edge, and in sheer desperation, he’d started talking to Roach.

And it had worked. It wasn’t a lot of noise, but it was enough for when the silence crept up on him. He murmured praise and directions and thoughts for Roach’s ears and felt his shoulders relax.

Then he ran into Jaskier again. In all honesty, Geralt had assumed they would never meet again, but apparently the bard was determined to prove him wrong. Not only did he insist on traveling with Geralt again – “oh but think of the marvelous adventures we had!” – he truly had dedicated himself as Geralt’s barker. It was absurd.

It was also very noisy again, because even when he was asleep, Jaskier could not shut up. Part of Geralt wondered if that was a natural ability or if Jaskier had honed it just to make life difficult for other people. But the rest of Geralt was just glad there was something to fill the silence again. He still praised Roach, of course, but he was honestly relieved not to have to talk. It was surprisingly difficult, to push words out of his mouth. Jaskier clearly did not have the same difficulty and Geralt’s lips twisted into a slight smile as he nudged Roach into motion and Jaskier immediately began a loud debate with himself about the merits of mustard-colored garments.

This time, Jaskier traveled beside him for a full season before their paths parted again. And as Geralt settled down to sleep that night, Roach already snoring softly, he was absolutely fine, he was.

Except for the way his skin was crawling and his mind was racing and he’d lit a fire just to hear the crackle pop of the wood, and it still wasn’t enough. So he started humming. He wasn’t even sure what it was, some tune of Jaskier’s no doubt, but the sound and the vibration of it in his throat settled something in him. That was good. He could hum to himself as rode around on Roach, as he set up camp, as he skinned and roasted dinner, even as he bathed.

But on contracts, it was distracting. He needed to be able to focus on his work, but he also needed something to fill the yawning silence.

The first time he’d mumbled his deductions aloud, it had been unconscious.

The second time had been on purpose.

By the seventh time, it was getting easier to let the words escape his throat, and he almost had enough information about the griffon that had attacked a convoy to hunt it.

The fourteenth time wasn’t really a deduction so much as a rant about the questionable parentage of the asshole who’d hired him and then fled without paying.

The nineteenth time, he spoke louder so that the herbalist’s apprentice, who was clearly more interested in monster hunting than herbs, could hear.

By the twenty-first time, it was nearly a habit and the words slipped out easier and easier each time.

By the fiftieth time, he stopped keeping track. It was still hard to talk to villagers and innkeeps, but talking to himself was getting easier and easier.

By the hundredth time, he no longer remembered why he’d started the habit, but it had nicely settled in now, and at this point, talking when it’s just him or just him and Roach takes almost no thought.

Then he ran into Jaskier again. Quite literally this time – Geralt was searching for a wyvern when he heard a very high pitched shriek and found Jaskier right in the middle of trouble again. How the fuck the bard had managed to wander into the wyvern’s nest without the draconid taking his head off Geralt couldn’t imagine. He raced into the fray, without even taking the time to oil his blade or take a potion.

He would regret that, as it turned out.

The fight was rough and exhausting and Jaskier didn’t seem to fully understand that he needed to stay behind Geralt, and it only did so much good against a flying predator anyway. More than once, Geralt had been forced to take a blow intended for Jaskier, and by the time he finally cut the damn beast’s head off, he was swaying on his feet.

“Fuck, Geralt, where’re your potions, you need Swallow. Roach, come here, girl, let’s get our Witcher taken care of, hmm?” Jaskier fretted over him and as his voice washed over Geralt, he felt surprisingly calm, despite the blood loss and cuts and bruises. There was a particularly deep gash across his shoulder and Jaskier tore at Geralt’s armor to get to it.

Geralt huffed and removed his armor properly, even though each movement sent sharp agony across his shoulder. The ache seemed to resonate up to his jaw, and Geralt slumped back heavily once his armor lay in a pile next to him.

Jaskier rushed in immediately, cleaning his wounds and applying fresh bandages. And the whole time, he spoke. He apologized for Geralt getting hurt rescuing him, praised Geralt’s alleged heroics, even started composing lyrics about the whole hunt on the spot.

And Geralt probably should have been annoyed, over the singing, the rescuing, the not fucking listening, but oddly, all he felt was content. When Jaskier finally paused, waiting for a response to some question Geralt hadn’t paid attention to, he found it surprisingly easy to ask, “sing for me?”

Jaskier inhaled sharply and pressed a hand to Geralt’s face as if checking for fever. Geralt rolled his eyes, but didn’t push Jaskier’s hand off. As Jaskier stared at him, the hand dragged down his cheek and made him shiver.

He had no idea why, but that seemed to convince Jaskier that Geralt wasn’t under some curse or illness or other such silly idea as to why he asked for Jaskier to do his damn job.

“Okay,” Jaskier said, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “What would you like me to sing?”

“Anything,” Geralt grunted, and he was amazed at how easy it was to form the word and give it voice. It was as simple as if he were just talking to himself or to Roach.

“Tell me if you’ve heard this one,” the bard grinned and launched into a slow, winding epic. His voice, surprisingly high pitched and yet, still able to sing such deep notes, coiled around Geralt and he let his eyes fall shut to fully appreciate it.

“So,” Jaskier began some time later, once Geralt was all patched up and he’d finished a few songs, “should I ask about your sudden – and much delayed – appreciation for my voice, or are we not talking about it?”

Geralt chuckled. “You got me used to – well, you. Silence feels weird now, without your chatter filling it.”

“My chatter!? That was some of the finest singing you’ve ever heard!” Jaskier swept his arms out, huffing in indignation. “My chatter. I will have you know, Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde, my chatter is the highest caliber chatter you could ask for!”

Geralt sighed, regretting telling Jaskier about the name Geralt had originally chosen. Vesemir had vetoed all but his first name, and Geralt was vaguely grateful for that.

Especially because Jaskier insisted on butchering the pronunciation in the worst ways possible.

[ejzah]

@mashmaiden requested a fic using the following prompt, preferably in an early season: Whumpee is feeling sick at work, but the colleagues don't take him seriously. They're even making fun of him. So the whumpee tries to hide how bad he is and wants to tough it out, but he can’t focus on his work and makes mistakes. The colleagues are jerks and keep mocking poor whumpee, until he just collapses in front of them.

A/N: I might not have followed it to the letter, but hopefully it’s still ok. Set in season 2.

***

Infected

“Shake a leg, Deeks!” Sam shouted as Deeks hauled himself out of a ditch, leaving behind the remains of a burnt out SUV.

“A little help might be nice!” he shouted back. Sam just chuckled, crossing his arms and watching as Deeks struggled to climb the muddy slope while carrying several evidence bags and a camera.

Callen came to stand beside Sam and peer down at Deeks, looking vaguely interested.

