#Marc does not clean his nails.

[purple--queen]

Note: This belongs in the category: Things i have on my phone & would sink to the ground. Sunday night. short & sweet. nail polish. boys in love. It's just some domestic sweet shit.

Pairing: Clint/Marc

Warnings: none. Maybe bad grammatic and some words might be spelled wrong. I am to lazy to translate it.

It's sunday night.

Which means cheap beer. Cheap pizza. And bad reality TV. Marc dosen't know how they ended up like that, but he does not complain about it. He likes it. He likes the stupid domestic feeling. He likes that he feel like a normal dude, who can have a normal life and a normal relationship.

Well, so normal it can get, when one of them is fighting aliens doing the day time and the other fights vampires at nights.

But it works. It works horrific well.

"Which color?", Clint asks and holds up to bottles of nailpolish which looks exactly the same. He went through this with Marlene sometimes. She didn't wear nailpolish that often, but when she did she aksed him and was always annoyed, when he couldn't see the difference between the reds or the blues.

"And before you say anything. These are two different colors", Clint explains and Marc doubts it. They're both purple. Sure not as dark as the last purple Clint had on his nails, but still purple. "This looks good", he says and points at the bottle in Clint right hand. "You don't see the differnece huh?". It's a joking tone. Marlene would have rolled her eyes and saying something about men who don't care.

It is not, that he does not care.

He just doesn't matter.

He likes Clint hands no matter what color his fingernails are.

"It's both purple", Marc says and shrunks with his shoulders. "I don't blame you for not seeing it-", smiles clint. "i mean for a dude who is just wearing white 90 prozent of the time. It must be hard, to see it. Give me your hands"

And without even thinking about it Marc holds his hands toward Clint. Their is a ringing in his head, that feels familiar, but he just shakes it away. Khonshu isn't in his head anymore and he don't allow any throught about it.

Clint opens the first bottle and starts carefully to paint his nail. Their is a concentrated look in his eyes, that he normally has when he has a target to aim. Or when there is a dog he wants to pet.

It is a wierd feeling. He can feel that there is something on his nail and he wants to itch it away. It feels odd and he wonders if this feeling fades away. Clint never seems to care about that feeling. But Clint does this for a long time now, so probally he doesn't feel it anymore.

The first nail is done. Clint cloeses the bottle and opens the other one. He starts painting the other index finger. Again it is painited carefully. A calm hand and a focusing look. It flatters him, that Clint is doing his best to make it look good, even if he is going to wash it off the moment they have discussed the whole difference thing.

"And now we wait until it is dry" Clint smiles happyly and pleased with his work. "How long?" "Just a few minutes. You can shake your hands to make it faster", say Clint laughing and Marc rolles his eyes, but their is a small smirk on his face.

They start to watch the TV, with Clint complaining about the Bachelors bad decisions. By the end of the episode Clint says that he never wants to watch it again. They both know he don't mean it. He says it everytime and every Sunday he is watching it again.

"Lets see", says Clint and Marc holds up his hands. "Thats so pretty", Clint smiles and Marc sees it now. It's not a huge difference between these two, but it's enough to see it. "This one", he says wickels with his right hand. Clint smiles happyly and Marc wants to melt.

This all feels so unreal. Like a dream and at some point he will wake up in an empty bed, blood on his hands because he hadn't the energy to clean it, after coming home. He knows this won't last. He knows that Clint thinks the same. They're both terrible with relationships. But they try their best.

He watches Clint paining his own nails. The same concentrated look on his face, he had, when he did Marcs. "You want to help?", Clint asks, after finishing the left hand and gives him the bottle, without even waiting for an answer. "This won't look good", Marc complains but starts paining the thumb. "Don't worry. You can't fuck this up. I will clean it, if you color over the line", Clint laughs. "Oh good. This takes out the pressure", Marc answers. "When i started to help the girls in the circus, i would always put to much on the brush and i would hit the skin. It needed a lot of practis to get the right feeling for it."

"Of course you learned this for the girls", Marc says amusing. "Well their weren't a lot of boys who did this. I had to deal with what i was given" "Did it worked" "Well Mimi always gave me a kiss on the cheeks when i was done" "Sounds like it worked"

Clint has to fix some things and he has to clean of the polish from the skin. But their is a smile on his face that Marc wants to keep their. "You did good", says Clint happyly. "Thanks i tried my best", Marc smiles and closes the bottle.

Clint leans forward and presses a kiss on his cheek.

"Charmer".

[scrollonso]

Blessing — Marcmarc

“Say it.”

It’s intoxicating, the heavy smell of varnish and wood, sawdust and dead things, creationism made beautiful and pied beneath the holy glow of stained glass windows and the flickering tangerine lights of half-melted candles, a twinkling unity of shadow and dwindling flame, of fire.

“Hn–”

Of damnation.

“Say it, mi ángel.”

He used to think that he wanted to be good. Or wise, maybe, on the days when his heart failed him, succumbing to the predilections of mortality and iniquity, as humans are wont to do.

“Fuck y-you–”

It’s terrible, Marc thinks, this desire to love.

To love or to be loved, perhaps, he doesn’t know. But he does know touch, know taste, was baptized into a new life by sanctimonious hands that bestowed purity, proffered virtuosity, that dripped water made clean to wash away his sins and birth him anew in the golden light of God, a sinner made sacred within holy walls and the heady glow of colored glass backlit by the miracle of morning sun and the blessed promise of a new dawn, a new day.

“What was that, ángel?”

He was meant to be righteous, pure, the voice of God within priests’ robes, honorable by nature and impeccant by choice, encumbered by sin but stronger, stronger than the call of it, the sweet song of it, the decadence inherent to it.

“Y-You–”

He was also, Marc knows, meant for this, too — meant to push into this body, feel the warmth of it, the softness of it, meant to trace twitching wings with the blunt of his nail and kiss the sweat from maroon-stained collarbones, littered with the markings of humanity’s hand, of his hand, of lips that were destined to preach devotion and reverence now used to sully and stain that which is hallowed, is good, is pure.

The angel beneath him writhes, back arching against the floor of the basilica as his chest hitches with a sharp intake of air, lungs warmed with the thick weight of humidity and the breath Marc hums against his lips, chasing the way his name falls from the mouth of the divine, a creature of holiness, born from Heaven and sent to Earth to protect, to bless.

It’s only right, Marc thinks, that this miracle be worshipped properly.

He crooks his finger, watching with starry-eyed fascination as the being beneath him gasps, warm eyes clenching shut as a tremble skates across his skin, vast and downy against the colored floor of the cathedral — too perfect, Marc muses, to be seen by anything other than the flawless, glorious eyes of God.

God and himself.

It’s only right.

Marc's grin sharpens when he presses a second finger into the body laid out below him, watching wondrously as it welcomes him, opens for him, as it always does, back curving and chest stuttering at his touch, and it’s high enough of an honor that Marc feels cowed by it, humbled by it, made supplicant and reverent at the feeling of warm skin beneath his hands, unmarred and unscarred, inhuman in its faultlessness.

“Eres perfecto,” he whispers, voice lost and worthless beneath the echo of an angel’s unearthly moans reverberating across the basilica, the most beautiful choir Marc has ever heard, performed and made wanton by his hand, a hand sullied by sin and tainted by avarice, by humanity’s need to covet, to possess, to claim.

Surely, he thinks, he can’t be blamed for bowing at an altar made too perfect to neglect, for falling for eyes that shine too brightly to be compared to anything but the wide-ranging cosmos, for lips that curve around the words of his Spanish too beautifully, fluent in sounds and tongues Marc could never dare to comprehend. To remain abstinent in the face of heavenly excellence would be an insult to God, and Marc desperately wants to be a pious man, God-fearing and reverential of the power he has always known existed.

“M–Mar–!”

Three fingers, slow circles, and Marc doesn’t dare blink as the being gasps beneath him, wings fluttering dully against the floor, plush feathers catching on uneven floorboards and decorated tile. He can feel the press of irrevocable softness tickling his calf, skin adorned with fallen feathers and the holy glow that comes from being in the presence of something so divine, so lovely, spread out and beautiful around his fingers.

The angel’s lips fall open, mouthing the syllables of Marc's name, voice catching halfway through as his fingers fist the dark of Marc's robes, and Marc can only feel blessed as this creature comes from his fingers alone, skin flushed the color of sangria where Marc marked him, bit him — a pauper’s attempt to claim that which cannot be tainted, a being free from humanity’s bondage, but who still allows Marc to press his teeth to the base of his throat, nipping bruises across celestial collarbones and shoulders that were made to carry the burdens of the frail, that now carry lavish praise and all the reverence Marc can find it within himself to give.

How wondrous you are, mi ángel, Marc thinks, and he presses his fingers deeper, allows them to keep moving in slow, measured circles, drunk and dizzy on every whine and whimper that leaves heavenly lungs, drinking each reverberating noise as if it was ambrosia, as if it was wine, born from the body of Christ Himself and spilled into the cup of Marc's hand, the most beautiful sacrament to have ever been bestowed.

“Too much, it’s too much,” the angel groans, voice echoing within empty basilica walls as his wings bat against the floor in a flurry of hypersensitive agitation. “Marc–ah, you fu– Hm!”

Marc grins as he runs delicate fingers across the base of the being's collarbones, nails scratching lightly at delicate skin, massaging every inch that causes the angel to gasp, to whine, to breathe life to Marc's name, reverential lips forming the shape of Marc's soul in all the ways he never deemed himself worthy, the sweetest mercy humanity could possibly be gifted, hand-delivered to him by God’s own creation.

Mine, he wants to say, mine. To hold, to touch, to pleasure and to praise, to devour. Mine.

He’s on his back in an instant, elbow throbbing with the force used to catch himself, to stop his head from cracking into the pews behind him. He hears a breathless scoff, airy and wheezed despite its irritability, and his eyes flick up to catch a vision pulled directly from the colored windows that adorn the walls that hold him, that cradle him, that give him new life, new purpose, a sight written from biblical stories and dropped onto his lap in what surely must be a mirage, a hallucination, some otherworldly phantom destined to exist beyond the realm of Marc's comprehension.

Golden brown eyes burn their way across Marc's skin, flitting from his hair to his robes to his hands, and Marc only just restrains himself from reaching up and touching, from running his fingers back over wings that span almost the entire length of the transept, that catch the radiance of the stained glass windows around them and gleam beneath their colors, a cascade of dusk-illuminated refulgence and splendor.

The angel steps toward him, bending low so his finger can hook around the clerical collar at Marc's throat. “Don’t think so highly of yourself, Father,” he says, rolling voice like a reverberating chorus in the space of the empty nave. With a swift flick of his hand, the angel pulls the tab from Marc's shirt and holds it between deft, immaculate fingers. “A man of the cloth who so readily gives into temptation.” The angel scoffs, dropping the collar to his feet and kicking it away. “How pathetically Pharisaical.”

And yet you keep coming back to me, he thinks, pulse roaring in his ears when his eyes catch the fading flush on celestial cheeks, the barely-concealed hitch in supernal breath. Marc holds his tongue, feels the burn of each movement in the blood that sings through his veins; his heartbeat is so loud he wonders if the being in front of him can hear it, can feel it, intrinsically tied together in the way only the devout and the divine could be.

The angel raises an eyebrow, soft curls falling over his forehead in delicate waves, catching on his eyelashes as he scrutinizes Marc, kneeling over him to grasp at his chin.“And are you?” he asks. “Devout?”

Marc smiles, teeth delicately scraping the thumb that traces the curve of his lip. “Let me show you how devout I can be.”

Let me remind you what my hands feel like when they worship. That’s why you return to me, isn’t it, mi bendición?

From the corner of his eye, Marc can see the fluttering of feathers and the twitching of restless wings, a white darkened like amber beneath melting candles and the faintest rays of setting light. His skin is warm where it presses against Marc's mouth, and Marc wants to taste him, wants to feel him, wants to imprint his name into the swell of those thighs and show this being the blessed joys of mortality, the decadence of baseless sin, the faith of a soul that would give itself to the hottest of Hells if only to hear angelic lips sigh his name in full.

The grip on his chin tightens, and Marc can see a grin tugging at the angel’s lips, hard-fought and winning, with eyes that sparkle with something that looks prideful, enraptured, human.

Marc raises his hand, settling it at the base of soft, dark hair, letting his fingers curl into the waves that rest against a nape Marc yearns to bite, mark, litter with humanity’s markings and the ecstasy that comes with rebellion. Caramel eyes look at him hesitantly, guarded, and Marc continues to smile, just as he does whenever they meet, whenever they delve into their resplendently wicked transgressions.

Let me, he thinks. Let me, mi ángel.

His angel folds, as he always, always does, follows the pressure of mortal hands until he is settled beautifully across Marc's lap, thighs warm and bare against the scratch of Marc's robes. He’s glowing, ethereal, delicately illuminated with gossamer-light gold, an aura only just perceptible to human eyes, marking him exquisite.

Though, Marc muses, he’d be exquisite anyway. He’s too beautiful to be anything else.

The angel snorts against his cheek, skin warming again with blush as his wing smacks the back of Marc's head. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Marc can’t help but grin, nose tracing the line of the shoulder in front of him. His hand runs up the inside of soft, spread thighs and presses against the hole his fingers were in only a moment ago. “No need to be coy, mi ángel. I’ve already been inside you.”

It takes what Marc considers to be monumental effort not to kiss the whine from the angel’s lips, though he does allow his mouth to press against the underside of a perfectly curved jaw, teeth scraping down the front of a divinely bared throat, demissive enough to make Marc's blood run hot in his veins.

“Demissive.” Marc can feel the scoff against his shoulder, the heat of it the only thing that pulls him from his musings and into a reality far beyond his sweetest of dreams. “Says the man who wears a collar.”

“I’d wear a collar for you, too, mi milagro, if you wanted. Shall I also get on my knees and pray to you?”

The angel shoves him back, face stern as his eyes settle in a steely glare. “Don’t joke about this. You’ve blasphemed enough already–”

“Lo lamento,” Marc hums, voice and hands soothing that temper before it swallows them both. “Forgive me. It’s hard to hold my tongue when I’m in the presence of something so divine.” Marc smiles as he says it, kissing up the center of the angel’s chest and watching with sparkling eyes as he continues to glare, face flushing dark beneath half-melted candles and the arrival of caliginous night.

It’s a lie — they both know it — but the being in his lap only clicks his tongue, fingers rising to pull at the buttons of Marc's cassock.

“That tongue will be your downfall.”

I’m already damned, he thinks, mind flicking back to all the times they’ve descended into lustful gluttony before, tucked into confession booths and seated in darkened pine pews, to every chance he took to mark golden celestial skin, bruising his handprint onto strong thighs and across smooth hips, reverent in his praise and giving in his need to claim. “Save me then.”

The angel glowers at him, and Marc thinks he is so painfully beautiful. “Save yourself.”

The buttons of Marc's cassock pop with the force of the angel’s grip, scattering across the floor and into corners Marc knows he will never discover, lost to time and homilies waiting to be preached. He bites his tongue and bitterly swallows the chastisement, losing himself instead to the teeth that nip at the curve of his neck, to the fingers that brush aside his undershirt and press desperately to his chest.

“Off with these,” the angel huffs, and Marc almost wants to laugh at the petulance of his tone, impatient and restive, with his fidgeting wings and wandering fingers, mapping the planes of Marc's chest as if his tongue hasn’t followed that same line before, as if those lips haven’t already covered almost every inch of Marc's soul, branding him more than Marc could possibly hope to return.

He pushes off his cassock and hastily removes the shirt underneath, content enough to let them crumple to the floor beneath his hands, too eager, instead, to get his fingers back into his angel’s hair, to feel the heat of his breath and the soft of his lips, to know what God’s language sounds like when it’s being moaned against his mouth, the words of the universe rendered sacrilegious when he paints this immaculate body with humanity’s hand, fills it with pleasure and the miraculous splendor of a baseless soul and ever-cycling transgression.

The second his clothes are on the ground, Marc pushes his angel onto his back, wings splayed across the multicolored tile of the transept, feathers dancing in the air beneath old pews. He’s stunning like this, mesmerizing, the work of mythical fable and biblical legend, pulled as art from stained glass windows and hand-stitched tapestries, with legs spread and chest heaving, skin littered with Marc's handprints and the maroon marks he nipped and sucked over sacred collarbones and sloping shoulders.

“Stop thinking and take your pants off.”

Marc's lips quirk up into a grin, and he lets his teeth scratch the inside of one delicate knee, amused at the twitch that shoots across massive, downy wings. “So demanding,” he smiles, though he lets his thoughts dance with syrupy sentiments of you’re perfect and I’ll always think of you, enough to turn his angel’s cheeks ruddy and pink, chest flushing with frustration and impatience and what Marc knows is diffident pleasure.

“You don’t know shit.”

Marc laughs, fingers easing the belt from his black slacks. He shoves his pants down to his thighs, eyes crinkling with mirth and joy and a certain something dark that settles across his vision when he sees torrid eyes watching him, narrowed and burning, liquid heat turned molten, utterly captivating.

With a hum, Marc reaches out, using one hand to give his angel’s cock several long strokes, tightening slowly at the base before easing his grip as his fist rises. The reaction is instantaneous, as it always is when Marc gets his hands on him the way he deserves — it's like the air has been swept completely from those lungs, and the angel gasps, eyes drooping as the muscles in his thighs tense. His wings shudder, feathers vibrating with the energy that thrums through him, something otherworldly coursing through them with each shake and shiver, and Marc can only feel blessed that he is the one to deliver this reaction to their world, a messenger of pleasure to something so absolutely deserving.

He’s always surprised, somehow, at how easily stimulated his angel is, how simple it is to get his lips moving around words that have no human equivalent, whispering sighs and pleas that only Marc has ever heard, half-choking on the vowels of Marc's name as if he himself is something holy, pure, as if he could ever be worthy of having his name gasped by lips so heavenly, a choir trumpeted from the cosmos and beyond.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, using his other hand to lift the angel’s leg, bringing a perfect knee to his mouth. And he is so beautiful, a creature incomparable to anything on Earth, so perfect that Marc truly would don a collar for this being specifically, would happily stay on his knees for the rest of eternity if only to worship at the feet of something this divine. It would be no sacrifice to be subservient to someone so strikingly breathtaking, so wholeheartedly faultless.

Marc's eyes flick over the span of the angel’s body, savoring the soft wave of his hair, the flush of his face, the hitch of his chest with every gasped breath — still, Marc is pleased to see, unused to their prolonged contact, always so sensitive and reactive to every touch Marc presses to him, bites to him, kisses to him, as he always wants to do.

Marc sucks a bruise onto the unmarred skin at the back of the angel’s knee, teeth nipping the curve of his calf as he pulls away. He’s a sight to see, something wickedly glorious to behold, stained and spread out with a cock already heavy and leaking, wanton like a human being fucked on the floor.

He’s a mess before Marc has even gotten his cock into him, and Marc has to swallow the searing scorch of pride that threatens to split his chest at the thought, fingers desperate to render this celestine creature more licentious than he already is, too enraptured with legs and wings and lips that open for him so sweetly, so gloriously, so damningly.

“Eres tan perfecto, mi ángel.”