“You’re still down there?” Deeks bit back a nasty retort and finally pulled himself out. His right arm protested the abuse, aching and burning.

“Hey, I was shot last week, remember?” he said, not completely able to keep the whine from his voice. Sam rolled his eyes as he started walking back to the Challenger.

“Deeks, it was a graze. I’ve gotten worse paper cuts.”

“You know, if I wanted to be treated terribly, I’d go back to LAPD.”

“Is that a promise?” Callen asked, tossing another evidence back towards him. Deeks caught it and once again, his arm twinged. It actually felt worse than it had this morning, burning at the slightest movement, the surrounding skin uncomfortably tight.

“Your concern is touching,” Deeks joked. “I’m gonna find Kensi.”

“Maybe she’ll kiss your boo boos for you!” Sam called to him, snickering as Deeks walked away.

***

Deeks peeled the white bandage off his upper arm, wincing as even that small movement caused a significant amount of pain. He had the sleeve of his t-shirt rolled out of the way and frowned at the reddened skin he’d just revealed.

The original wound had been about three inches long, not too deep, but enough that he’d needed stitches. He’d thought it was healing well, but a few days ago it had started hurting more and developed a red tinge around the edges. This morning the whole thing had looked swollen and now it was bright red, hot to the touch and something nasty was seeping from beneath the stitches.

He grabbed a couple tissues and wiped the liquid away with a grimace, trying not to think too much about the yellowish color.

“Deeks, what are you doing in there?” Kensi shouted through the restroom door.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, hastily throwing away the used bandage and replacing it with a bandaid. It probably wasn’t the best idea, especially since he’d forgotten to grab the prescription strength cream he was supposed to apply whenever he changed the dressing.

Kensi made an exasperated sound and pounded on the door a couple times.

“God, I swear you spend more time in their than any woman I know. Hurry up, Eric has an update.”

Deeks bit back a sarcastic retort and yanked his sleeve down, spinning around. A wave of unexpected nausea rocked through him and he felt both cold and hot at once. He took several deep breathes until he felt less like throwing up, conscious of Kensi impatiently waiting on the other side.

“What were you doing, touching up your roots?” Kensi asked when he came out, snorting at her own joke.

“Well, one of us has to look pretty,” he said, fluffing his hair. Kensi rolled her eyes and pushed him down the hallway.

“Now that, is a hilarious joke.” She looked at him suspiciously as they walked upstairs. “You’re not sick, are you?” she asked.

“Of course not.” He debated telling her about his arm, but he didn’t feel like giving Callen and Sam more fuel. Hell, they probably thought he was a wuss for going to the hospital in the first place.

“You look a little...off.” When he just shrugged off her concern, she sighed. “Well, if you’re coming down with some kind of stomach bug, you better not give it to me.”

“It’s wonderful to know I work with such caring people,” he commented and Kensi smacked his arm. Fortunately it was his left or he probably would have made a very unmanly sound.

“Is Deeks still griping about his arm?” Sam asked as they walked into the OPS center.

“Actually, I think he fell asleep in the bathroom,” Kensi replied, smirking in Deeks’ direction. She crossed her arms, clearly waiting for a response, but he merely glared weakly, concentrating on tamping down the latest wave of nausea.

The walk upstairs had left him feeling weak and shaky. He went to stand by the table, using it to support himself. Was the room always so hot? Hetty needed to invest in better air conditioners.

“Deeks!” Kensi hissed, jabbing him with her elbow. She nodded at Eric who was talking about...something. Kensi jabbed him again and he grunted. A drop of sweat trickled down the middle of his back, adding to the overall feeling of awfulness.

He must have tuned out again because the next thing Kensi was standing right in front of him, her slightly blurry face filled with concern.

“Deeks, are you ok?” She repeated, no humor in her voice this time.

“Actually, I’m not feeling very good,” he admitted weakly. He swayed suddenly and Kensi steadied him. Sam and Callen joined her, the case forgotten as they both stared at him.

“You do not look good, man,” Callen observed and Deeks glared malevolently, feeling clammier by the moment. His hand trembled as he leaned heavily against the table. Naturally Kensi noticed and grabbed him by the shoulders, directing him towards a chair.

He couldn’t hold back a groan as she pressed directly on his wound, the pain radiating down his arm. She brushed the back of her knuckles across his forehead, her frown increasing.

“He definitely has a fever,” she said, turning to Sam and Callen, effectively excluding him from the conversation.

“You know I’m not dead yet,” he muttered irritably.

“Do I need to call an ambulance?” Eric asked, already reaching for his headset.

“No,” Deeks said more loudly. The last thing he needed was to be taken away in an ambulance over a little fever. “I think my scar is just a little infected.”

“A little?” Sam repeated, taking a peek under Deeks’ sleeve. He ignored Deeks’ futile attempts to push his hands away and yanked the large bandaid off. Somehow Deeks wished he would make another joke, but he just looked concerned. “This looks like the beginning stages of sepsis.”

Kensi leaned over to get a better look and made a sound that pretty much summed up how Deeks was feeling.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” she asked and Deeks couldn’t tell if she was angry or concerned.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” he said honestly. Ok, he knew it wasn’t great, but definitely not sepsis level.

“You need to get this taken care of before the infections spreads or your temp goes up.”

“Can’t you just left me stay here to die in peace?” Deeks begged, closing his eyes and pressing his palms over the sockets.

“I thought you said it wasn’t that bad,” Callen reminded him. He was smirking. Deeks knew it even without seeing him.

“That was before my head started pounding.” He groaned again and felt Kensi’s hand settle on the back of his neck. She started stroking his skin in a soothing rhythm.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?” Eric asked again.

“Nah, I’ll take him in,” Kensi said, reaching for Deeks’ uninjured arm. “C’mon partner, let’s go get your pus drained.” Deeks grimaced as he laboriously got to his feet.

“If you don’t want me to throw up, I suggest you stop talking about pus,” he warned her

“You even think about throw up in the SUV, I’m making you walk to the hospital.” Despite her words, she wrapped her arm around his back and let him lean against her.

“I knew you loved me.”

“You’re lucky that your all sweaty and pitiful looking right now,” Kensi retorted with a hint of cheerful menace in her voice.” As they slowly walked through the sliding doors, Callen called after them,

“Try not to kill him before you get to the ER.”

***

A/N: I may have expedited the symptoms of mild sepsis just a touch. And naturally, Sam knows what sepsis looks like.