Marc receives an embarrassed scowl in return, vision quickly blocked by a massive wing covering the entirety of the body before him. Marc mourns the loss immediately. With a tsk, he drops the leg from his hand and relinquishes his grip on the erection he was dead-set on tormenting, choosing instead to nuzzle below the wing currently acting as what must be the universe’s most regal and infuriating barrier.

His hands skate up the angel’s sides, fingers tracing the lines of muscle and sinew and rib until they settle beside dark, soft hair, and Marc can only smile as he tucks a stray strand behind his angel’s ear, nudging his chin so he can look, wondrously, always wondrously, into eyes that hold the stars of galaxies Marc could never name.

“Don’t,” he says, fingers tightening when those eyes look reticently away from him. “Don’t hide from me.”

The angel frowns, watching every line of Marc's face — and Marc is struck with the stunning, painful realization that he truly would be content to die if it was here, within the nestled cocoon of luxurious wings, blessed with the warmth of heavenly skin and the feeling of this heat against him, falling into eyes that could push Marc to bare his soul to Lucifer himself, if only to keep these memories with him always, a sin for which he could never, would never repent.

“Don’t think such stupid things.”

Marc says nothing, only brings their lips together and kisses his angel for as long as he can, pressing him into the floor and swallowing every whined noise and huffed breath, holding them within his own lungs in the hopes that he will remember the heat of this, the feel of this, so he may bare the mark of it within his soul, proudly so.

He curls a hand into the angel’s hair, feels fingers gripping desperately at his shoulders in return, soft and smooth and delicate, entirely otherworldly, and Marc lets himself touch, too, feeling the contours of a body from which he would take Communion if he could, skin marked like the wine born from the blood and body of Christ. He bites at plush lips, fingers brushing against sensitive inner thighs, and his heart constricts at how those legs part for him, fall open for him, like they do every time, a miracle in glory and in kindness.

Marc wets his fingers on his tongue before he lets them circle the angel’s rim again, pushing easily into the body he has already worshipped before, one he would be happy to do so again, to spend his days admiring, honoring, adoring. He breathes in the guttural moan that is pressed to his mouth when he slips in two fingers easily, grinning against open lips when he nudges the one spot that always gets his angel shaking, quivering and shattered with blind human ecstasy.

“Ah–Father–”

He’s warm, so warm, always burning hot around Marc's fingers. Marc's cock aches when the angel rolls his hips down into him in a desperate attempt to ride his hand, snarling half-mewled demands for more and hurry up and enough with the fingers, would you just fucking–

He’d laugh if he didn’t know it would get him hit, amused by how quickly divinity can succumb to wondrous carnality, falling prey — like them all — to orectic wants and ever-fallible needs. But he cannot find the will in him to tease, too busy, instead, with wandering hands and probing fingers, eager to pull apart the immortal strings that hold this blessing together, wanting to see this being be unwound across the floor of the basilica, made a mess by his mouth and his touch and him.

“Stop thinking and do it, then,” the angel gasps, hips pushing down onto Marc's fingers, taking him just that much deeper, never deep enough.

Marc has a sneaking suspicion it was meant to sound threatening, more of a growl than a plea; he doesn’t even try to push away the supercilious glee that rises in him at that, always loftily prideful of his ability to pull the air from those holy lungs, to render the dignified inarticulate and panting from baptized hands and a simple preacher’s mouth.

He takes himself in hand, stroking his own cock slowly from base to tip, easing only a minuscule amount of strain. It isn’t refined, appropriate, honorable for a man of his nature to be so easily tempted by the beautiful, but Marc, for all his attempts at goodness and righteousness, is also only a man, a sinner who has long since fallen into adoration for molten amber eyes and gloriously soft skin, for a tongue that can recount the history of the universe in languages unwritten but that feels perfect whispering the sounds of his name.

The spit in his hand is a crude substitute for the oil he wishes he had, the one with which this miracle should be anointed, opened and massaged carefully, properly, reverentially, the rituals of which deities are worthy, deserving of the finest and nothing less. He only has a moment to mourn, though, before hands are in his hair and honeyed lips are biting his, intense and all-consuming in their bid to get him to move.

“Make it up to me later.”

With a breathless chuckle and a catlike grin, Marc teasingly circles his dick around the angel’s hole, vain enough, he’s sure, to know a command when he hears it and yet still find it within himself to taunt.

“I will send you to the deepest pits of Hell myself if you don’t fu–uck!”

He eases in with a hum, skin and blood and body burning with the ecstasy that comes from holding a blessing from God Himself, from loving that which can never be had. “Whatever you want, mi ángel,” he breathes, and he knows within the most intrinsic parts of himself that he means it, would walk into Hell willingly if it means enjoying this one final time, pressing in and taking something so wondrously divine that it’s a miracle he doesn’t wither beneath its presence, hot and sweating from sex and the insulated heat of feathers cocooned around them.

Marc pushes in deeper, pressing his hips against gold-glowing skin, hand languidly stroking the erection he can feel nudging against his abdomen with every thrust. He can just discern the tremors in the wings around him, knows he’s hit that one spot that sends his angel wailing when his back arches, voice echoing something deafening in what is unassailable human decadence, iniquitous and insurmountable in its visceral pleasure.

“You’re stunning like this,” he groans, gratified beyond measure when pink cheeks stain themselves scarlet at his word, his thought, his unerring devotion — because he means it, will always mean it, every single word and every single sentiment, for as long as he lives and beyond. The grip in his hair is punishing, but he takes the sting and relishes it, allowing it to guide his lips across sangria-spotted collarbones and to nipples he greedily sucks into his mouth. “You are the most perfect thing I have ever seen.”

The angel whines, hips stuttering down against his, chest flushing and panting with heaving breath and skillful, practiced debauchery. His eyes are squeezed shut, face turned away and half-hidden from Marc, lips open and red from bruising kisses and all the ways Marc likes to leave his mark, a testament to his ability to worship, to lay claim, to handle a gift for which humanity could never be too grateful, could never be deserving enough.

Marc continues to stroke him, slowly, deliberately, enough to feel the angel’s toes curling desperately against his calves, hands like vices around the curve of Marc's shoulders and hair. He feels nails scratch down his back, a searing line of red sprouting in its wake, and Marc can only feel humbled by the meaning of something so incomparable marking him in return.

“You should be praised every second of every day.” He dips down, brushing their lips together, cutting off the growled hiss he knows was about to be leveled at him to shut up and stop speaking and don’t say such ridiculous things, as if Marc wouldn’t dedicate his entire life to doing that exactly.

“I was made to touch you. You’re so responsive to me, aren’t you, mi milagro?” Marc squeezes his hand at the same time that he sucks a mark beneath the angel’s ear, and the resounding moan echoes loudly across the basilica walls, caught only in the feathers of lustrous wings and the dripping wax falling from mostly-melted candles. “You’re divine, so perfect, just for me, hm?”

Legs clamp desperately around his hips, vise-like and ironclad in their grip in a way only the otherworldly could be, and Marc lets a hand curve around the swell of the thighs pressing against him, fingers bruising marks into illuminated skin, hitching them higher so he can press in deeper, harder, pull the breath from kiss-swollen lips until this being is nothing more than immaculate mess and the wondrous, hollow remains of numinous ecstasy.

“Let– Let me–” It’s gasped, choked, a babbled plea of half nonsense and half begging masquerading as an order Marc has no intention of obeying quite yet, not until hears what he wants, what he needs, because he is only human, after all, and as devout and God-fearing as he is, he is also blessed with the favor of something divine, and he wants, he wants.

“Say it first.”

He fucks in deep, fast, knocking inhuman sounds from Heaven’s lips until they catch on high-pitched whines and shallow, breathless panting. He presses against the base of the cock in his hand, a pressure he knows will only serve to send the body beneath him spiraling, sobbing, still unaccustomed to touch and feel and want, no matter how many times they do this, no matter how many times they transgress, as though Marc himself is the sole reason for this undoing.

Maybe he is, he wonders, and the thought makes Marc want to imprint the outline of his teeth onto his angel’s shoulders and between his thighs, an unquestionable, univocal claim to God and Heaven itself that he was meant for this, for this, to bring pleasure to something so terrifyingly divine — because what other purpose could he possibly have in this world if not to be between these legs, if not to kiss the pleas from love-bitten lips?

“I need– Marc, I need–”

“Lo sé,” he says, voice low the way he knows his angel likes, because Marc does live to please, and it’s always so satisfying seeing golden skin turn ruddy with blush. “Lo sé, ángel. Say it and you can.”

If he can never know this being’s name, can never pronounce the syllables of it with his human tongue, can never be gifted the honor of calling upon something so lovely and splendid in prayer, then he will have this, bestowed upon him from holy lips and a voice that existed before the song of humanity had ever been sung, from hands that hung God’s cosmos within the skies and a body that would shepherd their world to its path through the universe, timeless in his grace, dazzling in its willingness to bend to Marc's hand.

“Say it.” His hips snap against blinding radiance, lips ghosting over a mouth that stutters the vowels of his name, and he wants.

“Y–Yours!” Dark chestnut waves fall against multicolored tile, wings fluttering with taut restlessness and the steps that dance the precipice of the knife’s edge, teetering on the brink of condemnatory carnality and what will be their inevitable destruction.

Marc strokes him until he’s sobbing with it, back arched and wings splayed across step-worn floors. There’s a sound that gets caught in the wet of an empty throat, but all Marc can see is honey-brown eyes that sear into his, his gaze half-blinded by gold-irradiated skin and a fist that pulls at his hair until he’s emptying himself into the only thing worth saving his soul for, the only thing worth damning himself to Hell for.

Blood pounds too thick in his ears for him to hear his own voice, mind gone and heat suffocating every pore, scorching every breath. He can feel the humidity of labored panting brushing over his shoulder, head no longer ringing with the bruising grip that was once in his hair. Instead, that hand settles on his shoulder, tracing the line of his arm down to his hand, where it links their fingers, soft and sweet, shy.

Marc presses a kiss to sweat-dampened hair, to flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes, to panting lips that bring nectar to his name. “Say it again,” he whispers, voice soft and supplicant in the echoing emptiness of the basilica, heard only by stained glass windows made dark by coal-black night and an angel for whom Marc would walk through fire, for whom Marc would defy God, just to be able to revere something so unequivocally sublime. “Por favor.”

“Yours. Marco Bezzecchi is yours, Father Marc”

Blessedly, yes.

[normaltothemax]

☎️ blows a kiss to jake or marc

There’s blood on his hands, red and sticky as it gets into every crevice, between his fingers, under his nails, staining his skin. Really, it’s all been washed down the drain, long gone at this point, he knows this, he knows it, but he can still see it there. Can still feel it lingering as he scrubs (and scrubs and scrubs and scrubs) to get it all off, skin rubbed raw and pink under too-hot water.

There’s blood on his hands, it’s not an unfamiliar feeling. God only knows how many times he’s gotten them dirty, how many lives he’s taken (too many). He’d stopped counting a while back. He gets blood on his hands on a regular basis, it’s part of the job, even if he’s been trying to rein himself in more, lately. Trying to get them less bloody. Not that the blood’s always others’. Sometimes it’s his own (or Marc’s or Steven’s; he hates those times specifically).

There’s blood on his hands and it's his fault. Usually he can handle that. Usually it doesn’t bother him. He just rinses it off and goes about his day (more often, night), but tonight…

Breathing heavily, he grips the sides of the sink, hard enough that his knuckles go white. Stares down at what he knows is clear, steaming water swirling down the drain, but all he can see is red. All he can hear are her cries. He looks in the mirror only to see empty eyes staring back at him. No Marc, no Steven, he shut them out the moment he saw the kid. Didn’t want them to see that, they shouldn’t have to see that.

Broken nose, black eye, split lip, and various other injuries; he looks like shit. Feels like shit. Hasn’t let the suit heal any of his wounds. Doesn’t deserve it. Not when… Glass shatters, shards falling into the sink, onto the floor. His hand hurts. If it wasn’t for the glass sticking out of his knuckles, the blood trickling down his fingers, he might not have even realized he’d punched the mirror in the first place.

There’s blood on his hand, but all he can think about is her. Shutting down, closing himself off, he goes numb. Robotically picks the bits of glass out of his skin and drops them into the sink, flexes his hand as he sticks it back under the water to rinse blood off again. This time, he shuts the tap off after just a few seconds. Dries his hands, probably staining the towel, and leaves the bathroom. He’ll clean up the mess later. Right now he needs out. He feels like he can’t breathe properly and he can’t…

He can’t.

He’s not sure how long he’s been driving. Doesn’t even remember getting in his cab. But he is, and he did (because the other two are still tucked safely away in their headspace), and now that he’s back in his own head he can hear her again. Can hear the gunfire and the screaming. Can hear the sobs and the cries of pain and the “I don’t want to die”s. Can feel her blood, warm and wet pouring through his fingers, undeterred no matter how much pressure he applies. Can feel the anger and the desperation and the helplessness all over again. He turns the radio on, turns it up until it’s so loud the bass is shaking his very soul and he can’t even think.

How he ended up outside Constantine’s place is beyond him. He’d figured out where the guy was living a while back, but he hadn’t meant to go there now. His phone’s in his hand and he’s staring at Constantine’s number as it rings (when had he dialed?). Belatedly, he brings it up to his ear, just in time to hear the man pick up. He’s not quite sure how he’s greeted, can barely hear over the rushing in his ears, though he imagines it wasn’t very pleasant.

She couldn’t have been older than ten.

“Hey.” Trying to get rid of the roughness in his voice, he clears his throat, stares out the windshield and does his best to see anything other than terrified green eyes. “Wanna get a drink?” Maybe thirty. “’m in the neighborhood. Can pick you up.”

@talentforlying (x)

[juneknight]

The Thing About Marc Spector

About this: for A who asked for dorm room Marc making you squirt. I'm LOOKING at you, @spacecowboyhotch. Fem!reader/Marc Spector. College AU. Fingering, some minor dirty talk, squirting. There's some mention of past ineptitude during sex and once instance of mentioned vomit.

*

You lean against the doorway of the dorm room’s bathroom, eyes squinting in protest of the cheap fluorescent lighting. Inside the bathroom, Marc Spector is thoroughly washing his hands. 

“It’s just not possible for me.” 

Marc hums in acknowledgement. 

“I’m serious. People have tried.” 

“I hear you.” 

“I’ve tried. I just can’t do it.” 

“Alright,” says Marc evenly. He’s already soaped and rinsed his hands once, but he soaps up again, and for some reason the ball of hysteria that has been growing just underneath your breastbone rises up and lodges in your throat at the sight of his thoroughness: washing his palms, the back of his hands, his wrists, between his fingers, under his nails, all while humming happy birthday under his breath the way they likely taught him to in grade school. 

The juxtaposition of a grown man utilizing advice he was given in grade school while he prepares to—attempt!—to make you squirt for the first time is…it’s a lot to take in. 

You reach out and turn off the water, convinced that it might be enough to give you a nervous breakdown. Marc merely turns to the clean towel hanging from the rack and dries his hands carefully. “I said, it can’t be done, Spector.” 

Marc turns to you with raised brows, the most unamused, unaffected look on his face. “You said I could try.” 

And then you are laying down on your bed. He has laid a towel underneath you, ignoring your scowl at his obvious display of confidence. Then he stripped you naked and spent a long time just staring at you, fighting not to smile every time he noticed your displeasure at his slow, patient nature. 

You can’t help but feel exposed in a novel way though Marc has seen every part of your body up close. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still dressed, that all he’s done is rolled up his sleeves and perched himself on the side of your bed. When he reaches for your thigh, you flinch, expecting his hands to be cold from the water. But Marc took the time to warm the water before scrubbing his hands. Marc always takes his time. 

“You won’t be able to do it.” 

“You’re just talking to yourself at this point,” Marc murmurs, eyes on your tits. He reaches out and tweaks one of your nipples. You slap at his hand, pretending to be offended, pretending like that one measly touch didn’t have your thighs clenching. He smiles at you, reaches out to pin your hand above your head and then plays with the offended nipple, teasing it gently between his fingers. You let out all of your breath in a warm rush, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, determined not to moan. Not yet. 

“That feel good?” he wonders, gently taking the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger, worrying it. 

That’s another thing about Marc. Not only does he take his time, but he’s gentle. You’ve seen Marc at his most un-gentle—you’ve seen him beat the shit out of a guy in a bar who was harassing a woman. Once you saw him punch a wall, knuckles cracking through plaster like it was butter. Both of you know that he sometimes has a problem with violence (one that he has been faithfully working to remedy during sessions with an on-campus counselor every Thursday). But Marc has never been anything but infuriatingly gentle to you, even during the most intense sex of your life. 

He lightly pinches you, pulling you from your thoughts. His eyes are on your face, watching you carefully as he switches breasts and begins to tease your neglected nipple. You bite back the moan once again—but it is a very close thing. “I asked if you feel good.” 

“Yeah,” you admit. “Yeah, you always make me feel good.” 

His smile grows a little smug. You roll your eyes. 

He seems content with this: this soft teasing of you. Sometimes he leans down and laps his tongue over your breasts, suckling on one nipple and then the other, but he never even gives you the scrape of his teeth. He spends an inordinate amount of time dragging his fingers over your skin, starting at the dip of your throat, down your sternum, down to your belly, out to your hips, up the curve of your waist, and up the ribcage, biting back a snort every time you giggle when he comes too close to the sensitive skin underneath your arms. 

He hasn’t even touched your pussy and you’re soaked. 

“Come on, Marc,” you sigh. “Thought you were going to make me squirt. It doesn’t come out of my tits, you know.” 

“It doesn’t?” he asks. “Wow, and you’ve just been letting me try for the last fifteen minutes? Now I feel like an idiot.” 

“Touch me already,” you pout, ignoring his humor. 

He hums, considering. This time when he draws the line down your stomach, he lets it trace further and further until he is ghosting the tips of his fingers over the seam of your sex. He barely even touches you, but you shiver, and when he pulls away, his fingertips are wet. 

“This where you want touched?” he wonders, slipping his fingers back between your legs. Finally, a little mercy from him. You part your thighs for him, groaning when he uses both thumbs to spread you open to his eyes. He whistles softly. “Are you sure you didn’t squirt already? Look at all this—you’re soaked.” 

You groan again but for opposite reasons, hiding your face in your hands. Marc laughs and lets you hide, makes a fist with one hand and drags the knuckles up from your entrance to your clit. 

“God, you’re pretty,” he mutters. You hear the sound of him licking your slick off of his knuckles before his fingers are back, gently swirling circles over your clit. 

“Oh fuck, Marc, please,” you whine. 

“What is it? Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.” 

“I want you inside me. But fuck, I don’t want you to stop doing that.” 

“God gave me two hands, baby. Pretty sure it wasn’t for this, but—” Marc slips two fingers into you, sliding in with ease, with the practiced motion of someone who has fucked you with their fingers a hundred times. He doesn’t bother thrusting them; he knows that sometimes your pussy just likes something to hold on to. 