[immortalcockroach]

Hi I love your writing. If you are open to fic requests then can I please request a bellarke fic- Octavia disappears and Instead of a team decision, Bellamy wants to strategize with Clarke alone like they did in the past, leaving the skaikru feeling both left out and nostalgic. Or even after events of season 6 Clarke is still feeling left out by the others and this time Bellamy openly supports and defends her. Honestly would love any bellarke fic by you. Thank you!

thank you so much dear anon ♡ sorry this isn’t EXACTLY what you asked for but!! i might be writing a follow-up fic which addresses the skaikru’s reception of bellamy’s absolute trust in clarke (and more on clarke’s own post-s6 mental state)

I’M NOT FINE, I’M CAUGHT BETWEEN THE LINES THAT I DON’T SEE

summary:  Is there a way to win? Is it a pointless game, and they lose the moment they decide to play? Wouldn’t it be easier to fall back, be a pawn, at mercy of others’ will?

  ‘I couldn’t save her,’ he whimpers. His lips touch her warm skin, and it’s wet with his tears. ‘I couldn’t save anyone.’

  He shatters, but she doesn’t let him scatter the pieces.

---

or, bellamy seeks clarke's comfort when octavia disappears.

pairing: Bellamy x Clarke

words: ~4,600

read on AO3

Bellamy’s world has shattered.

  He is walking to Sanctum, Echo and Gabriel following his trail carrying the unconscious mystery girl on a makeshift stretcher. Bellamy tried doing it, but his hands gave in.

  He apologized, only it didn’t mean much. Echo tried talking to him yet he couldn’t hear a thing. He felt her cold fingers on his cheek, as if through a glass layer. All he could hear was the chipper of crickets, birds chirping, the forest living on as if everything was still the same.

  He screamed her name into the empty air, to no avail. There was no one to hear it.

  ‘She’s gone,’ Gabriel said.

  Bellamy didn’t know if that meant missing or dead. He didn’t want to ask.

  ‘We’re going back to Sanctum, now,’ he instructed, moments after the meaning of Gabriel’s words had dawned on him. ‘I need to talk to someone.’

  Again, Echo called his name, but he couldn’t. Eventually, she fell quiet, and they walked in silence.

  They have been walking in silence for hours now, stopping for a water break every now and then. Bellamy keeps to himself, ahead of the two. His head is spinning a little and there is a buzz within his mind that he can’t get rid of, and the prickling behind his eyes isn’t letting him have peace, either. There’s little left of his nails. He turns at every sound that isn’t a human voice, for nothing to be there.

  He doesn’t call out her name anymore. He knows she isn’t here.

  On the stretcher, the mystery girl is still out cold. Echo suggests they try waking her up again, and Gabriel counters, saying he wants to do it in a more controlled environment. The Old Man gives Bellamy a side-eye.

  It couldn’t have been Bellamy’s fault if he injured her. When he couldn’t find Octavia, he walked back inside and grabbed the girl by the shoulders, shaking her violently in an effort to wake her up. Gabriel and Echo tried stopping him—‘You’re going to cause irreparable damage to her brain, we don’t know what she’s been through!’—yet he didn’t. Not until they physically dragged him away and Gabriel clocked him in the jaw.

  ‘It’s about my sister,’ Bellamy hissed.

  Gabriel held an arm across Bellamy’s chest, pushing him outside the tent. The face of a stoic was only slightly disrupted, his teeth showing and his brows furrowed – eyes stern, but kind, and Bellamy hated that he was calm enough to notice that.

  ‘If you want to find your sister,’ Gabriel said in a low voice, ‘you have to make sure the girl is able to wake up.’

  ‘That’s what I was trying to do!’

  Bellamy pushed the arm off his chest and took a step back. His eyes fell onto the entrance into the tent, but he couldn’t see anything. Echo didn’t come out, to his defense, and he couldn’t help but feel hurt.

  He couldn’t think straight. There was only one thing on his mind.

  Gabriel followed Bellamy’s eyes, and when he looked back at the curly-haired man, his eyes were softer again, brows relaxed. ‘You could’ve killed her, Bellamy. The information she has is too valuable for us to handle the whole thing so carelessly.’

  Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, gripping it when his fingers got tangled in the greasy curls.

  ‘She has my sister.’ His voice broke at the last word.

  Eventually, Gabriel managed to calm him down, and now he’s warning him not to make it messy again. It’s getting dark and they’re back on their way, less than a quarter of an hour away from Sanctum.

  Now that Octavia is gone, Bellamy feels as if his entire world has shifted. They haven’t been able to reach anyone over the comms, meaning that once they arrive at Sanctum, where everyone is still recovering from the battle against the Primes, they will have to deliver the news.

  It’s going to be fun. ‘Hey everyone, we activated the Anomaly, then this psycho appeared out of thin air, mumbled some shit and stabbed Octavia, who then disappeared, and the psycho fell into a coma.’

  Almost, almost, it makes Bellamy crack a smile. The kind that’s more sad, than anything else. He can’t believe how twisted this is, and how it’s been getting worse since the beginning.

  They’re let into Sanctum. Gabriel is the one who talks to the guards. They have questions about the girl and he tells them it’s not their place to ask. Echo says nothing. The guards are off and they’re back on their way, Bellamy six feet ahead.

  He’s way too distressed to pay attention to what’s happening around him. He can feel his heart beating inside his chest, his fingers, his ears, behind his eyes, everywhere. It’s like a constant reminder of time moving, and Octavia being gone for longer, and them not having a clue as to what’s happening. His vision is getting hazy and his breath irregular, but he controls it. He keeps it down. He ignores the fact that his fingers are getting cold.

  He pushes it all down, and instead searches the premises as they approach the heart of Sanctum.

  The place is empty, almost. There are guns and bullet holes and bullet jackets, and blood where dead bodies were. His stomach churns at the sight, and he realises he hasn’t eaten since early this morning.

  Whatever hope he has, he feels it slipping through his fingers.

  ‘Go talk to Eric Jackson,’ he instructs Gabriel, once he gathers enough strength and focus to think clear. ‘He’ll know best how to help out with the…the girl.’

  ‘All right. As soon as there’s any change, you’ll be the first to know.’

  Gabriel nods to Echo, who doesn’t budge. The girl has been put on the ground as they discuss what to do, and it’s kind of a disgusting sight for Bellamy. She doesn’t look like an assassin at all, yet…

  Echo calls for his attention. ‘Don’t make any plans until I’ve joined you guys.’

  She doesn’t understand, he realises, and somehow, he isn’t surprised. He looks at over and he can barely discern her expression in the late evening light, as the suns have begun to set. It’s certainty, almost, but there’s something off about it. Something he can’t place his finger on, but it’s bothering him.

  He shakes his head in response, eyes locked on hers. ‘I’m not going to talk to them. You go with Gabriel, make sure he and Jackson are all set. Wait for me at Raven’s. You can fill them in on what happened.’

  ‘And what are you about to do?’

  ‘There’s someone else I need to talk to first.’

  Echo parts her lips, but before she can say anything, Gabriel tells her they need to get moving before people start asking questions. Bellamy looks away from the two; the image of confusion turning into bitter betrayal in Echo’s eyes is something he can’t deal with at the moment.

  He leaves before they do. If Echo has any questions, concerns, or complaints, she can present them to him at a later date.

  In the heart of Sanctum, his eyes can’t find what they’re looking for. It’s difficult to even concentrate – his legs are moving, arms swinging at a normal pace, breath stable enough to not raise a single concern; yet he can hardly see what’s right in front of him. Instead, he sees blood, and a dagger, and feels the weight of Octavia’s limp body in his empty hands. He hears her gasp and he hears the dagger ripping through the cloth, then the skin, then the muscle—

  Someone whistles not far from him, high-pitched enough to get him out of his daze. Step by step, he makes it to the palace, and knocks on it.

  People died here. He can smell the blood. He can feel the chaos burning, and he knows he should be running as far away from this place as possible. He’s had enough death; enough violence to last him until the end of his days.

  Eyes flutter. There is the white noise, back in his ears, and he feels the weight on his arm resting against the stone wall become heavier.

  If he closes his eyes…maybe he’ll wake up in a better place.

  ‘Bellamy?’

  A better place would be nice.

  ‘Shit, Bellamy, are you okay?’

  Out of nowhere, there are hands on his face, and they’re so warm they feel like safety. His eyes are lazy, and it takes them a while to move, and by the time they find the face in front of him, the person has already begun pulling him into the palace.

  She talks, they walk, he barely stands on his feet. The couch is comfortable and so is the glass of water she brings. He can’t answer one of her many questions; she stops asking them.

  They sit in silence.

  Bellamy’s chest heaves in a slow beat, fingers tingling with tiny needles. Some time passes before he becomes aware of the glass in his hand, or the way the glass feels cold beneath his fingertips. He becomes aware of the soft, brown light coming from candles around him; it’s non-intrusive, almost welcoming. All he can hear is his own heartbeat. It’s deafening.

  He sips on the water and keeps his eyes on his lap. There is nothing on his mind.

  Nothing.

  For the first time in god knows how long.

  There is a feeling of warmth, yet it feels odd; it reminds him of when he was a kid, freezing, and his mom would knit him a sweater and he’d put it on. It’s a feeling too particular to put into words, or let him understand why he’s feeling it right now.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  The voice is raspy, loaded with emotion. Next to him, Clarke is sitting with a hand on his back, rubbing it in circles, slowly. He looks over, because he can’t respond, and he sees her.

  She looks tired. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, messy as it has been for as long as he’s known her. There’s a concerned smile playing in the corners of her lips, but she looks tired. The light makes the bags under her eyes bigger, her skin a sickly pale colour. She doesn’t look okay.

  Neither does he.

  Bellamy shakes his head. The past flashes before his eyes, and for a moment, he backs away. He doesn’t know why he came here. They were at odds not too long before, so many times—

  Her hand falls from his back and she pulls back into her shell, making some space between them on the couch.

  An apology passes over his lips. ‘There’s just... It’s not over, Clarke. We’re not safe.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Her voice is calm and collected but he can hear the exasperation in it because he feels it, too.

  Bellamy buries his head in his hands. He doesn’t cry–he doesn’t feel like he has the energy to–and he doesn’t say anything, either. Clarke’s presence is too big for him not to be aware of at any moment, and he revels in it. For a moment, he pretends the circumstances are different, and they’re back on Earth, in that forest, and he’s asking her to run away with him. They’re in Arkadia, and he’s writing her name on that list.

  When will the universe stop torturing them?

  ‘What happened?’

  So he tells her. He tells her everything as if it happened to someone else, not him. It’s distanced, it's objective, and it’s emotionless.

  If he will feel anything even a little stronger, he is going to break. He'll break and he’ll shatter and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to pick himself back up.

  By the end, the tremble of his body is cold to the core of his heart. There’s a great distance between Clarke’s hand and his back, even though they’re touching. The room is big and massive and enormous and he feels small, minuscule, invaluable.

  ‘Bellamy—’

  Who am I if can’t even protect my own sister?

  Clarke pulls him into a hug. He feels her smell, the fresh earthly scent mixed with the otherness of the palace, and he feels her hair, soft against his cheeks, and he feels the warmth of her arms around his torso, and he feels his own breath off her neck, and he feels the room getting back to the normal size, and he feels the tightness around his head and neck and heart and he…he just feels.

  Clarke’s fingers in his hair, tugging gently. She’s going through it with care and affection, and he melts into her. ‘I've got you, Bellamy’ he hears her whisper into the crown of his head. ‘I’ve got you.’

  ‘Who am I if I can’t even protect my own sister?’

  Clarke pulls him closer and he breaks; he shatters.

  Time ceases to exist. He’s a chaos of tears and sobs and cries and he holds on to Clarke for dear life. There are thoughts, too many to count, yet he can’t comprehend a single one. He gets warm, and sweaty, and Clarke takes off his jacket, and she doesn’t let go of him. He cries for what feels like hours, or seconds, or another eternity.

  Bellamy thinks of the Ark, and how he betrayed his mom’s trust, and he lost everything. He thinks of the Earth and all the battles they fought, and how he lost himself more than once, and how it was Clarke who kept him sane. He remembers when he lost Octavia, more than once, and how he somehow managed to get her back – but it wasn’t the same. It kept getting worse and worse, until he thought they were past the point of forgiveness. They’d travelled through space and planets and he kept losing the people he cares about, betraying their trust, hurting them when everything he does feels like a mistake.

  Is there a way to win? Is it a pointless game, and they lose the moment they decide to play? Wouldn’t it be easier to fall back, be a pawn, at mercy of others’ will?

  ‘I couldn’t save her,’ he whimpers. His lips touch her warm skin, and it’s wet with his tears. ‘I couldn’t save anyone.’

  He shatters, but she doesn’t let him scatter the pieces.

  ‘You tried to save everyone,’ Clarke says, quietly. ‘You did what you thought was the best choice. We both did.’

  ‘It wasn’t enough.’

  ‘I know.’ Clarke clears her throat. He feels her shoulders tremble a little. ‘But we did all we could.’

  He understands her words, and it makes him calm down a little. She isn’t sugarcoating things, lulling him into a lie that everything they did was right and that everything will be okay. That isn’t how life works, and he has accepted that many times before.

  They might never get their peace. At this point, he’s questioning if they even deserve it.

  Bellamy gathers enough strength to pick himself up, as best as he can. When they part, his face is smeared in salty tears and the skin beneath his eyes is throbbing a little, same with his temples. His lips are cold, now that the heat of Clarke’s neck against them is gone. He can still feel the stiff material of Clarke’s shirt on his fingertips, and her body underneath it. Rationally, he knows he shouldn’t be holding on to her like this – rationality be damned, buried deep within the confines of his mind.