Your orgasm is just starting to build when you remember why you’re here, what he’s supposed to be trying to do. Your thighs tense, arms tucking in towards your chest even as you keep covering your face. Marc—observant, ever-watchful Marc—notices the change immediately. Now, letting you hide is no longer an option. He wraps his fingers around your wrist and gently coaxes it away, his brows furrowed at the expression on your face. 

“What is it? Change your mind?” 

“What if I can’t do it, though?” you ask. “It’s every guy’s dream, isn’t it? He fingerbangs his girl, there’s a gush like Old Faithful, he feels like a real man. But what if I’m not a real woman? What if I can’t?” 

Marc’s face twists into a look of absolute confusion. “Baby—all due respect here—but what the fuck.” 

“I’m serious!” you shriek. He catches your hand when you go to lightly slap him on the chest, giving you a look of paternal disapproval that definitely should not have you clenching your thighs together. You’ll consider the pretext for that in therapy at a future date. His other hand—fingers still wet from being inside you—rises to your lips and taps. You open and take them into your mouth, sucking softly, shoulders relaxing. 

“I don’t care if you can’t squirt. I’m a real man, and you’re a real woman, whether geysers are involved in our sex or not. I don’t care about any of that weird, macho shit, baby. I never have. Just let me make you feel good—if you want me to.”

Another thing about Marc: he always knows what to say. 

Around his fingers, you nod. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, pulling his fingers free. He doesn’t bother wiping them off—not when he’s tucking them right back into your cunt. 

He begins those soft, quick circles over your clit again. His eyes move between your face to your heaving tits to where his fingers move and back again, a constant cycle. When you reach up and palm your breasts, you can hear the sound of his breath catching, feel the way his fingers flex inside you. 

Slow and so, so soft: he begins to stroke at the front wall of your pussy. Your legs jump. This is always your least favorite part. Popular theory be damned, plenty of men seem to know where the g-spot is, but many consider it a button poised for repeated hammering, like one of those bells you’re meant to ring to get customer service. You’ve always been sensitive. It’s one of the reasons why Marc is so gentle with you. But in the past, men looking to make you squirt have treated their fingers like battering rams and the walls of your pussy like the vault door to Fort Knox. 

You force yourself to take a deep breath, relaxinging incrementally when his fingers never increase in force. The soft touches against that most tender spot have your legs jerking every now and then, involuntary spasms as if he’s zapping you with electricity. But with time, you get used to them. With more time, it comes to feel good, especially when he changes the direction of the circles he’s making on your clit. Counter-clockwise. Nice. 

But how’s he going to make you squirt like this? How’s he going to unlock that mysterious, mythical part of your anatomy that you’ve read so much about in Cosmopolitan if he’s only whispering into the keyhole? 

“Shouldn’t you be a little—more?” 

Marc stops. “Is this not good?” 

“No, it’s good—great, I just—” he begins to move again at your approval, and the sensation cuts off your words abruptly. You swallow hard, realizing you have stopped touching your breasts and are just cupping them as if for comfort. Trying to mimic his touch from earlier, you gently begin to tease yourself, a whine growing at the back of your throat. 

“There you go,” Marc murmurs. “So fucking pretty. Look at you.” 

“Ma-arc.” 

He hums. 

Your chest rises and falls faster. He changes directions on your clit again and you groan, the sound pulled from deep in your throat. God, he might not make you squirt, but he’s sure as hell going to make you cum, and it’s going to be good. He continues a litany of filthy praises, talking about how soft and wet you feel around his fingers, how hot you get him when you play with your own tits, how you’re such a good fucking girl. 

But—:“Marc, I can’t do it. I can’t squirt.” 

“Then don’t,” is all he says, eyes on your pussy. Your orgasm is welling up inside you, a ball of knots being pulled tighter and tighter low in the pit of your stomach. Your toes keep curling and uncurling. For some reason, you need to repeat yourself, you need to make him understand.

“I said, Spector, I can’t squirt.” 

“I said, Then. Don’t.” 

The feeling grows, swells, deepens and—

You gasp, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “Oh my god, get away from me, I have to pee.” 

“No you don’t,” he says, unconcerned with your panic.

“Marc Elias—” 

“Wow, going for the full name,” he mutters distractedly, eyes never leaving his hands where they work you over. 

And fine. Fine. You warned him—and at least it won’t be the worst bodily fluid of yours he’s had on him, not since your twenty-first birthday when he took you bar hopping and you threw up all over him while he was trying to help you wash your face clean of makeup in the dorm bathroom. If he wants you to piss on him, he’s going to fucking get it. 

Your eyes fall down to where his hands are, and for some reason the sight of the tendons in his wrist flexing as he rubs that tender spot inside you is too much. It’s too much for you. The feeling in your belly sinks lower and you realize he was right. 

You aren’t about to pee, you’re about to cum. 

Marc pulls his fingers free just as your cunt clenches tight. It’s different from any orgasm you’ve felt before—the way it rushes out of you, what it takes out of you, the absolute silence it instills in you as your throat closes tight, eyes wide, entire body spasming. When at last you can take in air again, it’s just to shout, eyes squeezing shut as his fingers on your clit coax another orgasm out of you. Squirt just drips out of you this time, but the relief is so fucking deep. You can barely hear the sound of his filthy praises over the rush of blood in your ears and the constant babble of your own voice which you can no longer seem to control. 

When you can take it no more, you reach for his wrist. He stops touching your clit right away, moving his hand to rest gently on your stomach. 

There is a moment of endless silence, both of you staring at each other with wide eyes. Marc reaches up with his less soaked hand and smooths his hair back the way he does when he’s anxious or upset or completely mind blown. You can guess which one he’s feeling right now. 

He clears his throat. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes. Then we’re doing that again.” 

“What?” 

He stands up, pats you on the side of your knee like he’s patting another guy’s shoulder in the quad, Nice catch, Chad, go long. Marc fucking Spector. That’s the thing about him. He’s kind of incredible. 

All he says is: “Fifteen minutes!” 

[hoedamn-eron]

even without a beard

You really enjoy watching Steven shave.

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research), however Jake and Marc aren’t actually present, just mentioned. Use of a razor (for shaving). Word count: 545 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

I can't explain to you how feral this gif makes me feel.

It was a sight to behold, really. You don’t know what it was, but the sight of Steven with half his jaw covered in shaving cream as he meticulously shaved did something for you. Maybe it was the fact that he does it shirtless, or maybe it was the way his hands moved. Yeah, it has something to do with the hands. Or his jaw. It was something.

Steven, and by default Marc and Jake, were prone to growing facial hair very quickly, meaning whoever was fronting would have to keep on top of it (Jake had fought tooth and nail to let them grow a beard, but both Marc and Steven refused). Jake had sulked for days about it.

“Take a picture, love, it’ll last longer.”

You giggle…actually giggle, before you grab your phone and do just exactly what he tells you to. Steven gives you a quick, amused look before he turns back to his bathroom mirror, where he tilted his head to the right to get to that difficult spot by his ear.

He was so beautiful. The world didn’t deserve the likes of Steven Grant. So kind, and considerate, and downright good looking. You sighed at him before standing from the bed and making your way into the bathroom. Steven took a step to his left to make some room for you as you stood next to him, watching him continue shaving in the mirror. You tilted your head at him as he caught your eye. “Why don’t you keep the beard?”

“Why, do I look better with it?”

You shook your head. “You look good either way, I was just wondering.”

Steven chuckled, rinsing the razor in the sink, half filled with water, now a little murky from the shaving cream. He was nearly finished, unfortunately. Now you’d have to wait a few more days to see this magnificent sight again. “I just don’t like how it feels on me. It’s itchy and food gets stuck in there.”

You merely hummed in reply, turning slightly to face him and leaning against the sink. You lift your hand to run through Steven’s unruly curls, his eyes nearly rolling in the back of his head as you did. “I like when you shave.”

Steven laughed, shaking his head as you removed your hand from his hair. “What a weird kink to have.” He grabs a towel, ready to clean his face up.

You swat him playfully on the shoulder as Steven pulled the plug to let the water go, setting his razor on it’s place on the shelf under the mirror. You stick your tongue out at him. “Don’t kink shame me! You’re the one tempting me, being shirtless and shaving!”

“If you want me to grow a beard, I will grow a beard.” Steven wipes the towel around his jaw.

“Bet Jake would love that.”

Steven huffed a laugh through his nose before grabbing your waist and pulling you to him. You squeal as he nuzzles his face into your neck, rubbing the remaining shaving cream onto your skin. His hold tightens on you as he looked back up at you, a cheeky grin on his face. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too. Even without a beard.“

“Charming.”

[oswildin]

For The Last Time {Steven Grant x Reader}

Summary: It kills Steven knowing he makes you feel this way. The worry, the fear he won’t come home. So he does what he thinks is right.

Warnings: HEARTBREAK, ABSOLUTE HEARTBREAK. Angst, sadness, all things upsetting lol

A/N: This song makes me emotional and it gave me the idea for this short fic. I may do a part 2 of reuniting… who knows…

No need to apologize

'Cause there's nothing to regret

Well, this is not what I wanted

Guess all the good things come to an end

You loved Steven, with all your heart and soul. You felt nothing could change that. You stuck by him, through his low days because you knew you’d have the good days too. Plus, that was what love was all about wasn’t it? Be there for each other, through thick and thin, through bad and good… And the bad… it could be bad.

It wasn’t so much Steven that was an issue… It was who he and Marc were. You eventually learnt about Marc after Steven came clean, feeling stressed and guilty about it even mere hours after going on your first date. Quite quickly, your crush blossomed into something more special, something strong and real. It was almost like there was a gravitational pull between the two of you that connected you together. You even had enjoyed your short moments with Marc, and seemingly helped to bring the lighter side out from within him. It was Marc who told you about Khonshu, and his servitude. And not long after that did issues start to arise.

The late nights, the pacing, worrying, unable to sleep as you waited for them to return home. Sometimes, they would be fine, basically unharmed, but other times they would be looking worse for wear. No matter how much they reassured you Khonshu had their backs, that they could heal with the Gods help, it still didn’t stop the ache in your heart when you saw their beaten up vessel as they walked through the door. Steven was more understanding than Marc. He understood why you would worry, and he would always apologise, whereas Marc would say you were overreacting, but deep down he too sympathised with your concerns.

So there you were, yet again, pacing Steven’s flat, biting your nails as you tried to stop the brutal intrusive images of your boyfriend being beaten, harmed or, even worse, dead from forming in your mind. After what felt like an eternity of watching the door, it opened, revealing an exhausted looking Steven, as you sighed in relief, rushing to him as you looked him over for any sign of injury.

“I’m fine-“ He told you, giving you a small smile as you threw your arms around him at his words. Guilt was eating him alive. More than usual. And only he and Marc knew why.

So baby, bye, bye

Wish you the best

But most of all, I wish that I could love you less

Well, maybe you're right, I'll find someone else

You say it isn't me, but when did that ever help?

“We should talk.”

You pulled away from Steven as you furrowed your brows, staring at him, eyes full of concern. He looked broken, like his whole world was shattering before his eyes.

“Okay.” You said quietly, turning to head towards the couch as you felt your heart beat increase. Steven always had a nervous edge about him, but this time… It was a different type of nervous, more of an anxiety induced nervousness. As you sat, you watched Steven remove his jacket, before he walked towards you, a small frown on his face as he went to take a seat beside you. You couldn’t help but feel hurt as he ensured he was far enough away from you. Why? Why was he distancing himself?

“Steven, you’re worrying me.” You whispered, your eyes scanning his face. You then noticed the glassy look in his eyes, and how he wouldn’t look at you directly.

“You know-“ He began, his voice a little lower than usual, with a slight huskiness to it. “You know, I love you. A lot.” He breathed out. “M-more than words, especially any words I could find-“ He glanced at you, his lips turning upwards slightly for the briefest of moments. You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding at his words. “And I want you- No, I need you to know that.” His voice cracked slightly as you felt panic rising in your chest. “That’s why- That’s why I have to do this.” You felt your own tears building, even though he hadn’t told you what it was yet, you had a sickening feeling you knew. You knew what he was going to say.

Maybe it happened too fast

I guess that I understand

You say that you never felt this way for anyone

And that's why it scares you to death

“I know.”

You croaked, as his eyes finally lifted to look at your face. Your sad eyes and your forced small smile looked back at him. He almost broke right there and then, knowing he was doing this to you. No one else, him. The one you love.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, shaking his head, a tear escaping as he lowered his head. “This isn’t fair on you, look what we- I’m doing to you.” You shuffled closer to him as you moved your hand to cup his cheek gently, wiping the tear away. He leant into your touch, one of the only constants in his life.

“Steven…” You cleared your throat to stop yourself from breaking. “I would do anything for you.” You smiled briefly as he furrowed his brows. “I wish I could beg you to change your mind… but I can’t.” You bit your lip, before feeling a tear fall from your eye. “And it’s not because I don’t love you-“ You shook your head. “Never that.” He grabbed your hand from his cheek as he held it lovingly. “But I’ve seen the change in you… The guilt, and it isn’t fair on you either.” You let out a shaky breath as his lip trembled. “So you don’t have to say it.”

So baby, bye, bye

Know it's for the best

Still I can't see how that would ease the pain in my chest

You stood in the kitchen, grabbing yourself a glass of water as you tried to stop the tears from falling. You cried silently. You didn’t let Steven see. He couldn’t know. He was already so upset. You took a sip of the water, before quickly wiping your tears, leaving blotchy marks on your skin.

“(Y/N)-“

You jumped at the voice, turning to look at Marc. You forced a smile on your lips as he stood with bloodshot eyes from Steven’s crying.

“I’ll be gone soon- I just-“ You sniffed. “Needed a drink.” You gestured to the glass in your hand as Marc gave you a empathetic stare.

“This wasn’t easy for him.” He told you as you nodded.

“I know.” You felt emotion overcome you as you took a breath in, finding your body beginning to collapse from the pain in your chest. You felt a hand on your arm, as the glass was removed from your hand and discarded, before you were pulled towards a body. Marc held you tightly, placing a hand in your hair as he began to stroke it comfortingly. He wasn’t heartless. He wanted you to be ok. He cared for you too. Of course, it hurt him too. Just not in the same way as Steven.

“I can’t- I’m sorry.” You shook your head, pulling yourself out of his grasp, huffing as you yet again wiped your tears. “If I let go now, I won’t stop.” You let out a sad, breathy laugh.

“He’s doing this to protect you. To protect himself.” Marc said lowly. “It kills him, to know you’re up, worrying about him.”

“I worry about both of you.” You said quietly as his features softened. “I knew it was never going to be easy… and I wish I could control my mind and stop it from worrying all the time-“ You shook your head. “But I can’t.” Marc raised his hand, placing it comfortingly on your cheek, this thumb gently caressing your skin as you closed your eyes for a second to let yourself immerse in the feeling.

'Cause tomorrow will hurt

Hurt really bad

'Cause I'm about to lose the best I ever had

You had begun to collect your belongs you kept at Steven’s, putting them in a bag as you felt numb. Marc had let Steven front again once he had calmed down, as he watched you from across the room, wringing his hands.

Perhaps this was a mistake? Perhaps you could work through it, like you did everything else… Perhaps he could try and find a way out of Khonshu’s hold? Perhaps he could ask you to wait for him?

No. He couldn’t.

Steven wasn’t a selfish soul, and he knew it was wrong to ask of that. You had to move on, find happiness in another, live your life.

“I’ve probably forgotten something-“

Your voice broke him out of his thoughts as he looked at you. You looked tired. It was late.

“You- you don’t have to go.” He told you as you licked your lips. “It’s late, you can take the bed and I’ll take the couch-“ He had moved to you, taking your bag from your hand as he placed it down.

“Steven-“ His eyes were pulled back to you. “I want to stay.” You said softly. “But you don’t have to go on the couch.” You gently grabbed his hand as he felt his heart ache.

Was this the last time he’d ever hold your hand?

“Could you just…” Your voice cracked as you spoke your next words. “Hold me?” He instantly nodded, as you both walked towards the bed. He removed his day clothes as he changed into his nightwear, as your eyes gazed at his form.

Was this the last time you’d ever see him like this?

You sat under the covers as he got in, his eyes sore from his tears. Your own still threatened to flood.

Hold me closer

Although you'll leave before the sunrise

I'll be bleeding, but don't you mind, I'll be fine

Oh, it kills me

I found the right one at the wrong time

But until the sunrise

Could you just hold me tight? (Hold tight, hold tight)

I know, I have to let go

But just give me the night (hold tight, hold tight)

Steven held you against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you as you gripped his shirt with your hand, never wanting to let go. You both breathed in each others smell, like it was the last time.

“I know, I have to let go-“ You whispered. “But I don’t want to.” At that Steven placed a soft kiss to your head. “But for tonight…” You trailed off.

“We can pretend it’s fine.” Steven finished for you, his own voice a whisper as he gripped you tighter, if that was even possible. You closed your eyes, a few stray tears escaping as you tried to forget about everything and focus on just holding him.

For the last time.

Can't you see that you

Found the right one at the wrong time?

It was just the wrong time

Hold tight, hold tight

[spectrenightfell]

Summary: Steven’s never been this scared before. He knows Jake had been to see you, had the flashes of memories to prove it but now your gone, disappearing without a word. He can’t help it, how terrified and desperate he feels. What if Jake has done something to you, hurt you? It would all be Steven’s fault because he hadn’t been strong enough to protect you from the psychotic murderer sharing the body.

Pairings: Steven Grant x fem!reader / Marc Spector x fem!reader /Jake Lockley x fem!reader

Rating: M (mentions of sex ~ canon typical violence)

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first

When Steven comes back to the body he’s met with the insistent feeling that something is wrong. It takes a long few seconds for his sluggish mind to catch up to what’s going on, his ears ringing and eyesight fuzzy. When he does manage to concentrate Steven is happy to find that he’s still in the flat and that the place looks mostly intact though he thinks one of his many bookcases might have collapsed at some point. That’s about where his relief ends and the horror of reality creeps in.

He’s only in his underwear, body splattered with blood and the burn of alcohol still strong in the back of his throat. There’s dirt under his nails, his knuckles split and still oozing blood. His whole body’s shaking but Steven can’t tell if it’s from adrenaline or pain. Maybe it’s both. There’s a lot of pain, Steven feeling like he had been hit by a bus and it only gets worse when he manages to stumble over to the full length mirror and get a good look at the state the body has been left in.

He’s a mess. A mix of cuts and bruises that are scattered all across his body. He had a black eye, an angry looking gash on his cheek as well as a fat and swollen lip. There’s bruises around his neck, admittedly faint but clearly from someone’s hands having been wrapped around it and squeezing. There’s big angry looking bruises running down his side, a mix of deep dark purples and sickly yellows decorating his skin like some sort of weird art project. He feels like he could maybe have a cracked rib or two, maybe even a fracture in his radius but what he definitely had is a bandage wrapped around his left shoulder and right thigh, the white fabric stained red with blood. As soon as he notices each injury, pain begins to radiate out from that area, burning bright like he had been stabbed with a red hot poker.