  His eyes look up, and he finds Clarke gazing into the distance. Her face is illuminated by the candlelight, softening her sharp edges. It gives her a delicate, almost otherworldly glow; an angel of death. He can see her cheeks glistening, mirroring his own, and her lower lip trembles with barely-audible breaths passing over it. He can’t tell if it’s her complexion, or just who she is, but she looks older than the universe, worn out by the burdens she keeps on carrying.

  They are a mirror image of one another.

  ‘When will be able to stop fighting?’

  He doesn’t remember which one of them asks the question. The silence that encompasses the two of them is heavy, loaded with emotion, as it always is – yet Bellamy finds comfort in it.

  He is too worn out for hope; too much time wasted believing the universe could be kind to them. She understands this feeling in a way nobody else does.

  When Bellamy’s hand reaches for hers, he doesn’t question it. It’s warm, small, and fits right into his.

  Clarke inhales, sharply. ‘We’re going to figure out a way to find Octavia. When the girl wakes up, we’ll get some answers. Gabriel’s knowledge about the Anomaly will help. We’ll get her back, one way or another.’

  We’re not going to talk about the big picture, he hears her say in his mind, and he agrees to put it aside – for now.

  She squeezes his hand and he returns the gesture. ‘I know.’

  Neither of them makes false promises. Instead, they start to develop a plan to ensure Octavia’s return, if possible, and further investigation into the Anomaly – because now, it is a threat. They make food as they do this, both of them moving around the kitchen in the basement. Bellamy comes back to life a little, smiling every now and then, and Clarke seems to relax as he does. They work well together – it’s almost as if nothing has changed.

  They’re at the camp again, taking care of the kids from the sky, and they’re working together to ensure their survival.

  Nothing that happened in-between now and then matters. All of the squabbles, fights, none of it. She is still the same person he risked his sister’s life for, when they thought there was no way of Octavia losing the villainous side of her.

  They sit down, for food, each of them having lasagna on their plate. Clarke says she learned the recipe from Josephine’s memories, and it surprisingly doesn’t taste like the devil had a hand in it.

  Not long into having settled down at the table, taking a small break from everything that is going on, Bellamy’s thoughts begin to spiral again.

  ‘What has the lasagna ever done to you?’ The soft smile on the blonde’s face walls when Bellamy doesn’t take his eyes off his plate. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Everything, Bellamy thinks. I’m sitting here, eating lasagna, chatting with Clarke, and Octavia is—

  The fork falls out of his grip. The sound makes both of them flinch, and it’s the thing that gets Bellamy out of his daze. He clears his throat, still looking at the pale brown food in front of him. It looks and tastes delicious, but he’s too many worlds away to be able to enjoy it.

  ‘Everything happens so fast to us,’ he says, quietly. The fork moves around the lasagna, but he doesn’t pick any of it up. ‘From the moment we landed on the ground, back on Earth, things haven’t stopped happening. There’s periods when they slow down, but they never stop. We never get to rest.’

  He thinks she’ll say something, but she doesn’t. Her fork clinks against her plate, too, and the silence that befalls them is a different kind of heavy.

  ‘It’s always fighting. It’s always impossible decisions, people we love getting hurt and then us getting the blame for not doing enough, or doing the wrong thing. No matter what we do, it’s always wrong. It’s always bad. And we can’t—we can’t win. It changes us, the whole thing, but it doesn’t give us time to adapt to what’s happening. We’re never ready for what’s coming. It’s always… I don’t know. I feel like I keep making the wrong choice, every single time.’

  Bellamy swallows the rest of his thoughts because, when he looks at Clarke, he sees her with silent tears rolling down her cheeks and eyes piercing directly into his.

  It’s too much, almost. He opens his mouth to say something but there’s nothing he could say to make things better. The way she feels is the same as him, and he sees it behind the tears and behind the blues – he sees the same agony, the same thoughts that eat him up from the inside.

  It anchors him into the ground.

  ‘There’s never a right choice,’ Clarke says quietly.

  ‘Clarke… I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘No, you’re right.’ She sniffles; runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head.  ‘You’re right. No matter what we do, people get hurt. What’s the alternative?’

  For a heartbeat, Bellamy is silent. ‘I don’t know. I can’t think right now.’

  ‘People trust us, Bellamy. They believe we can help them.’

  ‘But we can’t.’

  ‘Is that what you really think? Do you think there’s someone else who is ready to do whatever it takes to save our people?’

  Hands on the table, Bellamy leans back in his chair. The white noise in his ears is back, and his chest heaves with difficulty, and a sigh escapes him. ‘I’m tired, Clarke. I’m tired of having to be the one to risk losing everything.’

  ‘Do you want peace? Is that it? To live on your own, far away from anything happening, because you’re tired of being the person your people look up to?’

  The answer is instantaneous. ‘Yes.’ She doesn’t even know how right she is – yet deep down, he knows it’s not true. He knows she’s longing for the exact same thing.

  He doesn’t know who he pities more – himself, who is weak and miserable at the idea of his life remaining the same, or Clarke, who is in denial.

  ‘Is that what Octavia would’ve wanted for you?’

  ‘You’ve got no right—’

  ‘No, Bellamy, listen. You’re not a quitter. You’re not someone who can just fall back and let people fight this shit on their own. Yes, we’ve made a few mistakes, a few choices that some can’t forgive us for, but we did it for a reason. Are we here, alive?'

  Not all of us, is what he almost says, but he stops himself at the right moment. Abby is one of those they didn't manage to save.

  'Are we still breathing?’ 

  Clarke gives him a pointed, aching look, and he knows what she means. It was centuries ago when he said it, but it’s a moment ingrained in his memory – and hers, it seems.

  They’re still breathing – there’s still hope.

  Bellamy rises from his chair. ‘I need some air.’

  ‘I’m coming with.’

  ‘Clarke—’

  ‘It’s not up for debate.’ Her voice is stern and he knows this is a battle he can’t win.

  They put the food in the fridge and place all the plates and cutlery into the sink, all in silence. When they get their jackets, they’re silent, too, and they don’t talk once they’re out of the palace, either.

  Bellamy’s chest is heavy. There are a million thoughts going through his head and he is trying to push away the concern for Octavia—all it’s doing is making him nauseous—and put his erratic mind back in place. Soon enough, they are out of the central area, and things get a little quieter. There are crickets chirping, and he can hear the sounds from the woods, and it’s yet another stark reminder of days buried in the past. Clarke is still by his side, as quiet as he is. Their feet rumbling through the grass and fallen leaves make a rhythmic sound, almost mesmerising – like a clock, almost.

  A clock that’s counting down until the next bad thing.