Steven understandably panics, worried about what the hell had happened because “look at us Marc! We look like we’ve been in a death match. Oh bloody hell we have, haven’t we? He’s been in a sodding cage fight or something, probably killed a few people whilst he was at it. I tell you that man’s going to get us killed, bloody reckless idiot.” Steven had never awoken in such a state before, sure there had been a few bruises and maybe a little bit of blood to clean up but it was like Jake had gone out of his way to deliberately mess with the body as much as he could without killing them or rendering it useless. It was terrifying to think that he would do this to them let alone himself and for the life of him Steven can’t think what set him off because there had to be something. Things didn’t get this bad for no reason.

Marc’s the one who actually catalogs all their injuries, Steven more than happy to give the other man control to do so. He’s methodical about it, checking every inch he can and telling Steven what he thought had caused it and how bad it actually was. Most of it was superficial apart from the cracked ribs though Marc didn’t think anything else was broken, just bruised and aching. The most concerning thing though was what lies underneath the bandages.

It’s horrible watching Marc unravel the bandages, Steven’s heart in his throat as their skin is revealed one inch at a time. He can’t help but wince when Marc pulls the last bit away, the other man groaning as the tacky blood soaked bandages cling to his skin and pull at the wound below. Marc thinks they’re stab wounds, the cuts long and thin and most likely deep if he’s right. Jake had already stitched them closed, though Marc thought his handy work was “sloppy. Just look at this mess, it’s not even straight and the scars are definitely going to be massive thanks to this botch job.” It takes some convincing but eventually Marc reluctantly agrees not to unpick the mess and start again. Steven doesn’t really have the stomach for it and he’s sure that if he had to watch Marc unpick then stitch them back together that he’ll pass out and the darkness is the last place he wants to be right now.

Jake had been oh so kind as to leave a half drunk bottle of rum on the bedside table and Steven doesn’t even complain when Marc snatches it up before gingerly sitting down on the bed. They sit in silence, both of them sitting on the bed and staring straight ahead as they try to work through their thoughts. Well that’s what Steven’s doing anyway, he thinks Marc is just trying to drink himself into unconsciousness. It’s a problem, one that Steven was becoming more aware of but he had thought Marc was getting better, cutting back and exercising more. Maybe he had just gotten better at hiding it.

Marc’s drinking is something they will need to address but not now, there are other things that need Steven’s attention. There’s something niggling at the back of Steven’s mind, a whisper of something that he had thought was just a dream but now he wasn’t too sure if that was actually the case because it seemed far too clear to be that. It was like when he had first started fronting, when Marc was out on missions and Steven was convinced it had all been a dream when he had awoken in his bed safe and sound.

There had been snippets, little flashes of images and sensations that Steven had been convinced were just bits of jumbled up dreams and memories, playing out in an unintelligible mess that had meant nothing to him at the time. Now though Steven wasn’t too sure. What if they had been glimpses of Jake, of the things he had been up to whilst keeping Steven and Marc in the dark?

Steven breaks the heavy silence between them, turning to look at Marc as he speaks because he really does “think that I might have fronted for some of it mate,” and he needs to talk these jumbled thoughts through with someone before he starts fixating on all the wrong bits. Marc’s movements are slow and deliberate as he lowers the bottle to rest next to his thigh, turning his head to look directly at Steven with surprisingly sharp eyes considering how much he had drunk in such a short amount of time . He demands that Steven “tell me what he did. I want to know everything that bastard got up to.” Steven doesn’t hesitate to comply, trying to describe everything he can recall in as much detail as possible because there would probably be some small detail that would clue Marc into what the other alter was actually up to.

Some things he could remember seemed unimportant, just snippets of random moments that meant nothing without context. Steven could remember leather clad hands curled tightly around the steering wheel of a car as the London skyline passed him by far too quickly for Jake to have been sticking to the speed limit. He had been inside of a rather fancy but nondescript bathroom with a large arched window and the moon almost glowing in the night sky as it shined through the window and into him making him feel cold and judged. He had been in an alleyway, Steven surrounded by shadows as he watched two people fight at the other end under the only working street light.

Though it had only been a short few seconds he had spent in control and actually aware of the world around him it had been enough for him to be able to tell Marc the car had seemed rather fancy though it had smelt like stale smoke and their aftershave but almost like the bottle had been upended over them. He could tell Marc that he had been bare foot and freshly showered, the water still clinging to his skin and cooling quickly as he had stood glaring up at the moon like it had insulted him. Steven had been able to taste the alcohol on his tongue whilst he stood in the alleyway, felt his grip tightening on the handle of a knife and he could hear the sound of balled up fists slamming into flesh followed by grunts of pain and cry’s of anger.

It had been jarring and off putting, Steven mostly confused throughout the whole experience but there had been other moments that had stood out more than those and no more so than the woman Jake had taken to bed. This had felt different to the other times, like someone had grabbed hold of him and yanked him to the front. It had only been for a few seconds, Steven in the car one moment then suddenly not but it was long enough to burn the moment into his memory and leave a sickly feeling of unease in his gut.

His body had still been moving with Jake’s momentum, his grip tightening on the hips of the woman he was draped over to the point he had probably left bruises. The air had smelt like sweat and sex, his own loud moan echoing back at him mixed in with the woman’s breathy gasps. As soon as Steven’s mind had cleared he had jerked back, a shocked ‘fuck’ already falling from his lips but as soon as he had let go of the warm body beneath him Steven had been swallowed up by the darkness once more, Jake presumably taking back control and shoving Steven as far away as he could.

Steven hadn’t had sex in, well a long time and to suddenly find himself half way through what had appeared to be a rather passionate bout of love making had been quite the shock to the system. Marc had asked a few questions about that incident, wanting to know if he could recall any details like “what did the room look like? Was there any decorations or personal stuff that stood out? What about the woman? Did you get a good look at her face?” Unfortunately the answer to most of that had been no. He had caught a glimpse of an exposed brick wall and thick black curtains that had not quite been drawn closed but he hadn’t noticed anything else other than the bed had been large and soft, the sheets as black as the curtains.

As for the woman, well Steven hadn’t really gotten that good a look at her either. She had been on her hands and knees, her chest dropped forward and her face buried in the pillows and completely hidden from Simon’s view. She had a row of hieroglyphs down her spine, the black ink vibrant and looking like it had been painted on just hours before. He hadn’t had a chance to really see what they said, only just making out the glyphs for sun and what he thought was either servant or maybe slave before he was being yanked back into the darkness.

Marc had been disappointed by Steven’s lack of information but considering he had only been present for a handful of seconds he thought he had done pretty well getting as much information as he had. There was something that Steven hadn’t told Marc though, to afraid to give voice to his fears because then they might come true and he didn’t think he would be able to cope with everything that entailed.

Despite what some people think Steven isn’t stupid. He had recognised the smell of your perfume, the shape of the windows both in the bedroom and the bathroom he had found himself in after. The woman’s skin had been soft and warm under his callous hands, the familiar tingle running up his arms and making him feel warm all over. He wasn’t stupid, but he was blindly optimistic that he had it all wrong because if he hadn’t, if that fear was justified then that meant Steven had failed. He hadn’t been able to protect you from Jake and the other alter had been able to take advantage of your feelings for Steven and taken something from you that wasn’t his to have.

Steven did have his doubts, things that meant that maybe he had it all wrong and he clung onto them desperately. He knew you had tattoos, had seen the ones on your wrists several times since that first date but never once had you mentioned having another. Well you had hinted at it once but as you had never brought it up again Steven assumed it had only been meant as a tease, a way of getting him thinking about other parts of your body. Something he hadn’t needed help with. Then there had been the room, so dark and impersonal. True he had never been inside your home but he had seen the inside of your locker, the thing covered with photos of places you had been as well as a strip of photos of the two of you together, taken in a tiny booth at a shopping centre you had dragged him to just a few short months ago. The bland walls and black furnishings didn’t match the person he knew, not after you had insisted Steven’s own flat had been too dark and in need of some brightening up. And don’t even get him started on the position, so impersonal and a blatant display of power, most definitely not how Steven would make love to you and he hoped that you knew him enough by now to know that he would want to be face to face, pressed as close to you as he could get whilst wrapped in your arms. He would treat you right, gasping and moaning his love into every inch of skin he could reach. He most certainly wouldn’t go at it like some kind of animal, treating you like nothing more than an end to a means.

If he’s right though, if you and Jake had slept together how was Steven supposed to tell you that it hadn’t been him in your bed but an imposter wearing his face and taking advantage of your feelings for him? He knew that would be it for the two of you. Knew that as soon as he started telling you about Jake and Marc and what had happened that you would either chuck him out thinking he was loony or still kick him out but because he had lied to you and allowed that maniac to get his filthy murdering hands on you. It didn’t really matter how you would react to the truth, Steven would lose you anyway and it would be no one’s fault but his own. He should have told you when he originally wanted to. Should have just said yes to Marc and then gone and done it anyway. Maybe then he would have been able to prevent all this from happening.

He doesn’t get to wallow in the what ifs and self hate for long, Marc moving the conversation on and wanting to know if there were any more moments that stood out in Steven’s little mystery tour of Jake’s life. He was grateful for the slight change of subject, more than happy to push his seemingly never ending fears to the side and concentrate on something else. He should tell Marc, and he will tell Marco but just not yet. It’s clear to see he’s angry and agitated and Steven doesn’t want him to feel even worse knowing they had both failed to keep their promise to you and each other. Steven will talk to you first, find out if it’s true first before putting that kind of pain on the other man's shoulders.

Other than the possible trist with you there are only two other incidents that stand out to Steven. The first one was presumably from where the black eye came from, Steven only conscious to feel someone’s fist collide with his face and send him stumbling to the dirty concrete below. He had seen enough to know he had been surrounded by a group of men dressed like they were from an early 2000’s rap video, the bright glare of headlights from the cars parked around them making it impossible for Steven to get a good look at any of their faces. Marc said it sounded like Jake had “gotten into a fucking fist fight with a bunch of street scum. He’s lucky we only got stabbed twice and no where important at that.” Steven thought it was best not to point out that everywhere on their shared body was an important place that shouldn’t be stabbed, not wanting to agitate Marc any more than he already was and risk him pulling their stitches or causing any more of their many bruises and cuts to start hurting again.

The second moment was probably the most important because for the first time Steven actually got to see what Jake looked like. It had been in a bar, one that looked like it had seen better days and reeking of stale cigarette smoke and the unpleasant mix of alcohol that had probably been spilt over the floor and never cleaned up. Steven’s face and hands had ached, his grip tight on the glass of something dark and strong smelling but all of that had drifted to the background because staring back at him from the grubby mirror behind the bar was Jake, looking like hell and ready to kill anyone who pointed it out.

It had been a shock, Steven’s face scrunched up at the horrible taste in his mouth only to wince when it made the right side of his face throb with pain. He had looked up to get the bartender's attention, hoping to get some water and maybe some ice to dull the swelling. Instead he had come face to face with a clenched jaw and dark eyes full of anger and what quite possibly could have been hate. They had stared at each other for a long few minutes, Steven wide eyed and feeling like a deer in headlights whilst Jake’s glare had just got harder and meaner. Steven had thought Marc grumpy and mean looking but Jake was ten times worse, looking damn right terrifying and leaving Steven feeling like he was just seconds away from getting his teeth kicked in.

Their little stare off ended as quickly as it had started, Jake’s lips curling up into a vicious smirk as he tipped the front of his cap forward. It had felt like a threat, Jake just that terrifying that he didn’t even need words to make Steven fear for his safety. Now Steven was sure it had been Jake’s way of taunting Steven. He had looked frustratingly smug and he knew why, or at least suspected he did. Though Jake had been practically nonexistent for the last couple of weeks the bastard had probably been listening in, spying on him and Marc to find even the slightest weakness and he had found it in you. You were Steven’s weak spot and though Marc might not admit to it Steven knew that you were his as well, just from the way he had been with you when you had turned up at the flat, your eyes full of anger and tears. Jake had taken advantage of that, exploited Steven’s relationship with you and had left Steven holding the broken prices and wondering how the hell he was ever going to put them back together again.

Steven hadn’t had the time to do or say anything at the bar, Jake’s eyes flickering to something behind Steven and his smug smirk falling into a scowl that would probably strike fear into anyone who was unfortunate to see it. A hand had landed on Steven’s shoulder, their fingers digging in but the world had gone dark before he could turn and see who it was. The next thing he knew Steven was coming to in the flat, looking like he had been hit by a bus and feeling like it too. Steven had given Marc the time to think about everything had said, the two of them sat in silence though Steven wasn’t still, fidgeting restlessly as he waited for the other man to say something.

Marc thought it was strange that Jake was being so careless all of a sudden and Steven had to agree. Jake had been a mystery since they had found out about him back in Cairo, it was only in the last couple of months that he had started to make his presence felt and even then he hadn’t actually introduced himself. He had just been this dark looming threat in the corner of their minds, shrouded in shadows and blood but now Steven had seen him, had been left to front in moments he was clearly not supposed to be and it was worrying, just like it had been when it happened with Marc. Something had to have happened to set Jake off but what? For Marc it had been his mum’s death, his abuser finally gone from his life for good and the mix of emotions that had brought with it. With Jake though Steven didn’t know anything about his life to even start speculating about what could upset a man like Jake Lockley so much that he wouldn’t be able to keep grip on his control over Steven and Marc.

There wasn’t much they could do right now, the body was in to much of a state for them to be moving around so freely but neither of them particularly wanting to risk sleep right now, just in case Jake popped up again to take the body and actually finish the job this time and put them in the hospital. They had just sat for a while, Marc slowly emptying the bottle of rum whilst Steven had let his head fall back to rest against the shelves behind him, his eyes closing as he tried to lose himself to the sounds of the world around him.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that but when he heard his neighbours door slam and her kids start yelling as they ran down the hallway Steven knew it was about the time he should be getting ready for work. When he told Marc he had been quick to tell Steven that if “you think for one second I’m getting out of this bed this side of the weekend then you really are an idiot.” Steven had been quick to inform Marc that had been planning on calling in sick because he wasn’t “bloody daft. I ain’t planning on going anywhere any time soon mate.” There had been a few grumbled exchanges of light insults but soon enough Steve had found himself leaning over to grab his phone off the bedside table and Marc back in the mirror.

It had hurt, Steven’s bruised ribs and aching shoulder protesting the movement but he had clenched his jaw and pushed forward until he could reach his phone, slumping back in the bed once his hand had curled around it. The first thing Steven noticed were the excessive amount of miss calls and unread texts, not only from you but Donna and the museum as well. The second thing was the date. A week. A week had passed since you had walked out his flat and the world had gone dark.

Steven just stared at his phone, his brain struggling to comprehend what he was seeing because it couldn’t be right. Sure Jake had taken the body for a day or two here and there but it had always been on days when Steven or Marc didn’t have anything to do, it was horrible as all hell to go through but it had still been oddly considerate of the man. This though, this was a complete take over of their lives, a blatant disregard of their shared body and the lives they lead outside of one another. Oh bloody hell, a week? No wonder he had over a hundred missed calls and texts.

Steven was quick to unlock the phone, desperate to call you back and hoping you hadn’t reported him missing to the police whilst Jake had been running around and committing god knows how many crimes. Marc had wanted to know what was wrong, yelling Steven’s name and demanding that he “tell me what is going on right now Steven or I swear to god I won't let you have the body any more.” It was an empty threat, they both knew that so Steven had no issue ignoring the other man in favour of talking to you. Except he didn’t talk to you. Your phone just went straight to your answer machine, not even ringing once before the automated voice was telling Steven to leave a message after the tone.

Steven had never known you to have your phone off, not even when it was sitting in your locker at work and the fact that it was now had his gut twisting with nerves. He left a message, words rushed as he apologised because he was “so sorry love. I’m going to explain everything, I promise I just need you to call me back yeah? As soon as you get this, please.” Marc’s annoyed scowl softens slightly when he hears Steven’s pleading, silently watching as Steven’s rambles into your answer machine but as soon as he hangs up Marc demands to know what happens, his voice low and calm and oh so dangerous sounding that Steven has no choice but to tell him everything.

He still leaves out the part about you and Jake possibly having slept together, the words getting stuck in his throat and making him feel sick. So instead he tells Marc that there had been a flash of consciousness, Steven still in Jake's car and looking up at your building. Just a flash, a moment in time but it was enough to have Steven panicking, afraid that Jake had done something to you and now you weren’t answering your phone, leaving Steven feeling like he had swallowed a ball of lead that was now sitting heavy and uncomfortable in his stomach.

Marc was understandably angry that Steven had kept things from him. Steven had been expecting that, he was angry at himself after all but what he hadn’t expected was the sharp and slightly painful tug of Marc forcibly taking back the body. It had been a fast and aggressive switch, Steven’s head snapping up to look at Marc with a mix of shock and hurt. Marc didn’t even look at him as he got out the bed, jaw gritted against the pain. Confused and alarmed, Steven had called out, trying to hide his own wince as he quickly scrambled out the bed to watch Marc tearing through their shared wardrobe. Still he hadn’t looked at Steven as he got dressed, snapping over his shoulder instead. “What does it look like I’m doing? One of us has got to sort this shit show out and it sure as hell ain’t going to be you.”

Marc’s words hurt. Steven had made a right mess of things and sure he wasn’t the only one to blame, Marc having been responsible for keeping you in the dark about his mental state but he had been the one who had gone along with it. He had been the one to push you away and pull you back in, mucking you around and making you worry and feel neglected. Steven had been an idiot and now you were the one paying for his mistakes. He hadn’t said another word, the silence heavy and full of tension as Marc moved around the flat, clearly in pain but fighting against it as he grabbed their phone, keys and wallet before striding out the flat and slamming the door behind him.

They weren’t in any condition to walk let alone run to yours. Marc had managed to grab a taxi just as it was dropping someone off, sliding into the back seat before the driver could even agree to take him though considering how messed up they looked the poor man probably thought it was in his best interests to just go along with the obviously irate man. It had taken too long to get there even with the driver's insistence that he was taking the quickest route when Marc had angrily snapped “what is taking so long? We should have been there by now.” The morning traffic was heavy though and it took a good ten to fifteen minutes longer than it should have to get to your flat. The longer they were in the car though the more agitated Marc became. He tried calling you several more times, his knee jumping and mumbling “come on. Pick up, pick up, pick up.” No matter how often he called you or how much he begged you to pick up you never did, every call going through to your answering machine.

He only just about remembered to pay the man, shoving a handful of notes at him before practically jumping out the car and running up to your building. It’s a miracle that they even get in the building, someone coming out as Marc rushes up the steps and he slips in quickly before the door can close properly. It’s only then does Marc stop, cursing under his breath and pressing down on his leg and the probably pulled stitches underneath. Steven watched from the glass in the building's door as Marc leaned against the wall, one hand pressed flat against the brick and his head tipped forward to rest next to it. He’s in pain, probably bleeding from several places but he still says no when Steven asks him to “swap with me Marc. You need the rest.” Steven huffs and rants, trying to urge Marc to let him take control but all he does is snap at Steven to shut up, trying to act like he’s fine but Steven knows he’s not.

Before he can start properly begging Marc though he pushes away from the wall with a grunt, his shoulders back and face set in a grim mask of determination as he strode purposely towards the lift. Steven doesn’t ask how Marc knows what floor and flat you live at, just watches him from the highly polished metal and glass inside the lift and tries to figure out what he’s more worried about, you or that Marc’s going to pass out before he even makes it two steps out of the lift.