  Realistically, Bellamy knows that time both is and isn’t of the essence in this particular situation. Gabriel has spent decades studying the Anomaly, yet he has no explanation for what just happened. He’d never even seen someone come back from it prior to Octavia, mere days ago. The girl from the Anomaly is asleep and once she’s awake, or there’s been changes to her status, Gabriel will let him know. Bellamy is certain he’ll know where to find him, more than possibly anyone else in Sanctum. He doesn’t fully understand the relationship between him and Josephine, but he knows that everything that’s happened since Josephine took over Clarke’s body gave him enough information to know where Bellamy would go in times like these.

  It’s something not even Bellamy himself could properly explain, or even understand. The way he is drawn to Clarke is different from anything else he’s experienced in life.

  He feels a little calmer now. Their footsteps still associate with a clock, but there’s nothing he can do. There’s no time for rash decisions, and they pretty much already know what the next steps are going to be, and how they are going to go about this whole situation.

  Bellamy listens to Clarke breathing. It’s mesmerising, almost, in sync with every two steps she takes. His steps are a little smaller than usual, but hers are always bigger than average, and the way their steps go together brings back some warmth into his heart. Their hands are in their pockets, but they bump elbows from time to time, and when they do, it reminds Bellamy he’s not alone in all this. He’s aware of her presence in a way that he usually isn’t – it’s therapeutic. Relaxing.

  His anxiety has eased its grip on him. The fresh air and the walk have been helping silence the pandemonium inside his mind, but he knows it wouldn’t have worked as well if Clarke wasn’t by his side.

  When he looks over at her, her face is in a deep state of thought. He can see it in the crinkles of her eyes and above her forehead as she looks into the distance, nowhere in particular; he sees it in the slight purse of her lips and one side of her lips slightly tugged upwards; it’s in her shoulders high and closer to her neck, and her chest rising and falling faster than it usually does.

  Bellamy’s heart lies easier now.

  ‘You were right, Clarke. I’m not tired of helping people,’ he begins. ‘I’m tired of them not realising how difficult it is. I’m tired of putting the people I love at risk, and losing them. I’m tired of having to think not only for myself, but for everyone else, but I can’t help it. You were right – it’s who I am. And you know better than everyone how heavy it can get sometimes.’

  ‘When you feel like there’s nothing you can do.’ She looks at him and her face is open for him to read; the pain, the anger, the love – all of it. ‘Like you have chains that are anchoring you to the ground and you watch the world go up in flames.’

  All he can give in return is a nod. They continue walking in silence and that’s agreement enough; sometimes saying nothing bears more weight than any words could.

  ‘Bellamy?’

  ‘Hm?’

  They come to a halt near one of the main entrances into Sanctum, right where there is a pathway into the forest. A breeze is coming through the fence, and it sways the blonde strands framing Clarke’s face. She’s smiling; it’s kind and hopeful, something he hasn’t seen on her in a while.

  The silver light sheds some of the years of burdens that have taken a toll on her, and she looks her age. She looks what she would’ve looked like if she had a normal life.

  This, right there, is what warms Bellamy’s chest with a little hope that maybe they can get their peace, after all.

  ‘We’re going to get her back.’

  At last, a smile graces Bellamy's face.

[yahoo-shutdown-corner-blog]

2018 NFL Preview: With or without Andrew Luck, the Colts have a lot of work to do

Yahoo Sports is previewing all 32 teams as we get ready for the NFL season, counting down the teams one per weekday in reverse order of our initial 2018 power rankings. No. 1 will be revealed on Aug. 1, the day before the Hall of Fame Game kicks off the preseason.

(Yahoo Sports graphics by Amber Matsumoto)

Two Colts previews can be written: One with Andrew Luck, and one without. Neither is particularly rosy, but at least the first one would have some promise attached.

There’s no reliable prediction anymore about Luck. The Colts probably don’t know. When “Andrew Luck finally throws a football” is legitimate news in mid-June, you know how weird the whole ordeal became. Maybe Luck looks as good as ever this season, maybe he’s a shell of himself, maybe he has a setback and doesn’t play at all. We’ll have to wait and see. There have been too many optimistic predictions from the Colts to rely on those anymore. Anyone who says they know what to expect from Luck is lying.

The Colts’ biggest issue is Luck, but a healthy return wouldn’t fix everything. The defense allowed Brock Osweiler to have one of the best games by any quarterback in 2017. The offensive skill-position group is T.Y. Hilton and not much else. The Colts averaged 4.6 yards per play (tied for last in NFL) and allowed 5.7 yards per play (tied for second-to-last in NFL), a staggering minus-1.1 yards per play differential. To put that in perspective, the 0-16 Cleveland Browns were minus-0.2.

While Josh McDaniels deserves to get ripped for how he left the Colts hanging, and his reasons for staying in New England still seem dubious, you can understand the conspiracy theory that he realized how bad the Colts look on paper and got cold feet. And the Colts’ immediate future is even worse if Luck doesn’t come back to form.

[Yahoo Fantasy Football leagues are open: Sign up now for free]

This will take new coach Frank Reich and general manager Chris Ballard a while. They know that. The roster is really young. The Colts didn’t do much in free agency, signing some low-cost veterans to fill some gaps. They had 11 draft picks (six in the top 104, including fantastic guard Quenton Nelson at No. 6), and a large number of them might have to play immediately. There was no reason for the Colts to continue the charade that Luck’s return would restore them to a playoff team. This is a rebuild, and they’re going to be prudent about it.

The Reich hire at least went as well as could be expected, given that messy situation. The move was received well after the McDaniels fiasco. While that might be wishful thinking, it’s not a bad idea to test that Doug Pederson tree. If Reich can bring some of the more innovative and aggressive ways of the Eagles’ offense to Indianapolis it could be a huge help to Luck if he … well, you know.

There has been such drastic turnover of the roster since Ballard took over in January of 2017 that most of the Colts haven’t even played with Andrew Luck. He should be the one thing the Colts can depend on, but we all know by now that’s not the case.

Indianapolis Colts quarterback Andrew Luck didn’t play all last season due to shoulder surgery. (AP)

Given where the Colts are as a franchise, I had no problem with their offseason. They gave out only two multi-year deals in free agency: Defensive end Denico Autry (three years, $17.8 million) and tight end Eric Ebron (two years, $13 million). They didn’t overpay to keep players like receiver Donte Moncrief or cornerback Rashaan Melvin. The draft was solid, starting with guard Quenton Nelson (I’m a big fan of second-round linebacker Darius Leonard, too). If the Colts hit a home run with high-upside late-round receivers Deon Cain or Daurice Fountain that would be a tremendous help. This is what a rebuilding team’s offseason should look like.