He wants to yell, to snap and tell Marc that he would be no good to you if he passes out from blood loss and pain but then Steven reminds himself that though Marc’s bleeding and in pain he’s probably been through worse. A lot worse. Though he’s stubborn and reckless and honestly a little bit self destructive Marc knows his limits, knows how far he can push himself before he gets into serious danger. Steven trusts him with this, with you because as much as the other man might deny it Steven knows he likes you, might even love you if he gave himself the chance to actually feel something instead of shutting down. Marc’s priority is you and keeping you safe, from Jake and the scumbags of the city as well as himself and the danger he poses to yours and Steven’s relationship. Bloody idiot he is but Steven knows his heart is in the right place even if Marc doesn’t.

As soon as the lift dings Marcs out the door, shoulders back and eyes determinedly set on the door at the end of the corridor. There’s only two doors, one on the left and one on the right, made from heavy duty wood and metal from the looks of it with a slight industrial feel to it. Steven has a split second to wonder exactly how rich you are and how you got that way before Marc’s pounding on the door, the dull thud surprisingly loud in the otherwise silent hallway.

Steven watches from the number plate on the door opposite, holding his breath when Marc’s fist stills. The seconds drag on, the silence heavy as they wait for you to answer. With every passing second Steven’s fear gets worse, his panic spiking drastically as your door remains closed. Marc knocks again, his closed fist banging into the door with such force Steven worries he might damage the already bruised and bloody hand. Steven can’t really blame him though, the other man’s desperation leaking into his voice as he yells your name in between the frantic and demanding knocking.

Still your door remains closed and Steven’s about to suggest they break in when the lift dings from the other end of the corridor and both their heads snap in the direction, hoping that it’s you that gets off all wide eyed and surprised to see him. It’s a hope Steven grasps onto tightly as the doors slide open in slow motion, his heart thundering away in his chest and sucking in a deep breath as he waits to see who's inside. Marc’s just as bad, his dark eyes fixed on the lift with such a sharp intensity that it reminded Steven of some kind of bird of prey, watching the little wood mouse and waiting to strike. Finally the doors open and Steven lets out the breath he had been holding, disappointment now mixing with his fear.

It’s just some guy, maybe in his forties and dressed like he’s been to the gym. Marc’s shoulders slump, his eyes darting down to the floor. He looks lost, like he has no clue what to do or how to even start attempting to fix it. He looks how Steven feels, so lost and helpless as he gives into the fear that something really has happened to you. That Jake had slipped into your home looking like Steven and taking advantage of your love for him only to wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze the life right out of you.

It’s a horrible thought, sending a blade of ice right through his heart and a cold fear spreading through every inch of him. No. Not possible. As vicious and barbaric as Jake was, he had no reason to hurt you like that. Steven hadn’t done anything to him. He hadn’t interfered with the other alters life or gotten in the way of his murdering ways. There’s no reason, no reason at all for the other man to have hurt you but then there hadn’t been a reason for Jake to crawl into your bed and spend the night between your legs. There was no reason for anything Jake had done and yet he had so why would now be any different?

Steven calls out Marc’s name, his voice strangled and full of desperation. Steven needs to see you, needs to know you’re ok or he’ll crumble quicker than a sandcastle caught in the path of the incoming tide. The call of his name seems to jerk Marc out of his own spiralling mind, his head snapping up and his eyes refocusing. He turns back to the door, banging on it once more and calling out your name along with a demand that you “open this door right now or I’m calling the cops.”

They probably should call the police but how would they even begin to explain what they thought had happened? They would end up locked in the loony bin with Harrow and Steven wouldn’t know what had happened to you until the old bill turned up to arrest him. No. Steven would break the door down his bloody self if he had to and then beg for your forgiveness when all was said and done. It was just as Steven was telling Marc to break it down that the man who had gotten off the lift spoke, his voice hesitant and looking a little frightened of Marc whilst trying to keep as far away from him as possible.

Not here.

You’re not here.

Marc’s aggressive, getting in the other man’s personal space and shoving him into the wall as he demands to know what the man is talking about. For once Steven doesn’t protest the unneeded aggression, listening intently as the man stutters and stumbles over his words. You had left a couple of hours ago, at the same time as you always did on a Saturday with a bag slung over your shoulder and dressed relatively smartly.

Marc takes a moment to process the words and then he’s back to demanding, wanting to know specific times, the direction you had gone in, if you had seemed ok, if you had spoken to anyone. He barely gives the man time to answer before moving onto his next question but it becomes clear pretty quickly that he had only seen you getting into the lift, ignoring his morning greeting where you would normally be the first to say hello.

Marc doesn’t seem to notice letting the guy go, his brows furrowed and a deep frown tugging his lips down. The man makes a quick escape, getting through his door and slamming it behind him, the sound of the lock sliding into place loud even through the thick wooden door. They probably only had a couple of minutes until he called the police, reporting them and the assault. Steven's mind was focused elsewhere though, too consumed with you to think about anything else.

His mind's racing, trying to figure out where you would have gone. The bloke said you had seemed fine just a little off and that could be expected if you thought Steven had slept with you then vanished off the face of the earth. It was a minor miracle, knowing that you were ok but your clothes could have been hiding a multitude of things that Jake might have done to you. Especially your work ones that you had purposely chosen to hide your tattoos. The realisation seemed to hit Steven and Marc at the same time, their heads snapping up and looking at one another as the said “museum!” at the same time.

The museum. How could Steven be so stupid to not have considered your place of work. Saturdays were part of your contract and you had never missed a tour before so of course you would be there. He would have hit himself if it weren’t for the fact that the body was already messed up and that it was Marc in control. It should have been the first place Steven thought to look and yet he had been so panicked he hadn’t stopped long enough to really think about the time and date. They had wasted time coming to your flat when they could have already been at the museum and sure that you were safe.

Marc was quick to make his way back down the hallway, jabbing impatiently at the call button as they waited. As soon as they were in he was pressing the close door button, leaning back against the glass as soon as the doors were closed. He looked exhausted and Steven wasn’t sure if Marc would be able to make it out of the building let alone all the way to the museum. So Steven took a deep breath and reached out for the other man, pressing forward as he urged Marc back. He went surprisingly willingly, the transition smooth and effortless, over within a blink of an eye.

Steven groaned when he registered how much pain the body was in, his hands quickly going to his leg and clamping down on the now bleeding stab wound. Marc had sounded genuinely concerned when he had asked if Steven was ok, nervously darting his eyes between Steven’s face and where his his hands were still wrapped tightly around his leg. Steven brushed his concerns off, waving his blood stained hand dismissively and forcing out that he was “fine mate. Don’t worry abou’ it. Just need a second yeah and then I’ll be as right as rain.”

It did take Steven a few minutes to compose himself, a constant mantra in his head that he needed to get to you and make sure you were safe. With a deep breath and a clenched jaw Steven had wiped his bloody hand on his thankfully dark trousers. He was moving slower than Marc had and the other man had spent the whole time in the lift trying to convince Steven to swap back but he didn’t force it, didn’t take control from Steven. He just kept asking for it, insisting that Steven didn’t “have to go through this. You're not used to it Steven, I am. Just give me back the body and I’ll get us there, then you can have it back as soon as we are at the museum. I swear I will Steven, just, give it back yeah? You don’t need to go through this.”

He sounded genuinely concerned but no matter how much it hurt, Steven was about to give the body back. It broke his heart knowing Marc was so used to this kind of pain. Sure Steven had known that but it still left him feeling like shit. He was supposed to protect Marc, it was the whole reason he existed and yet he hadn’t been able to protect him from things like this. Hadn’t been allowed to because Marc was always trying to keep Steven safe, sheltered from the horrors of the would. Guess that hadn’t really worked out for either of them.

It was more than just his guilt over Marc’s awful life though. This was all Steven’s fault and he felt like this was his punishment to bear, whatever gods were up there deciding that Steven should go through this for lying to you and letting you end up in danger. He should have just been honest with you from the start and especially after Jake’s first threat and the knowledge that he had known where you lived and how easy it would be for him to get to you. Steven should have done a lot of things differently over the last couple of months and there were a lot of decisions he had regretted but he would make them right. As soon as he had made sure you were ok he would spend the rest of his life making it up to you, literally grovelling for your forgiveness if he had to. So Steven clenched his fists and jaw against the pain and told Marc that he was fine, “I got this yeah. You don’t need to worry,” and by the time he was stepping out of your building Marc had gone blissfully silent and Steven made his way towards the museum as quickly as he could.

The museum wasn't that far away and instead of wasting time looking for a taxi Steven headed straight for the nearest tube station. He was hobbling by the time he gets there, his leg burning like he’d been stabbed with a red hot poker but he still manages to make it through the gate, somehow not dropping his Oyster card as he slaps it down and takes off as quickly as he can for the platform. His small bit of luck continues when he gets down there because a trains just pulling in and he even manages to snag a seat, slumping down and groaning loudly at having been able to take the weight off his injured leg. He knows people are watching him, can feel their eyes on him but he doesn’t care. There’s only one thing on his mind and it’s you. The world could be ending around him and he still wouldn’t care, to desperate to get to you and make sure your ok.

As soon as the train pulls into Tottenham Court station, Steven's up and out of his seat, the first one to the door and moving as quickly as he can towards the exit. Marc had been suspiciously quiet the whole time, something that Steven had been grateful for at the time but now he was starting to get a little worried about the man’s silence. He wasn’t even demanding that Steven move quicker, that he had to be a man and all that rubbish and pushed past the pain. As the escalator goes up Steven chances a glance towards the many framed posters along the wall, looking for Marc’s faint image in the glass. He still looked angry, his jaw still set and shoulders tense as he looked forward. To anyone else, if they could see him that was, Marc would look standoffish and cold but not to Steven. He knew Marc well enough by now to notice the impatient way he was tapping his fingers against the handrail, to see the little twitch in his jaw as he clenched his teeth tighter, to notice the growing worry and desperation in his dark angry eyes. Marc was one unnecessary delay away from punching someone and Steven really didn’t want to have to add resisting arrest to today's list of problems.

It should have only been about a ten minute walk from the station to the museum on any normal day but today wasn’t normal and Steven was seriously starting to feel the pain from the beating Jake had taken. His leg was damm right throbbing now, slowing down his movements and Steven was sure he could feel fresh blood running down his leg and soaking into the dark fabric of his trousers. By the time he makes it to the museum Steven’s exhausted, the pain almost too much and making him feel like he’s either going to be sick or pass out, maybe even both. He has to take a moment before going in, leaning back against the cool stone wall and groaning loudly as his grips at his leg, his thumbs digging in against the wet spot on his leg.

It’s then that Marc decides to break his silence, looking at him from a puddle and urging Steven to “come on, you're almost there. Just another couple of minutes and then we can go home and rest. We just gotta go in there and find out she’s ok, we can grovel for her forgiveness later just…Come on Steven, all we’ve gotta do is see her, please.” Marc’s pleading tugs painfully at Steven’s heart, the fact that the other man was talking like he was the one dating you and not Steven seemingly going unnoticed. He was right though, just a few more steps and they would find you safe and sound, all ready to head off with your first tour group of the day and maybe if he was lucky, relieved to see Steven in one piece after a whole week of radio silence. But honestly he thought he would be lucky if you didn’t yell at him and tell him you never wanted to see him again.

J.B was behind the security station, his eyes briefly flicking up at Steven when he stumbled into the desk before dropping his gaze back down to his phone only to do a double take when he realised who it was slumped over his counter. There had been a lot of pointless back and forth, J.B going from wanting to know what had happened and informing him that he was “in a heap of trouble, especially turning up looking like that.” Steven had tried to be polite, to get him to listen but he talked right over Steven like he hadn’t even uttered a word.

His outburst was a long time coming and Steven was genuinely surprised it hadn’t happened before. He had gotten used to how people treated him but not now, not when it was keeping him from you. His loud cry of “will you shut up,” echoed back at him, J.B’s voice seeming to disappear as he locked at Steven with a mix of shock and a little fear. Before the man could regain his composure and throw Steven out he barrelled on, demanding to know where in the museum you were.

The man’s mumbled reply that he couldn’t do that without having even turned to look at the monitors behind him had been met with even more hostility, Steven knowing full well that he could because “there’s over a hundred bloody cameras in this place J.B so don’t tell me you can’t. Now. Find. Her.” Steven wasn’t really sure if that had been him or Marc talking, maybe a mix of both because if it had just been Marc J.B would probably be supporting his own black eyes and a broken nose by now. He looks nervous, eyeing Steven wearily and taking a slight step back like that’s going to save him from being shoved out the way when Marc jumps over the counter and starts looking over the multiple screens himself. Steven’s about ready to let Marc front when J.B informs Steven that he can’t look for you because you weren’t at work today.

Steven’s anger drains away so quickly it leaves him feeling cold. That can’t be right, can’t be because “it’s a poxy Saturday morning J.B, of course she’s bloody well here.” You always worked Saturday’s, ten till two and then you would get lunch at Victoria House before heading home. It was your routine, one Steven knew off by heart and not once in the last few months had you changed it. You should be here and the only reason Steven could think that you wouldn’t be was that something had happened to you.

Not here. You're not here. No. Not possible. It can’t be. You were supposed to be here, meant to be effortlessly gliding through the museum halls for Steven to find, safe and sound and right there but you're not. Steven had been pinning all his hope on finding you here, angry and upset sure but safe, none the wiser that Jake Lockley had been the one to have his bloody hands all over you and not Steven. But that’s all gone now, that last little glimmer of hope gone with just a few simple words. No here. You're not here but then where were you?

Steven’s spiralling, his thoughts getting away from him as his panic and fear sky rockets. Gone. You're gone and Steven doesn’t know where or how to even begin trying to find you. He doesn’t know if you're ok, if Jake had said or done something to hurt you or drive you away. Steven didn’t know and that in itself was terrifying because it allowed his imagination to run wild and nothing it came up with wasn’t good. He was pulled from his increasingly bloody and violent thoughts by a loud and aggressive “OI!” that echoed through the large and open room.

Steven’s head snapped up from where he had buried it in his hand’s his eyes wide and desperate as he looked around. Donna was storming across the room, looking pissed off and ready to start yelling at him but Steven had lost any of his previous fight, unable to care about what the other women had to say. It wasn’t pretty. Donna yelled at him about his sudden disappearance without so much as a text to say he wouldn’t be in. Apparently you had covered for him, saying he was really sick and unable to phone due to his constant vomiting. Donna hadn’t believed you and she had been right to do so considering he had turned up at the museum “looking like you’ve been on a bloody week long bender and gotten your arse handed to you by Tyson Fury. Look at you, you’re a bloody mess. No wonder she’s done a runner. Probably wanted to get as far away from you as possible.”

That got Steven’s attention.

He demanded to know what she had meant about you doing a runner, cutting her off as she had tried to continue to belittle Steven’s existence. She had seemed nervous, eyes dating to J.B when Steven had gotten in close and continued to insist that she tell him “if you know something Donner then you tell me right now or I swear I’ll report you for bullying and harassment, so help me god I will and then we will see whose jobless.” She’s taken a back by Steven’s outburst but he doesn’t care anymore. She knows something and she wasn’t telling him. Steve would bloody report her directly to Hartwig Fischer if he had to, as long as it got him what he wanted. The threat seemed to work but what Donna said just made him even more confused.

You had turned up that morning but not to work, informing your boss that you needed some time off with immediate effect due to a family emergency out in the states. Your request had been granted and you had left for the airport straight away, promising that you should be back in a week or two depending on how things went. Steven didn’t understand because you didn’t have any family, at least that was what you had told him anyway but here you were, having run off to bloody America because something had happened with your family whose existence was questionable at best and suspicious at worst.

His confusion had seemed to give Donna her confidence back and she had been quick to demand Steven leave before she called the police. Steven hadn’t even protested and J.B led him out of the building, telling him that he needed help and that he probably shouldn’t come back because he was most likely going to get fired anyway. Steven had gotten into a taxi, with no clue who had gotten it and mindlessly giving his address to the concerned looking driver who had suggested they go to the hospital instead. Steven wasn’t sure of the conversation that came after but at some point he had started to recognise the streets so he had known that they were heading back towards his flat and not the nearest A&E. He had just sat there in silence looking blankly ahead of him at the back of the driver's headrest, trying to make some sort of sense of what was happening.

It didn’t make sense though. No matter what way he looked at it, nothing about your sudden departure to America made sense. Sure you had been there a time or two, had told him a few stories about various museums and private collectors you had worked for but there had never been anything or anyone in your stories that would suggest that you had left anything behind that you cared about enough to ever need to rush back to. Now that he was thinking about it, Steven knew a lot about the places you had been and the people you had worked for but apart from a few scraps of information he didn’t really know much about you or your past, Marc’s background check only having turned up basic information that Steven probably could have gotten from googling you.

The amount of moving around you did should have been suspicious from the start but Steven had been so taken with you that he hadn’t stopped to consider why you were constantly moving from one place to another. Maybe the fact that he had been so drawn to you from the start, already halfway in love with you before the two of you had even officially met, should have been another red flag. There was so much that he should have been questioning. Like the fact that you would never invite him to your flat, always insisting you go to his, like you didn’t want him to know where you lived. Or that you didn’t seem to care that Steven just disappeared for three days a week without any kind of explanation, something that most people would have been suspicious and unhappy about.

Steven knew that you liked museums and art galleries. That you liked to eat out and try new places but also enjoyed cozy nights in with a home cooked meal and a documentary playing on the telly. He knew that you liked it when he brought you flowers and that you were particular about how you took your tea and that you enjoyed your job and that your smile could rival the sun. He knew a lot about the person you were but as Steven sat in the car, his whole body throbbing with pain he came to sudden realisation that he didn’t really know you and maybe, you just weren’t the person he had thought you were.

[oosteven-universe]

Moon Knight #5

Moon Knight #5 Marvel Comics 2021 Written by Jed MacKay Illustrated by Alessandro Cappuccio Coloured by Rachelle Rosenberg Lettered by VC’s Cory Petit    Moon Knight’s hidden enemy is revealed — but revealed is not the same as caught, and he soon finds masks beneath masks as he hunts his way after his new nemesis. At the same time, Dr. Andrea Sterman pierces Moon Knight’s own mask and, for the first time, gets some honest answers.    This is one of those powerful issues that really lets us inside Marc’s mind and lets us know what he’s thinking.  I love that after the whole deal with him taking out the Avengers has led to him needing to see a qualified superhero therapist, yes there are those in this world.  I also love that I had to look up what D.I.D.(dissociative Identity Disorder) was because I’m used to seeing MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder) and that Jed presents this as casually as he does and engages the reader as he did with me here is a wonderful thing to see.  Plus she’s hard-as-nails too and isn’t going to let him skate with glib or flowery answers.  He’s there for a reason and should he not follow her guidelines for treatment or just assess that he’s handling things okay then who knows what’ll happen unless is shipped off to somewhere like Ravencroft.    I’m such a huge geeky fanboy of the way that this is being told.  The story & plot development that we see through how the sequence of events unfold as well as how the reader learns information is presented exceptionally well.  The character development that we see through the narration, the dialogue, the character interaction as well as how we see them act and react to the situations and circumstances which they encounter does this utterly phenomenal job with their ever changing and evolving personalities.  The pacing is excellent and it takes us through the pages revealing the dual stories happening side by side as we are taken on such a strong and powerful journey.      I am completely thrilled by the way that we see this being structured and how the layers within the story continue to emerge, grow, evolve and strengthen.  I’m also very much liking the way that the layers are opening up new avenues to be explored.  The ending opens up one and it’s a doozy!  Explored or not they all add this sensational depth, dimension and complexity to the story.  How we see everything working together to create the story’s ebb & flow as well as how it moves the story forward are exceptionally well handled.    The interiors here just get better and better with each issue.  That scene with Marc and the statues behind him is for me a new iconic vision!  I mean the  chair, the lights and the plants there just resonate completely.  The linework is clean, crisp and sharp and how we see the varying weights and techniques being utilised to create the detail within the work we see is nicely rendered.  We see some really strong use of backgrounds throughout and they enhance and expand the moments beautifully while also working within the composition of the panels to bring out the depth perception, sense of scale and the overall sense of size and scope to the story.  The utilisation of the page layouts and how we see the angles and perspective in the panels show an extremely talented eye for storytelling.  The various hues and tones within the colours being utilised to create the shading, highlights and shadow work are beautifully rendered.  The whites that we see are amazing in how luminescent they are. ​    This is a great issue in terms of personal growth and interest as well as how it sets up the next, or continuing, arc we’re going to see.  As Marc’s world has been thrown for a loop in more ways than one I look forward to seeing what else life is going to throw at him, and yes MORE TIGRA!  The writing here is phenomenal and the characterisation is raw and powerful while the interiors create the mood, tone and feel for every single moment making this the book that it is.

[leverage-commentary]

Leverage Season 2, Episode 11, The Bottle Job, Audio Commentary Transcript

Johnathan: Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Johnathan Frakes.

John: He’s the Director of this episode. My name is John Rogers, Executive Producer.

Christine: My name is Christine Boylan, I'm the writer on this episode.

John: Drinking left to right you have a screwdriver- a screwdriver, which is just a fistful of vodka with an orange in it.

[Laughter]

Johnathan: It qualifies as a screwdriver! Look where we are, we’re at a wake!

John: I've got a Guinness, and Boylan’s having a little baby Guinness. Boylan what is a bottle show?

Christine: A bottle show is a show that tries to save a lot of money by shooting on standing sets. And not adding too many bells and whistles that can get expensive.

John: Not very easy on a con show, but we managed to pull it off, and by far, this is one of my favorite episodes of the two years. Nicely done, both of you.

Johnathan: And the irony of this being a bottle show about a bottle is not lost-

John: Yeah it's- the puns were running thick and furious because we wrote it in 72 hours. Love this- now this is actually a room in the bar we have not seen before.

Christine: Yes, this is the back room.

John: The back room we built. And it was a great little idea. It's an Irish bar, it's an Irish wake, we built the con up from there.

Christine: Creepy storage area.

Johnathan: Oh Alan Smyth, the wonderful and talented-

John: Mr. Frakes, why don't you tell us about this villain? Cause this is a really interesting- it's an  interesting reveal, interesting villain. It's not our usual type of guy. How'd you approach this?

Johnathan: Delightful guy, this guy’s been sent to Boston by his father from Dublin to check on his family's money, and how things are going. Decides to take things into his own hand, doesn’t know he’s gonna run into the Leverage team. He thinks he can muscle this poor girl at her own wake- her father's wake and-

John: Yeah, boy that's an asshole. We hate that guy.

Christine: I hate this guy.

John: This guy totally passes the ‘we hate that guy’. Now I'm gonna ask where this scene can run a bunch of different ways. It can run really creepy, it can run kind of light. Like, how do you design this when you're gonna shoot this?

Johnathan: This was as simple and clean as it can be. Here’s a set up, here's the teaser: he wants the money, you see where they are, we have the like this chick, which I think we do. This is Odessa Rae.

John: Yeah, she was fantastic for a character.

Christine: Lovely girl.

Johnathan: And a real redhead, clearly. 

John: And it's really- we really kinda dig in on the Boson heritage in this one.

Christine: Yes, and it was important that she fight back, to me, that was a big one, just take that swing.

John: She didn't want to be a schlub. And Liam and Liam’s brother is my favorite bit. How did- Boylan, how did you wind up with the money borrowing aspect of this?

Christine: The money borrowing- I had watched a really fantastic documentary by...oh god, what's his name?

John: The Ascent of Money?

Christine: The Ascent of Money, Niall Ferguson, yes. The Ascent of Money talked about how loan sharks are alive and well all over the UK and in certain pockets of the US, allegedly. So I thought well let's do that, let’s take a little- let’s take the loan sharking and move it over. And also talk about the grand tradition of bookmaking as well, so we have all kinds of neighborhood cottage industries.

John: Yeah, and this is where we really dig into- this was important to do in the second half of the season, because we're really set-

Johnathan: We see every inch of this bar.

[Laughter]

Christine: Yes we do.

John: We see every inch of this bar. You shot the hell out of this, man.

Johnathan: Here's a standing set, and snow! Check out those windows. That's what makes you think you're outside.

John: And by the way, this was the hottest week in Portland on record.

Johnathan: Unbelievable.

Christine: 107 degrees.

John: 107 degrees.

Johnathan: Everybody in layers.

John: This is our Life on Mars flashback. 

Johnathan: There we go.

Christine: Jimmy Ford.

John: This is Jimmy Ford and young Nate. And this was interesting, this was- we really need to establish just how close Nate Ford was to a criminal life, for us to do the season finale. 

Christine: Yup.

John: And it was interesting for a show that really came out and just came out of the ether, you came back from shooting another episode with this idea, this actually wound up doing an awful lot of work for us for the season.

Christine: I really like to dig in on Nate, his backstory, his troubles, because he's a wonderful shade of gray for us, so I was-

Johnathan: This also the beginning of his fall off the wagon.

John: Absolutely.

Christine: Yes, oh yeah. A nice swan dive off the wagon, actually.

[Laughter] 

Christine: With a graceful landing. I was up doing episode eight, The Ice Man Job, and I thought, you know, in between takes you’re sitting there, you're thinking how do- the challenge was, how do you do a bottle show? And I really wanted to do The Wire and we haven't been able to do the wire yet, so- 

John: The wire is the classic con in the opening of this episode, where using a delay in sports knowledge, you're able to con somebody. It's the big con in The Sting.

Christine: Yes.

John: It is the big con that everyone uses when they are ripping off The Sting, and they're not telling you. And so we actually made a point of making it text that we’re doing the wire and we’re doing it in this amount of time.

Johnathan: And you can't do it in less than 4 weeks, or 2 weeks.

John: No, no it's a long con.

Christine: A lot of preparation.

Johnathan: It's a long con and we do it in-

John: Yeah. This was the fun of this episode was basically taking everything that was possible-

Johnathan: We do it in 17 minutes.

John: The fun of this episode was taking everything that is impossible in a con and heist show, and making it text that's impossible for the team to do.

Christine: It’s super meta because the Leverage team does what we did, which is do this really, really quickly.

John: Yeah. Really, really quickly. We broke and wrote this episode in 72 hours.

Christine: Yup, I flew up here right before my birthday. 107 degrees at the end of July, and we had a blast. We had a really great time.

Johnathan: Liam and Liam's brother.

John: It was also good to kind of nail down Nate’s- why Nate chose this bar, why Nate- and we kinda touched on it, but the idea that he's got some sort of family history. And it was a big deal too, when we were talking about this bar. Tim Hutton as they were building the set talked about the bar that his dad used to drink in, in Boston. And talked about, like, remembering the pictures of the Irish rebels up in the men's room, and a lot of that stuff we used when we were designing the bar.

Johnathan: Tim Hutton himself owns a bar.

John: Tim Hutton himself owns a bar in New York, that's right. 

Christine: He does indeed.

John: And this is our classic vic scene, just a little bit later.

Christine: Yeah, she gave an amazing performance here, every take. Do you remember that? Unbelievable.

Johnathan: Fascinating girl, too; very interesting girl and a wonderful actress.

Christine: Yeah, truly a riot.

John: And you shot the hell out of the apartment. The apartment looks nice in this light. Actually, this was the one that made me want to shoot the apartment in this light on a regular basis.

Johnathan: Well this was Connell saying, if this is night and we can- if we can play the snow, we’ll turn the shutters down a little bit so we can see the snow. It’s- it feels like there's a fire lighting in here.

John: Yeah, it actually affected the way we shot a couple of the following episodes, because in the day, this- the great light wood gives you a lot of space, but it can feel a little too airy. This really made sections of the apartment look intimate.

Christine: The warmth is great.

Johnathan: Yeah, but also I think all of us have learned by this time if we isolate a section - like if we play a scene in the kitchen, it works, but keep everybody up in the kitchen. If you're gonna go down to the television room, we've gotta play that. Once we spread everybody out, you can't make your day.

John: Well Marc Roskin did something interesting in 213 where he used Nate as the hinge to follow people as they entered. But what he did was basically broke it up into mini scenes of that, as Nates starts the TV he's talking to Hardison, comes up at Jeri on the table, and then Parker and Eliot arrive, like on the fly, to land the move.

Christine: That's great.

John: But that- it’s the only time we've really pulled it off really, really well.

Christine: I will say that we did use the staircase a lot in this episode as well.

[Laughter]

Christine: A lot of running up and down the stairs.

John: A lot of running up and down the stairs.

Johnathan: There happens to be an interior staircase in the building that is very convenient for us.

Christine: Yes.

John: Yeah. And that was a great design idea, actually. I remember when we originally stuck that in there, like, we don't know when we’re gonna use it or how, but it's always good to have some circular stairs. No, this is a lot of- this is a lot of fun.

Johnathan: Are you talking about the staircase we see? I was talking about the staircase we feel.

[Laughter]

Christine: Oh.

Johnathan: Between the bar and the bar is literally downstairs in the building.

John: Oh of course, upstairs. That was a big deal was trying to figure out the geography of, like, how this bar’s connected to upstairs. 

Christine: Oh here we go.

John: This is my favorite- damn.

Johnathan: And give it to- props to Jeri Ryan, unafraid to play it, fully committed.

John: And then-

Johnathan: Takes the shooter, goes to work.

John: ‘My name’s Trish and I'm lonely.’

Christine: ‘I’m Trish and I’m lonely.’

Johnathan: And I get the girls up and out and here we go.

John: Yeah. She-

Christine: We were all distracted by the way Jeri looked this entire episode.

John: I love Jeri for doing that. I love Jeri for doing that. 

Johnathan: She was comfortable with it, embraced it, knows what she was there to play.

John: And it was- also says something about the character which is - you have given her precisely this much information; she is in a bar, she knows exactly how to run this con.

Johnathan: ‘Let me run with it, I got it, I got this one.’

Christine: What a gift the chemistry between Jeri and Alan was here. Fantastic.

John: Yeah, it's hard work flirting with Jeri Ryan. It’s all uphill.

Christine: Oh his days were terrible. 

Johnathan: Poor thing.

Christine: He had the worst job ever.

John: I love also- again, we try to differentiate between the jobs everyone has. Parker always does the lift. You know, Chris can do a drop if he needs to - Eliot can do a drop, but you have to make sure when you've got a five-hander, everyone’s got their jobs.

Christine: I like the lifts in this one; we see some of them, and some of them are magic tricks. So it works out well.

John: And now we’re using the phone to scan which is something that you can do. They actually just created a food scanner for the iPhone.

Christine: Really?

Johnathan: A food scanner?

John: You take the iPhone, you run it over the UPC symbol on the outside of food, and all the nutritional information comes up - the calories, that sort of thing.

Christine: As if I'm not neurotic enough. I totally need that app. Yeah, that’s great.

John: There you go. Also I love the choice- and again, it was a virtue of us writing this really fast, and also wanting to do a bottle show which is so constrained, which is - he's just going to tell her he's a loan shark. We’re just gonna- we’re gonna try to take all the pipe, all the stuff you usually try to hide, and sell it. 

Christine: He owns it.

Johnathan: Lay it out there, put it into the scene in act one.

Christine: There's something great about putting it forward like that.

John: It just moves. It just flies. And also, whenever you can give Hardison a recurring series of impossible tasks, it is inherently amusing.

Christine: Aldis is adorable in this.

Johnathan: Especially in a limited amount of time.

John: Well that's really what we've talked about on a couple of the commentaries; when you have the super team, it gets really, really hard to constantly challenge them. So it got more and more - how do we constrain them in time and space? And this is the ultimate example. You know, this episode runs essentially in real time.

Johnathan: It is; it plays in real time.

[Silence]

John: That's me drinking, pardon.

[Laughter]

Christine: A lift.

John: A little lift.

Christine: Lift and replacement.

Johnathan: That was the replace. Yeah, the great chemistry between these two actors.

Christine: Alan’s worst day ever.

[Laughter]

Johnathan: All day. All day with Jeri.

Christine: All day.

John: Sitting at a bar. 

Johnathan: Sitting at a bar.

Christine: Could be worse.

John: It's interesting because we had episodes with bigger Tara Cole roles; this is actually my favorite one of the Tara- of Jeri doing Tara. Because you- this is one of the few times we cut her loose and let her do what she's supposed to do and really put her insolation.

Christine: And she’s really fearless, just fearless, which is great.

Johnathan: She’s a pro, pro from Dover and-

Christine: Seriously.

John: What does that mean?

Johnathan: She knows this character-

John: I'm disturbed. I like, by the way, the bar thing of like, ‘Yeah, we’ll miss our flight.’ They look over, it’s Jeri Ryan, ‘Yeah, ok. We’ll blow it off.’

Christine: Yeah, seriously.

Johnathan: ‘Ooh, ooh!’

Christine: Because this guy, not only is he gonna own it, he’s gonna brag about it.

John: What I love is we actually had a discussion in the room, for some people who didn't use to drink professionally, about the viability of some of the gambling and the money and everything in a bar. And I was like, I was a stand up comic-

Johnathan: That would never happen.

John: I was a stand up comic in a mob bar for a long time. Trust me - this was a Tuesday night. 

Johnathan: This happens.

John: Yeah. I saw 20-30 grand go away at the bar several times on sporting events; just poorly thought out ideas. And this was a challenge for you, by the way, you were establishing geography that didn't exist. 

Johnathan: Well that's what we just did by going out the back door. We all bought- we all drank the kool aid and said there will be a back staircase, otherwise this story’s gonna be dull as dirt. 

Christine: Yeah, there’s gotta be-

Johnathan: Trying to get in and out the front door.

John: It's kind of Noises Off. 

Christine: Yeah.

John: Yeah, we're kinda doing-

Christine: Everything I write is a little stagey.

John: Everything you write is a little stagey.

Christine: A little farce-y.

Johnathan: Here's more of our traditional 360, well used.

Christine: This is beautiful here, yeah.

Johnathan: Standing them up. Keep them standing. Always good advice.

John: The actors?

Johnathan: Yeah.

John: The actors’ energy is part of the energy, right, yeah.

Christine: Yeah this- I just got a thrill off of this, watching this being shot. 

John: It's also- it’s fun because it was one of the purest versions. Again, because we’re in so fast of Nate Ford like ‘I am a genius. I am playing chess. I am playing speed chess.’

Christine: Yeah, right.

Johnathan: This is a great bit coming up this is- we come off this and we go back to Christian with the dart. He kept saying to me, ‘No, no, Frakes, I can do this; I can actually throw it.’ I said, ‘No no, you don’t understand Christain, it has to look like magic.’ ‘No, give me half an hour and I’ll make some- I'll make some bullseyes for you.’ I said, ‘No, no, no, I can do it as a special effect. It’s gonna look great; you're gonna look cool.’ I fought with him and fought with him. He said, ‘No, let me just look.’ I said, ‘The point is you don't look! You dont look when the dart goes in the wall!’

[Laughter]

Christine: Christians tough, because he's good at everything. 

John: Well that's the trick. There’s- in a previous episode he jacks the slight on a gun and without looking catches the shell in midair as he’s doing dialogue. And it’s like- it’s hard to say no to him when he really wants to dig in in something, but yeah. This is also- I love- this is pure- this is pure threesome goodness. The kids are upstairs ripping apart dad’s apartment. 

Christine: Triangles.

Johnathan: It also tees up the ending which is great.

Christine: And this- I, you know, this is for the fans.

John: The idea that they have utterly co-opted-

Johnathan: Nate’s house? Yeah.

John: His house, yes.

Christine: Oh, the cereal boxes.

Johnathan: They’ve all got stashed money.

John: And this, by the way, is a callback, this is why Parker’s always eating cereal; she's planting money in there on a regular basis and hiding it. 

Christine: I think she likes the sugar as well.

John: She likes the sugar.

Johnathan: For anyone who’s watching closely.

John: And of course we finally solve the mystery of the picture.

[Laughter]

Christine: Her look right there is great.

Johnathan: ‘Are you kidding me?’

John: I love the idea that she- for once, cause we often play Hardison as the kind of emotional one, and for once we remind everyone, no he's a thief. Yeah. This is just his gig. He will even upset Parker, occasionally.

Johnathan: Woo he got down there fast, didn't he?

Christine: Oh yeah, that staircase is magical. Well he's very fit; he’s taking them three at a time.

John: Here's the thing: I don't think Eliot took the staircase; I'm thinking Eliot probably just went out the window.

Johnathan: He jumped.

Christine: He just jumped.

John: Went out the window, landed in the snow bank. I think that's probably the best way to play that particular transition.

[Laughter]

John: We don't- who cares about transitions? America is not sitting on their couch- 

Johnathan: Great extras, look at these-

Christine: Look at these extras, they’re killing me.

John: Look at these extras. They’re great. This was a really- you know, it's tricky because we usually shoot the-

Johnathan: Comedy. Sight gags.

John: Big comedy. I'm not afraid of the comedy. You know what? No one has ever stopped watching a TV show because it made them laugh.

Christine: Look at all these wires.

John: Yup, you have no idea what they're doing. 

Christine: Comedy wires.

John: By the way, that's roughly what the inside of my wall looks like; that's actually not bad.

[Laughter]

John: I like that you had him play the whole way through with the helmet, by the way.

Johnathan: Yeah keep the helmet- once you got the helmet-

John: But we actually- 

Johnathan: How about the amount of wires? Come on, I’ve seen The Three Stooges!

[Laughter]

John: It’s perfect, there's nothing like a pulling wire gag.

Christine: Look at all the ends, that's great.

John: It was interesting, breaking this up we eventually wound up in little strike teams like, ‘OK, you figure out how the wire works; you'll figure out how the Tivo- this part of the Tivo delivery system works; you'll figure out what the crime scene is.’ Yeah. 

Johnathan: Was this the writers room?

John: Yeah, this was basically, everyone got a piece of the script, come back in a day and tell me how it works.

Christine: We’re our own super team.

Johnathan: And you know what? It's one of the great things about this episode is the train leaves the station and there is no- there’s not much room for coming back and expositioning. 