GRADE: B

We all know what Andrew Luck can do when he’s right. The Colts are 43-27 with him under center. And the 2017 Colts were a little more competitive than their record showed. As NFL analyst Warren Sharp pointed out, the Colts trailed at the half in only six games. They went 2-7 in games they led at halftime. Sharp said the Colts are the only team in the past 27 years to lose at least seven games in which they led at halftime. Also, they led through the third quarter nine times. Sharp wrote the Colts were the only team to lose more than two games after leading through three quarters … and the Colts lost five of those games. Only six NFL teams lost more than once after entering the fourth quarter with the lead, according to Sharp. There are reasons the Colts couldn’t finish games, like a horrible secondary and an offense that lacked pop, but records in close games usually even out to about .500 over time. You’d figure Luck could help in that area.

You can fix only so many problems in one draft, but the Colts ignored a glaring need at cornerback. The Colts’ starting cornerback situation might be the worst in the NFL. Pierre Desir has rarely been healthy in his four seasons with three teams (13 career starts), and 2017 second-round pick Quincy Wilson showed little as a rookie. They’ll probably be the starters. Even in a division that doesn’t have the best passing offenses, the Colts might give up a ton of yards.

If Andrew Luck misses more time, at least the Colts have Jacoby Brissett. They stole him in a trade right before the season with the Patriots (it wasn’t even the lightest trade New England made with a backup quarterback last year) and he fared relatively well under difficult circumstances. Despite not joining the team until Sept. 2, Brissett started 15 games behind a terrible offensive line, without much help from the running game and an average-at-best receiving corps. He still posted an 81.7 rating and had some intriguing stretches. A lot of teams have backups worse than Brissett. The Colts just hope Brissett is their backup, and not starting again.

The Colts need to find difference makers on defense. Safety Malik Hooker has to be one. Hooker, last year’s first-round pick, looked like a big-time playmaker early last season, intercepting three passes in just seven games. Then he tore his ACL and MCL. The Colts’ no-name defense needs some names, and they need Hooker healthy. You don’t necessarily want your main building block on defense to be a free safety, but the Colts need to start building a foundation on that side of the ball.

From Yahoo’s Liz Loza: “Don’t draft Andrew Luck. Not because he won’t bounce back, but because you don’t need to take the risk. QB is ridiculously deep this year. For reference, Matt Stafford – who has posted top-eight fantasy numbers for three consecutive seasons – is available after Luck. Patrick Mahomes – a prospect brimming with upside – is going just ahead of the Colts’ signal caller. There is zero reason to gamble on Luck, not just because he hadn’t thrown “The Duke” for most of the offseason, but also because a quarter of his starts will come opposite the Jags and the Texans defensive units.”

[Booms/Busts: Fantasy outlook on the Colts.]

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The Colts have a rookie head coach. Here’s how many career games Frank Reich’s offensive, defensive and special teams coordinators have as coordinators in the NFL: 0. Offensive coordinator Nick Sirianni, defensive coordinator Matt Eberflus and special teams coordinator Raymond Ventrone all deserved a shot, as did Reich, but it’s startling to have first-timers in every key position on the staff. They’ll be coaching a Colts roster that will be among the youngest in the NFL. Maybe all that youthful exuberance will be a positive.

CAN THE RUNNING GAME TAKE SOME PRESSURE OFF THE QB?

Frank Gore is a great player, a true professional, but it was time to move on. The Colts, however, don’t have an easy replacement. Marlon Mack, a 2017 fourth-round pick, wasn’t bad last year but had 10 carries in a game only twice and averaged 2.4 yards per rush in those games. Nyheim Hines is an exciting rookie, but he’s more of a third-down playmaker than a foundation back. Jordan Wilkins might ultimately be the answer but he’s still a fifth-round pick who wasn’t considered an NFL starting-caliber back. The Colts could struggle to keep defenses honest with their run game, even with an upgraded offensive line.

The Colts never finished worse than 8-8 in Andrew Luck’s first five seasons, and those rosters had issues. If the Colts are just being extremely cautious and Luck is going to return good as new, we know what an impact he can have. The Colts were in many close games last season and just couldn’t finish. Perhaps Luck returns and the Colts bounce right back to contention in the AFC South. Honestly, Colts fans would probably settle for Luck returning and playing well, regardless of the team’s record.

What if Andrew Luck is never the same? To use a baseball analogy, maybe he goes from throwing 97 mph before his shoulder issues to throwing in the low 90s on his return (for you baseball fans, think Matt Harvey). The Colts shouldn’t go into this season thinking about the playoffs. The roster isn’t good enough. The real trouble arises if Luck returns but looks like just another guy.

I don’t know. The range of outcomes for Andrew Luck is so wide, it’s impossible to have a great answer. I think Luck plays, and plays fairly well. But the Colts’ roster is so thin, it won’t matter much. They’re going to be bad with or without Luck. Figure on double-digit losses no matter who is at quarterback, but the future looks tremendously brighter if Luck looks like himself in 2018. Fingers crossed.

32. Cleveland Browns

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Frank Schwab is a writer for Yahoo Sports. Have a tip? Email him at shutdown.corner@yahoo.com or follow him on Twitter! Follow @YahooSchwab

[beware-the-walkers]

Invasion of Alexandria

Words: 1691 Season: 6 Rating: T

Clary

"Carl!" I hear Clary's call, and I rush outside at the sound of her voice. "Carl!"

"Clary?" I ask, running down the stairs to meet her. "What's going on? Is it over?"

"No, not close," she pants. "Is everything okay here? I heard a shot this way."

"It's okay," I reply. "We're okay."

"Just stay—"

Clary's cut off by a gunshot, and she falls against me. "Clary!" I cry, catching her. "Clary, oh god!"

I look over her shoulder to find one of the Wolves, immediately knowing that it was him that shot her. I swing my machine gun onto my shoulder, firing at the enemy through my hazy vision. He drops to the ground, and I drop my gun, dropping down beside Clary. "Someone help!" I yell, looking around for anyone. "Help!"

"Clary," I whisper, turning back to look at her. Her eyes are closed, blood quickly staining the back of her shirt. She's losing blood, and fast. I yell, "Help! Someone!"

"Carl!" I hear someone call, and look over my shoulder to see Aaron and Rosita running down the street, towards us.

"It's Clary!" I cry. "Please!"

Rosita takes my arm, pulling me to my feet as Aaron takes my place, picking her up. "Oh, Daryl's gonna be pissed," he mutters.

"Carl, get inside," Rosita orders. "You've got to protect Judith." I try to protest as she pushes me towards the stairs, but she cuts me off. "Just do it, Carl! You won't be any help in the infirmary!"

"Rosita, we gotta go!" Aaron cries. "She's losing a lot of blood!"

Rosita turns to leave, but I grab her arm before she can. "She's O-Positive!" I rush. "You got that? O-Positive!"

"Inside, now!" Rosita barks. I swallow my fear for Clary, turning and rushing inside, leaving my best friend and girlfriend's fate in their hands.

Aaron As I run towards the infirmary, Rosita covering us, my grip on Clary starts slipping. I stop for a moment, readjusting her in my arms. She lets out a moan of pain as I start running again, and I apologize, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Clary. Just hang in there."