Christine: It's the express train.

John: I love when he-

Johnathan: It is the express train.

John: And that's the idea is, again- and this could've been a nice passing episode, the ability to set up everything in this. This might be the most important episode before the finale, because you really see who this guy is.

Johnathan: It's also nice to see this guy go toe-to-toe with Tim.

Christian: Yeah.

John: Yeah, it’s was like with Riegert with 210; it's great when you get an actor who's not intimidated by Tim, because Tim, you know, he's a very gifted actor. He's very famous and-

Johnathan: Yeah, he's fabulous. And this guy could carry a show and he was so happy to be here.

John: Yeah.

Johnathan: And Tim liked him, and it worked out and it was a-

Christine: They had a great time.

Johnathan: It was a win, win, win.

Christine: They had a great time, we had a great time.

John: No, this was actually born from the fact that in an old apartment building I was in, people used to pirate off the main satellite feed.

Christine: Like you do.

Johnathan: Yeah.

John: So- as one does. The idea is you do it backwards.

Johnathan: As you do. We'd never do that in college.

John: No, no. Of course not.

Christine: Never.

John: Well satellite, I mean, back when we were in college were those giant sputnik things that we used to battle the Russians in space. 

[Laughter]

Johnathan: This is meant to be the Celtics, but what are- we found footage from the Canadian-

John: The Canadian basketball-

Christine: We went back and forth, we made up names.

John: You do not want to buy the rights from the NBA; it is very, very, expensive.

Christine: And that's not the point. The point is the betting.

John: The point is the betting.

Christine: The point is the characters. 

John: Exactly, is the idea. And the only thing I'm kinda sad is, we run at 42 minutes and 30 seconds. There's an awful lot of stuff you would love to do, you just don't have time for. We had a great bit that we researched about the neuroscience of gambling, and how you can create-

Christine: Oh yes.

John: Remember? You can create feedback cycles with addictive behavior that- it’s very specific intervals of winning that hooks an addict in, in a way that they can't escape. And we were going to use that at the bar and it just, it just- 

Johnathan: There was no room.

Christine: It's like the random praise you give the writers.

John: Yes, it's like the random- the writers- writers were distressed-

Johnathan: Boom.

Christine: Oh, look at that.

John: Yes, the writers were distressed to find out that I was using neuroscience on them. It turns out that you should never praise constantly or never, you should praise randomly.

Christine: Praise randomly.

Johnathan: There are not many physicists that are showrunners.

Christine: It’s true, it’s true.

John: I was explaining the random praise thing to them one day, and suddenly they realized ‘...wait that's what you do.’ ‘Well yeah, it's how you train a rat, so why wouldn't it be how you train a writer? 

[Laughter]

John: And it’s great- also the big challenge in the episode to keep the vic alive, to keep it emotionally anchored, and because we’re where she works, we can cut to her a lot and- 

Johnathan: We can cut to her a lot, and we put her in a lot of scenes that she wasn't originally in.

Christine: Yeah, just having her around.

John: It really just worked out. Cause you had her there, and you had the writer on set, makes a big difference.

Christine: So this is Brad Farwell and George Burich as Liam and Liam's brother, and George-

Johnathan: Not bad Irish accents for a couple of guys from the great northwest.

Christine: Pretty good. And I just had a drink with George in New York last week and he said, ‘Mention the toothpick! Don't forget to mention the toothpick.’

John: It's nice; it's a nice touch.

Christine: He's in love with that prop; adorable.

John: I remember how Liam's brother- Liam and Liam's brother was born, because we actually were trying to think of a name; it just hung in the room so long we were like, ‘Oh wait, that's the joke. This is Liam and Liam's brother.’

Christine: ‘That’s totally it.’

Johnathan: Worked on [unintelligible] for three years.

John: And beat, beat, beat. There you go.

[Laughter]

Johnathan: Eric Bates, our prop man, said, ‘Frakes, should I get out the good money for this show?’ I said yeah.

Christine: The good, good money.

John: There's gonna be a lot of close ups.

Johnathan: He's got two qualities of money. Yeah I said, ‘Tonight would be a night for the good money.’

John: We’re a heist show. We have an awful lot of briefcases of money, and sometimes you just need the tops and sometimes you need to count it, yeah. 

Christine: A lot of cash.

John: And this was a nice beat and Tim really didn’t over play this. He really did a great job.

Christine: It's very subtle this episode.

John: He was really great and subtle.

Johnathan: Well, he's comfortable in a bar. 

John: Yeah and-

Johnathan: And I think a lot of us are, and I think that's one of the reasons-

Christine: I don't know what you're talking about.

Johnathan: Well, I mean, you can tell people who spend time in there. Even the shooters behind the camera, everybody was comfortable in there, everybody knew the way it should look, everybody knew the dynamic, everybody knew what the stuff would be like. I mean, there's something about being in a familiar place with a crew that makes you move faster and move with it as a team.

John: And also we've lived in this set a bit more. We set decked a little bit more, and again, it was like usually we meet the clients during the day, and looking at this was like, we should be there at night all the time.

Christine: Yeah, it's gorgeous.

Johnathan: There's a lot to be said for night.

John: Night is cheap rain. Or rain is cheap night. I can never keep that straight.

[Laughter]

John: More great work by Derek, our visual effects guy. There's- it's really hard we do a life of computer gackery and it's really hard to make sure people understand.

Johnathan: Are we gonna go over the split screen again on the TV?

John: I don't know. No, no we're not gonna split-screen.

Johnathan: The big screen is- I've been watching a lot of these NCIS things-

John: The big screen, I think we're gonna go the big screen next year. 

Johnathan: That, I think, is the difference.

John: You know what? We just didn't have the tech. 

Johnathan: Yeah I know, that's what I'm saying. That’s what I’m saying, we do now. 

John: Yeah this was really- although it worked well for this, because it's one of the few times we pop up a bunch of different windows.

Christine: They're multitasking almost.

John: I think next year we’re gonna- and again there's an awful lot of stuff we’re kind of inventing on the fly. Yeah.

Christine: The hell you say?

[Laughter]

Johnathan: It’s a TV show.

John: Yeah, it's like shooting a movie in 7 days, or 6 ½ occasionally.

Christine: 6 ½ in 107 degrees.

Johnathan: Don’t bring it up; don’t rub it in.

John: Now when you get two actors like this, you know, what's your job as a director? You go in, do you have a specific ‘I want to end this scene here’? Do you give them guidelines? Do you shoot-? What's your approach?

Johnathan: Well these guys both decided with our permission, your permission, that, you know, they would adlib. Here’s what needs to happen in the scene. If you have two good actors and you have the intention of the scene clear and you're at a bar and they're having a drink, and they're gambling, and they're watching, it’s safe.

Christine: It's nice to have actors who care about the rhythm of the dialogue. How it's said is as important as what's being said, and they will work with me every- the regular cast and the guest stars were happy to like grab me at any time. ‘Rewrite this. Can I say this? Can we do it that way?’ I love that.

John: Yeah, I know.

Christine: Woo, there's a lot of grabbing going on; very grabby.

John: Yeah we’re setting up Boylan; she's pretty open to it without all those lawyers getting involved.

[Laughter]

John: But here's the thing, there's a lot of showrunners, and a lot of writers, and everything it's like ‘say the words, say the words, say the words.’ And you know what? At the end of the day it's a television show with actors and it's gotta-

Johnathan: It's really- in the defense of both sides, you really have to use it judiciously.

John: Yes.

Johnathan: I think that you have to know- Timothy Hutton can adlib. Alan Smith, I'd done four shows with, I knew he could. But you don't want to turn everybody loose, because everybody thinks they're funny, and only some people are.

Christine: Exactly.

John: You have to be open to it.

Johnathan: You have to be open to it enough to judiciously use whats good and what's-

John: And just not- and I'm just saying, I'm not one of those writers where it's like, you know what? If you wind up with the better rhythm, the better line, that's what matters. Because TV is radio with pictures. 

Christine: Absolutely.

John: You know, people listen to voices, people listen- they got their heads down, they're reading while they're listening to TV, you know, that's what drives television. It's nice when television is well shot, but well-spoken television works just as well.

Christine: Oh for me it works better.

Johnathan: They remember what happened.

John: Yes. It'd be nice if every now and then you thought about the fact that actors have to deliver your lines.

Christine: They love it.

John: Yes, they adore you.

Christine: I do think a good section of the writing process occurs on set, honestly. And it's something that I was lucky to learn in rehearsals doing theater: it’s gonna change every day and that's ok. Everybody’s gonna roll with it, it's gonna get better, and it has to be easy to say; it has to be easy for the audience to process and remember.

Johnathan: And also each character speaks differently. That's what happened in the second season in this show, is the characters have found their voices, the writers have found the characters’ voices-

John: Honestly we got lucky. They found their voices early, early, first season. They all had found their rhythms. Because we tend to pair them, and you tend to- and that's what happens is they find the rhythms of each other. That moment of celebration from Hardison is not just him, it's us for having pulled off the wire. Doing a con that most shows take an entire episode to do- 

Johnathan: We do it in less than half.

John: And labor the freaking point about it. That's right, in Leverage you get 3 or 4 episodes of television per episode. 

[Laughter]

John: And we've won, at this point- and again, this is a hook on Nate’s illness this year. At this point he should walk away.

Christine: Absolutely.

John: There is no reason for him to do this.

Johnathan: But now it's a bigger deal.

John: And it's not just justice, it’s obsession, you know, and it’s vengeance, and it’s control and it's- you know, he's starting to see himself as his father.

Johnathan: And it’s alcohol.

John: It’s alcohol.

Christine: Is it hubris or moxie?

John: Well what the alcohol has done is kind of- hubris or moxie. As we say in the writers room all the time.

Christine: That’s it; it’s very important.

John: Is it hubris or moxie? And with him it’s hubris. 

Christine: Totally.

John: But we’re really- what the alcohol has done here is loosened up the reins he's had on what is a really- and what I love is Tim’s not afraid to play this is - Nate Ford is an unpleasant human being. He's condescending, he's sarcastic, he’s vengeful, he's judgmental. You know, I love the- and again Jeri- 

Johnathan: And he's not afraid of that.

Christine: No he's not.

John: Yeah, and the fact that when he sort of loosens up, a lot of other shows have ‘Oh he's loosened up, I like him more.’ When Nate Ford loosens up you actually see him see an uglier side of him. The professional thieves are much more likeable on this show than the protagonist, which is one of the reasons I think it kinda works. I love that, that is a great beat. ‘I’m claustrophobic.’

[Laughter]

Christine: Liam's brother is claustrophobic.

Johnathan: What an absurd beat.

John: Well you know what? I'd just come back from Boston, I'd driven the Ted Williams tunnel to go to Logan.

Christine: It’s awful.

John: It's awful; you're underground forever.

Christine: It’s awful.

John: It's like, alright- that's one of the advantages of knowing the city you're actually writing about. Like, you know what, there's no other way to get to the airport.

Johnathan: But it's a wonderful thing to say about a character that has virtually nothing else.

John: Nothing to say. And that actor landed that look.

Johnathan: Exactly.

Christine: That's lovely.

John: Yes, and now we're giving Hardison yet another insanely impossible thing to do.

Johnathan: And we’re taking the leap that the audience knows what a green screen can do.

Christine: Yes.

John: You know what? I think everyone does now. 

Johnathan: I think they do. 

John: It really is- it’s always interesting to try to figure out, what do people know and not know and not know? And now a little something for the ladies.

Christine: Ahem, you're welcome.

[Laughter]

Christine: This was a fun day on set.

John: Yeah I can imagine. ‘Why are all the PA’s here?’

Johnathan: He's been waiting.

John: He's been waiting for a while. Dude should not have to work out that much and not be-

Johnathan: Exactly. I said, ‘Will you take your shirt off?’ He said, ‘On camera?’ I said, ‘Yeah’. ‘Watch me.’

[Laughter]

John: As opposed to usually where you're with actors ‘Will you take your shirt off?’ ‘Alright Mr. Frakes, if you want.’

Johnathan: ‘Can you really ride that motorcycle?’ ‘I said I could!’

[Laughter]

John: Oh god! Oh this is unspeakable, oh man, this is why we drink during these! I love Parker’s little beat there of, ‘Yeah, like there’s a safe I can't pick, c’mon’. 

Christine: Seriously.

John: This is one of my favorites- and again, the second half of the season, we started pairing Eliot and Parker together.

Christine: It's a great pairing.

Johnathan: Yeah, and it changes the rhythm, but they are great together.

John: They're great together. And Chris and Beth are also getting to work together a lot and they- really whole cast really likes each other, so it was fun to watch.

Johnathan: Here's some comedy.

John: You know what, big comedy, half-dressed comedy.

Christine: Sexy comedy.

[Laughter]

Johnathan: Weatherman comedy. 

Christine: Weatherman comedy.

Johnathan: Clothes are a little small because they're Nate’s clothes. Did we get that part?

John: Yeah, I noticed that. And also the whole idea that he could be pantless, you don't know.

Christine: He could be, they don't know.

John: No, this was an enormous amount of fun. This is just really one where we kicked back and put every con trope we can into this thing. 

[Laughter]

Christine: And we got a lot of pleasure in the writers room of doing the ‘other side’ bit before it ended up in the script.

John: Other side.

Christine: ‘Seattle’. ‘Other side’

John: No this is- and again, it was a matter of controlling information. In theory, the bar- and it's tricky, cause, you know, much like earbuds have changed the way you write these shows in communication. When mobile phones start doing news better, we're gonna have to learn to write different stuff. 

Johnathan: Yeah.

John: The ubiquity of information is something that all con and heist shows- controlling information is what that depends on, and you can control information less and less and less. But again, because we were in one location, that was the benefit; it forced us to do something that makes our lives easier.

Christine: I'm a fan of putting constraints on them as much as possible.

John: Yeah. It’s- otherwise they need obstacles.

Christine: Now forget the weather, he’s gonna do whatever she tells him. Look at her, please.

John: Pretty much I think he would probably kill Liam and Liam's brother at this point.

Christine: In full view of everyone.

Johnathan: ‘I don't care if they are claustrophobic!’

John: ‘Put them in a goddamn tunnel!’ No. No it's what - we're watching this with the sound off by the way - and it’s one of my favorite bits about watching these scenes, is you can actually-

Johnathan: You remember what happened.

John: You remembered what happened, but also I like watching- without the dialogue it's easier to see the emotional moments, the choices the actors are making. You can see the swing moments in the scene. 

Christine: Oh yeah.

John: The acting- I actually enjoy it more with the sound off. Because you know what's going on here. With the sound off, you know how she’s reining him in, she's shutting him down, and then he’s pulling her in; she’s feeding his ego.

Johnathan: Look at how unafraid of her he is, which was nice.

John: That's also a big thing this year, is coming up with bad guys who were a little more physically confident, you know. It was a little too easy to have, like, old white dudes who were threatened by stuff.

Christine: See no tie. He's not wearing a tie.

John: No tie, he's not wearing a tie. We’ll have to remember that.

Christine: Leather jacket, no tie.

John: And then the stall almost works. And what I love is- Johnathan, you created an entire back to this bar between that drink room and the back room.

Johnathan: The drink room and the poker room.

John: And the magic area. There's no-

Johnathan: It’s huge back there!

John: It did not exist.

Christine: It’s so huge.

Johnathan: There's the whole first floor of that building.

John: Those sets aren't there!

[Laughter]

John: It was nicely done. And especially since you bombed in on short notice too right? Was I supposed to do this one? I was supposed to do this one.

Christine: This all came together very quickly.

Johnathan: Yeah, I think this was yours.

John: This was mine, and I wound up writing another episode, so I couldn’t direct.

Christine: What you missed the 107 degrees in Portland?

John: Yeah, I don’t know if I could’ve- there's no way in hell I could have pulled this off.

Christine: I don't think you would have made it.

John: No..

Christine: I'm just kidding.

John: No, no, no Johnathan has a lot of experience, he's really confident and really great with actors.

Johnathan: Oh please, John.

John: No this- a bottle show is the hardest show you can do on television. Period. The end. And it's the simplest looking one, they are- go find the bottle shows to your favorite television shows and watch how much they suck.

Christine: They're often audience favorites, because you get to play character-

Johnathan: They've often been sidled with flashbacks.

Christine: Oh, that’s true.

Johnathan: And pieces of other shows because they are short as well as bottled.

Christine: No clip show here.

John: No clip show here.

Christine: Just that special Life on Mars flashback to Nate's dad.

John: Nate’s brutally corrupt father.

Christine: Look at these guys.

Johnathan: Joe Ivy, Hank Cartwright, Ted Rooney. 

Christine: Fantastic. Fantastic gentleman. Lovely, hilarious.

John: And this one keeps picking up on the entrances too. This really does run in real time, doesn't it? You think- there's a time dash in act four where we do the poker game, but that's it. Now I love- these guys were great. Oh my god, these guys were great.

Johnathan: Local again.

Christine: Local?

Johnathan: God bless the Portland hires.

John: Again Portland, we thought we'd be flying up 3 or 4 actors a week, we flew up one on average.

Christine: Yup, it's that Portland, and then access to Seattle; it's two cities just full of terrific actors.

John: Now they're scheming, now they are working together. These two guys were great, they were really telling their own story back there.

Johnathan: Well it’s again, once they were cast and they started to hang together, and you hang together for a week, and you're on location together, and you're in a show. I've done this, I've been that actor; there's nothing better, there's nothing better than being number 7, 8, 9 in the call sheet.

John: You've got their moments.

Johnathan: On hold. You get your per diem. You've got your moments, you're in the family for a week, it's a great thrill.

Christine: And everybody got really close. You know, it was a heat wave, we’re all in it together, everybody’s going out for drinks, everybody hanging out afterwards. It was nice.

Johnathan: I went home and worked.

[Laughter]

John: You did. You go home every night.

Christine: I think I saw you out once or twice, Mr. Frakes.

John: You went home to prep your shot list for the next day. Of course, you're brutally devoted sir, you are brutally devoted. I like the mislead here, this actually wound up- again, we jumped through so many hoops. ‘How do we put his poker game together? Where do we find it?’ ‘Oh wait, we’ll just establish it early and use all the available resources.’

Christine: And this is where the improv-ing really came into play during the poker game, it was kind of terrific.

John: Well also because this was based on bars where I used to hang out in Montreal where the cops- cause the place-

Johnathan: The cops were in the back.

John: Well, you know, where I hung out at- Montreal, that part was controlled by the Irish mob. So, it was a lot of Irish bars, a lot of cops, a lot of Irish mob guys hanging out in the same place. 

Christine: Sort of neutral ground.

John: Yeah, exactly.

Christine: Or a neutral zone.

Johnathan: Newspaper recycling plant right here, ladies and gentlemen.

John: Don't do that.

Christine: Don't say neutral zone?

Johnathan: Right there that's all newspaper. 

John: That's all newspaper? That's cool, where'd you find this? 

Johnathan: In Portland.

John: No, I meant the-

Christine: Portland warehouse.

Johnathan: Portland warehouse. And that is a sugar, what they cut- What's it called? 

Christine: Sugar cane?