We rush into the infirmary, stopping short when I realize that Denise is already dealing with Holly. "Oh, shit," Rosita breathes.

That's when Eugene steps up, pushing a gurney over. "I know what to do," he says. "Give her to me."

"Can you do this?" Rosita questions as I lay Clary down on the table. "Because if you can't, and she dies because she's lost a hell of a lot of blood, then you're dead. Nothing on earth will stop Daryl from killing you."

"What's her blood type?" Eric questions. "I'm O-Positive. If she's positive, she stands a chance."

"It's a damn good thing you're O," I say, looking up at him. "'Cause so is she." I look over at Eugene. "The bullet's still in there. This isn't just stitching her up. You've gotta take the bullet out." I kneel in front of Clary, gently tapping her cheek to try to get her to respond. "Clary, hey, Clary. You still with us?"

"Aaron?" she whispers, her eyes fluttering open to look at me.

"Hey, you're gonna be okay," I tell her. "Eugene's gonna take care of you. He knows what to do."

She closes her eyes, swallowing past the pain in her shoulder. "Rock of Ages."

"What?"

"She means me," Eugene says, kneeling beside me to face Clary. "Yeah?"

"No painkillers," she mutters. "Save 'em for the others."

"Clary," I tell her. "We have more than enough."

"Right now you do. I ain't gonna be the only one injured. Save 'em."

"Aaron, c'mon," Rosita says, taking my arm. "Eugene will take care of her. If he doesn't, I'll shoot him myself. The Wolves are still out there."

I hesitantly get to my feet, then turn and follow Rosita out. I put my faith in Eugene, praying that he knows what he's doing.

Eugene "Tara, I'm gonna need you to hold her down," I tell my assistant, as I get the supplies I'm going to need ready. "Clary, we've gotta get your shirt off. I can't see what I'm doing with it on."

"I should warn you," she whispers in reply. "My back, it's covered in scars from my dad 'n' the Governor. Don't be surprised."

I nod once, even though I know she can't see me, and Tara gently helps the youngest Dixon get her shirt off. "You ready?" I ask.

"Get it over with," Clary mutters. I wipe some of the blood away from her right shoulder, and Tara nods once, silently telling me that she has her hold on Clary. She lets out the scream of a child in pain as I try to dig the bullet out. I freeze, and she barks, "Keep going!"

When I finally get it out, she's on the edge of passing out. Tara gently taps her cheek, telling her, "Hey, he got it, Clary. It's out."

"Fan-friggin-tastic," comes her reply, and I chuckle at her wording. I grab the peroxide beside me, pouring some on her wound to clean it without warning. She lets out a yell, and Tara barks, "Stop it! You're hurting her!"

I pull the peroxide away, and Clary says, "Eugene."

"Yeah?" I inquire.

"Do what you need to," she orders. "I can take it."

I wipe the peroxide away, warning her that I'm about ready to start stitching her up. About a quarter of the way in, she passes out. "Shit," Tara says. "But she's still breathing. Keep going, Eugene."

"I'm kinda surprised she lasted this long," Eric remarks as he sets up the tube for the blood transfusion. "Especially with the blood loss."

"Really?" Tara says. "I thought she was going to last longer. But there is the blood loss to take into consideration."

"Eric," I say, glancing up at him. "Are you ready? She needs it, and soon or she'll go into shock."

"Yeah," he says, and I continue stitching Clary's wound as Tara gives him a hand hooking the tube up for the transfusion.

Carl As soon as I know for sure that everything's over, I take off, leaving Judith with Carol, and head straight for the infirmary. I ignore the bodies on the ground, jumping over one or two as I run across streets and push through yards. I find that Aaron beat me here, and I knew that Eric was heading here before it started. "How is she?" I ask, starting towards her.

"She'll be okay," Eric assures me, watching as I gently tuck a quilt over her, knowing how much she hates people seeing her back. I take a seat on the edge of the bed, putting my head in my hands. I look up when Aaron rests a hand on my shoulder, and he asks me, "What about you, Carl? Are you okay?"

I nod, looking between the two. "Thank you both. She's still alive because of you."

"More like Eugene," Eric says. "He was the one that took the bullet out, stitched her up. I just happened to be the same blood type."

"Really?" I question. "Eugene?"

Eric nods once, then gets to his feet. He walks out after taking another look at Clary, and Aaron follows him. I move to the chair Eric was sitting in, the closest to her, and lean back, waiting. I close my eyes, trying to relax a little, but open them when I hear her voice.

"Oh, that hurts a hell of a lot more than I thought it would."

"Cheyenne," I breathe, leaning forward. I kiss her forehead, looking down when her hand bumps mine. I take it, gently squeezing it. "I'm here. I'm here, Clary." I pull back, pressing my lips to her hand. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"How long have I been out?" she inquires, opening her eyes to look at me.

"Little over an hour."

"Were you here the whole time?"

"No. I got here about ten minutes ago. Aaron and Eric stayed with you. Aaron carried you here. You're really lucky Eric is O-Positive. Do you know Eugene stitched you up?"

"Yeah. If you see Aaron and Eric, tell 'em thanks for me."

"You're welcome," Aaron says, stepping inside.

Clary smiles at the sound of his voice, and he steps into her field of vision. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he says softly. He kneels beside her, brushing her hair back. "How do you feel? On a scale of one to ten?"

"I'm fine, Aaron."

"Clary."

"It hurts," she admits. "A lot. Ten being the worst, it's like a seven-point-nine. I still won't take any pain meds, though. I'm not getting caught off guard."

"I didn't think you would," Aaron tells her, sitting back down in the chair he was in when I arrived. "Try not to move your shoulder a whole lot. You don't want to tear the stitches."

"That, and it'll hurt like hell," I add.

"Also that," Aaron agrees. "But you should be good to get up, if you want."

"Give me a hand?" she requests. "One of you?"

I help her up, and she holds her arm to her chest, trying her hardest not to move it, as well as cover herself. I shrug my flannel shirt off, leaving me in a plain grey t-shirt, and help Clary put it on. "Better?" I question.

"Yeah," she says, wincing as she moves her injured arm while putting on my shirt.

"I think I have an idea," Aaron says. "Would you be against wearing a sling? It'd keep you from moving your arm, help it heal."

"Guess not," she replies, and Aaron turns, disappearing inside the closet. I look down at her to find her grinning, and knowing exactly what she's thinking, I tell her, "Clary, don't do it."

Aaron steps out of the closet, and Clary blurts out, "Wow, Aaron's out of the closet!"

"Oh, that's a new low," I sigh. "Especially for you. You're so short."

Aaron snorts, then grins at her. "Honestly, I'm glad you made that joke. It would've been a missed opportunity if you hadn't."