Johnathan: They used to cut cocaine with it, it’s-

Christine: Oh.

Johnathan: Baby laxative.

John: Oh wow.

Johnathan: It’s put into-

John: Now I know. How do you know- wow it's almost like you were an actor in the 80s. How do you know so much about cocaine, Johnathan?

Johnathan: I'm just telling you what I learned on the location scout, they told me all these things.

John: All these things you pick up along the way in your long career.

[Laughter]

John: Things happen. And the fact that he is- and again, interestingly, if you go back and rewatch the back six episodes, just Jeri’s role, you can actually track her coherent decision points.

Johnathan: This is a good shot. Aaand boom. 

John: And through the door.

Johnathan: We wanted to see the shots cause we know, it’s not really about the shots, it's about the story.

Christine: The shots support the story. 

John: No, no, the episodes where Dean does commentary it’s all about the shots. With you, we hammer you with a story.

Johnathan: If you see the shots there’s a problem really, isn't there?

John: If you notice a shot, that means you're not paying attention to the story. But I love that. By doing that push in, you connected that door to a room that is actually on the other soundstage.

Christine: Far away.

John: You have to walk another 150 yards.

Johnathan: Another part of the world! It’s another day!

John: This room actually sold us.

Johnathan: Look at this stage, it’s setting you up for something this season. Look at that stage.

Christine: We got- seriously I got a couple pictures from that stage.

John: I’m sure you do.

Christine: Oh baby, do I.

Johnathan: Does it involve comedy? Cause John Rogers has not made it-

John: Oh no.

Christine: It involves musical comedy.

John: Musical comedy.

Johnathan: What about stand up?

John: Yeah, well I’ve worked that room.

Johnathan: That’s what I’m saying!

[Laughter]

John: Fairly sure I’ve worked in that room.

Christine: There's a flashback episode coming up.

John: Yeah- yeah, we do the writer's flashback, the audience would love that.

Johnathan: Nothing indulgent in here.

Christine: No one wants to see that.

John: No, I don’t think I'm going to go the Steve Cannell playing poker at the table route just quite yet.

Johnathan: Castle.

John: And I say that and the man is a walking god of writing, but no I'm not gonna go there.

Johnathan: And James Patterson as well.

John: James Patterson was there, too. We actually like those show- it's interesting it’s- you know, a lot of commentaries go out of their way to not talk about other shows.

Christine: We like other shows.

John: You have to be a fan of the genre to write the genre.

Christine: Absolutely.

John: You know you have to be. Otherwise you won't know when you're crossing the streams, won't necessarily have the toolbox.

Johnathan: Here's an example of what we were talking about earlier. We gave the three local cops, Alan, Tim, the poker game. Here's what has to happen, we have to have two cons that are positive, and a con that's negative. And we played- we played 6, 7, 8, 9, minute takes.

Christine: Oh yeah, we sat back and laughed our asses off afterwards, they were great.

Johnathan: Sat back and laughed, and cut it together and you go where we see it in the scene.

Christine: Some brilliant cutting here, actually.

John: It’s a really nicely shot poker game, actually. I'm watching it now, this is really really nice.

Johnathan: It’s because we had all the time in the world because we had- we finished the scene and what I needed was the poker game, and what we needed was the story points in the poker game. Instead of trying to find them I said, ‘Why don't we just play hands out?’ And so the camera men, to their credit, Connell and Camp- 

John: And again, I love Beth bringing a creepy sexual vibe.

[Laughter]

Johnathan: A creepy sexual vibe to a safe.

Christine: It’s great.

John: Yeah, that's really nice. And she does the same thing- it's interesting. It’s kind of another beat that she played with Eliot in the Lost Heir Job where she knows violence is about to happen, and she gets a little buzzed by it.

Christine: A little excited about it. I don't know anybody like that.

John: Yeah that's not, not at all.

Christine: Not at all.

Johnathan: Isn’t that what you write? That's your strongest suit?

John: Creepy sexual violence, that's what Boylan-

Christine: I don't know what you're talking about.

Johnathan: That's the Boylan way.

John: No the-

Johnathan: By this time Nate is fully into the [unintelligible].

Christine: I mean he's just- 

John: Boom boom boom.

Johnathan: He made the decision early, which actually we glanced over. That was a wonderful beat, which he did not overplay. 

John: When he goes and gets the booze and brings it over? Yeah.

Johnathan: No no, in the bar when he decides to have the first drink.

Christine: The first drink.

John: Yeah. Well you know, I don’t think it’s in the script to look to Odessa? Just having Tim glimpse over.

Christine: That was all Tim.

John: That was- looking over he was like ‘Oh man, I have watched this little girl since she was 5 years old. I'm not gonna let her down now.’

Christine: Beautiful note.

John: Good fight here, too.

Johnathan: Good fight.

Christine: Great fight. Look at this guy. Oh my god

John: Yeah this is a nice- this is like a toe to toe. We don't do a lot of these.

Christine: This was the first day shooting I think?

Johnathan: Not only first day of shooting, this is-

Christine: Morning right?

Johnathan: This is doubled up with- weren’t we doubled up?

John: Yeah, another show was shooting.

Christine: Oh god we were. I blocked that out.

John: You guys overlapped.

Johnathan: We overlapped, and the crew was on its way to do another thing. 

John: Oh wow, I didn't know that.

Johnathan: Remember that?

Christine: That's right we lost some of the crew.

John: Oh wow, nice snap. I don't remember seeing this version of the cut; this is great. Oh both good spins.

Johnathan: This is, what’s his name? This is Paul Bernard’s stunt buddy from New York; he did a great job.

Christine: He’s fantastic.

John: Yeah and Kevin, our stunt coordinator, did a fantastic job. 

Christine: Great job, look at that.

John: That is a great fight. That might be one of- that's my favorite stick fight, and the fact that they're both very good-

Christine: Look at this guy, this guy’s the best.

Johnathan: Look at this guy. ‘Oh, oh no. Ahhh!’

Johnathan: Moe, Larry, Curly

Christine: Fantastic. Comedy, Frakes, comedy.

Johnathan: Second Three Stooges reference. 

John: Yeah.

Christine: Oh boy.

John: Yeah. 

[Laughter]

John: Yeah, and just Parker’s building frustration here. 

Johnathan: Like, ‘Can you guys shut up?’

Christine: She does a great job. Beth is terrific.

John: As Chris just takes him apart.

Johnathan: This is exactly the tone of this show.

Christine: Oh.

Johnathan: Right here.

[Laughter]

John: Did she kick him?

Christine: The flick of the ponytail.

Johnathan: Yeah, she worked the heel.

John: Yeah, just fantastic. And- I'm- wow, this is a great sequence. This is the first time I've seen that fight cut. That was wonderful.

Christine: It's good cutting in there, too.

Johnathan: The good money.

Christine: The good money, the good, good money.

John: Brian Gonosey right? Brian cut the hell out of this.

Christine: Brian, yes. My friend Brian.

Johnathan: Repeat on the snow.

John: Yeah. You only have so much- so much snow.

Johnathan: I know we need to get some more Boston shots for next year.

John: Totally legally, of course.

[Laughter]

Christine: I don't know what you're talking about.

Johnathan: It takes place in Boston, right? Shot in Portland.

John: Yes it does. Shot in Portland.

Christine: Look at the look on her face.

Johnathan: How convenient is this? ‘She'll be here in a minute.’ Door opens, she comes in, she’s got a bag of money.

Christine: Only got so much time.

Johnathan: Exactly.

John: Hey 42 minutes. 42 minutes, kids.

Johnathan: 42 minutes.

[Laughter]

John: We’re moving. 

Johnathan: It would've been cut anyway.

John: I know! It would've been cut.

Christine: I love how Alan just let the panic kind of- when we cut back to him, he just lets the panic kind of rise from his chest up to his face, essentially.

John: This was a big thing, too, figuring out exactly what the mark was, how-

Christine: Every mark I pitched was the most elaborate, most flirtily designed-

Johnathan: I know, in real life it should be the subtlest mark of all.

Christine: I was all over that.

Johnathan: It should be the most subtle mark of all.

John: Look at that, look at that.

Johnathan: This is a wonderful beat. This, and what Tim does after this, is fabulous.

John: And- but I love- just the way he just wipes his mouth as he gets up, he's like, ‘Alright, we're gonna have to do some violence.’

Christine: ‘We’re doing this. We're doing this.’

John: ‘Don't want to do this, but we have to do this’. And then the-

Johnathan: ‘Ok fine, let me talk my way out of it, if not-’

John: This is a man with a back up plan. Yeah, and Alan really dug in here, sort of just the rage of having his beautiful little plan taken away.

Johnathan: He's a stage boy. This is Eugene O'Neill stuff coming up.

John: Yeah exactly, park your cameras and let the people talk. And these guys were great.

Christine: These guys-

John: Also, great physical casting on these guys.

Christine: Second time he admits he's a loan shark right there, it's great.

John: They look like cops. I mean, it was really brilliant casting- they look like both cops and thugs, it was really nicely done.

Christine: They look like guys from the neighborhood. It worked out really well.

John: And again, one of the themes of the show is the bad guy is always hung by his own sin. You know, it's whatever sin you see him commit early has gotta be what shows up. Yeah, and this guy is fearless, I love this guy. I love them all. 

[Laughter]

Christine: He's hilarious, look at that.

John: We have to bring these guys back.

Christine: We should.

Johnathan: They live there, they could easily-

Christine: I really think we should.

John: Actually, that was a problem, Odessa was from LA, and we want to recur the character and getting her up was impossible.

Johnathan: She wasn't from LA.

John: She was from LA.

Christine: Um, I don't know.

John: Pretty sure, yeah.

Johnathan: No no, she came in-

John: And I love he kind of drops the- he’s got that -

Johnathan: He’s like Muldoon.

John: He's got that long Dublin face. He's got the long, yeah.

Christine: He does, he's like a Joyce character, he's terrific.

John: He is.

Johnathan: No, she's a local who had moved to LA after.

John: That's right, that's right.

Christine: Oh that's what that was.

John: Yeah, he's got the Flanner O'Connell thing going on.

Johnathan: All three of these guys could easily come back. 

John: Yeah.

Christine: Oh yeah.

Johnathan: It’s like Fred Guinn on the right, look at that.

John: Wow, you found the Portland Fred Guinn, amazing. This is one of the longer explanations-  this is actually one of the longer flashbacks we do.

Christine: I love doing these flashes, and they- we always have to cut a whole bunch every time I write.

John: I know, I know.

Johnathan: This is a bleached bypass.

Christine: The first draft of this outline had so many flashes in it.

John: There was-

Christine: The handwritten one that I did-

[Laughter]

John: To be fair, Boylan, sometimes you will write an episode which is mostly flashes, with only two or three things happening in modern times.

Christine: I don't know what you're talking about. I'm trying to screw with your perception of time.

John: The theater thing sometimes gets a little out of control.

Johnathan: Well you milked that Guinness, didn't you?

Christine: What? It was a tiny Guinness.

John: It was a tiny Guinness. She is a tiny girl, it was a tiny Guinness.

Christine: It was a baby Guinness. 

John: And this is- this is great. I love the fact that Nate becomes physically violent here. 

Christine: Oh man.

Johnathan: Yeah.

John: This is- and I'm trying to remember where that came up in the room.

Christine: I forgot who pitched the finger breaking thing.

John: Cause it was originally the cops.

Johnathan: Tim got really involved in this. Tim was very excited about this part of the character, and this moment that's about- that we're all about to see.

John: I think I was the finger breaking, just because of the various times I'd seen it done.

Johnathan: Well no, it's a call back to the finger breaking, a callback-

John: No right, that's why we put it in the old days. But I was trying to remember exactly how we- we had multiple ways to get him out of this room. And then it was like, you know, we really- you really can't just chase him out.

Christine: Yeah.

John: You need somebody to lay the hurt on him. 

Christine: He’s gotta have some damage.

John: And the person who has to do it has to be Nate. And that's great. Again, it backed into the whole- there's a seething angry vicious criminal under Nate Ford at all times.

Johnathan: Here it is- bam and bam!

Christine: Look at that.

John: He so digs in on the- 

Christine: Look at Alan.

John: And Alan is so- cause I’ll tell you, and that was the advice I got back when I was in Montreal. A guy was in the mob, he was a bouncer, told me ‘You know what, all you gotta do is break a man's finger to get his attention for 5 minutes.’ I was like, wow.

Christine: That's good advice.

John: Really good advice. There's no pain like-

Johnathan: And ooh lights out.

Christine: He let loose with so many unholy screams during-

John: And there's something- actually important here, he breaks his finger at the end of the conversation. 

Christine: Yeah.

John: That's an unpleasant thing to do. And the great bit, ‘You're exactly like your father.’ Ahh, that's so great.

Christine: Great breath there.

Johnathan: ‘None of us- I was at the ball game. Were you guys at the ball game?’

John: Huh? No.

Johnathan: That's what they're saying.

John: Oh!

Christine: Yeah ‘I was at the movies. Oh I was at the ball game’

John: ‘I was at the ball game.’ Oh, that's right

Christine: So the families can get the money back.

Johnathan: And then we tried desperately to get the snow to blow into the door on the exit. I’m not sure that we got it.

John: I don't think we got it. Why? ‘Cause it was 107 degrees in a warehouse!

Johnathan: It's 107, where are you guys going?

Christine: The backdoor to the alley, we covered it.

John: And the book, the ledger. And that was again, it's one of those things where you do research, how do loan sharks keep their records? They keep them in stupid coded legers!

Christine: Coded leger. It’s written in stupid pen and ink.

Johnathan: And here's the one of our regulars.

John: Yeah. 

Johnathan: She's so reluctant to give up the money, it's brilliant.

Christine: It’s great.

[Laughter]

Johnathan: Here's a callback to the people in the beginning who have been ripped off.

John: He’s one of our regulars- if you watch, every episode he's at the bar. He's great; he's a local extra who kinda became the- mascot’s not the right word, but he really became, kind of, the extra heart, you know. And booze. Booze for everyone.

Johnathan: Shooters for everybody.

Christine: Hey, you know, end with booze we do get to [] here.

John: Somebody actually asked who drinks, who doesn't drink. Eliot drinks, Hardison doesn't drink well, Parker drinks but it doesn't affect her, Tara drinks a lot, and Nate of course is an alcoholic, just if you're keeping score.

Johnathan: What about Odessa?

Christine: Sophie?

John: Oh Sophie drinks but she only drinks girly- socially.

Christine: Socially. That's my girl.

Johnathan: You think?

John: Well when she's- yeah. She can put it away, but she prefers-

Christine: But she doesn't need to.

Johnathan: But she drinks neat booze.

John: She drinks neat booze. But you know, she's a woman who's trying to escape her past. You know, whatever she used to drink she doesn't drink anymore. I just- ‘No, no, I'm not gonna sleep with your niece at all.’ That was actually- in the original version was, she wandered off, you know, what you need to close up this beat. Yeah.

Johnathan: Ok let's sit down, we've-

Christine: Here we go.

John: She's great, she really is great. And the whole fathers thing here.

Johnathan: We even milked it with the look to the empty father’s seat.

Christine: Oh yeah, look to the chair.

Johnathan: Hopefully it stayed in the cut, let’s see.

John: I don’t know.

Christine: I believe it did.

John: They don't listen to you Frakes. 

Christine: I don't know, we were both adamant about that.

Johnathan: Still doesn't matter.

Christine: Doesn’t matter.

John: We’re just puking up raw material for the brilliance of the editors. 

Christine: The director was here and that chirpy girl, I don't know what they were saying. I think she was drunk, I'm not sure.

John: There's a lot about fathers in this season. Sort of looking at it there's a lot of- there’s Lost Heir, there's the season opener...

Christine: Every good show has daddy issues.

John: Wow that was a really weird voice you said that in; that’s a little disturbing.

Johnathan: My fathers the reason I'm here.

Christine: Aww.

John: Yeah, there you go.

Johnathan: Chair.

John: Chair, there you go you got the chair.

Christine: Cut to the stool. Dad’s office.

John: And he's gonna drink to it, yup.

Johnathan: Cause he hasn't had enough to drink today.

John: No he has not. Well once you start, really-

Christine: Really, what's the point of stopping?

John: Oh that's nice, they've cleaned up behind them, while they're talking.

Johnathan: High and wide.

John: High and wide.

Christine: Times out really nicely.

John: Nicely done.

Christine: Real time.

John: Anything you wanna say to the nice folks?

Johnathan: See you next season.

Christine: See you next season.

John: Thank you Mr. Frakes, that was wonderful. Thank you Boylan, that was wonderful.

Christine: Thanks guys.

John: And again an almost impossible show to do. Usually an impossible job on any show and- on any series and you guys made it one of the best of the 2 years, congratulations.

Johnathan: You're a gentleman and a scholar and a physicist.

[Laughter]

Christine: And a bit of a comedian as well.

John: Every now and then.

Johnathan: I can see you on that stage in the back room.

John: I'm not doing it.

Johnathan: What do you mean?

Christine: You are doing it.

Johnathan: John. 

John: You know what? This screams for a Gilligan cut, ‘I’m not doing it!’

[enternalempires]

Downfall of a Liar

This is a Lukanette fic. Some fluff, some angst, a lot of salt and Luka being a King of Revenge. You all get to see the more conniving part of our snake boi. Hope you enjoy! Haven’t figured out how to use links yet but my Ao3 username is the same. Basically,  Lila Rossi has gone too far and Luka Couffaine is going to do something about it. He is, after all, a Couffaine… a little chaos never frightened him.

Marinette came to him on a Friday afternoon with sad eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Her knees were bleeding and her wrists were bruised, hair messy and lip busted. Her dress was ruined with an ugly paint smear and her stockings underneath were ripped.

“I fell down the stairs,” She told him, looking away. “I didn’t mean to. I must’ve fallen into some paint.”

Luka didn’t believe this.

The wobble in her voice and the unsteady way she had stumbled right into his chest when she saw him was not the actions of a girl used to her own clumsy feet. Marinette was a strong girl and he knew how much of a burden was placed onto her shoulders. She did not crack easily and she did not do it over being a klutz or smudged paint. She did not cry over repairable things, over broken nails or washable clothes. She did not come to him looking upset and watery-eyed without feeling one step from breaking.

These were things he knew.

So, after calming her down and getting her to take a shower, offering her clean clothes and a warm bed, and letting the girl he fell in love with fall asleep on his chest to the sound of his heartbeat, he did some digging.

He went to his sister first and found out the real story.

Marinette was in the art workshop, Mrs. Bustier having set up a lesson in there during the last hour of the day, with the other members of the band as she helped Nathan and Marc on their story.

She was honestly just being nice— as Jules explained— then the bitch, his sister’s respective name for Lila, sauntered into the room and started to wail about how Mari was only helping the two co-creators because she wanted the credit for their work.

The girl he fell in love with defended herself, and her friends did the same but with most of the Akuma class— excluding the band members and Nathaniel— having fallen for her tails of woe and amazing, yet false, life experiences, they sided with the liar instead of Mari.

Then, throughout the rest of the class, the bitch found ways to terrorize Marinette (going as far and tripping her and cutting her dress with scissors, dropping her paint onto her, pushing her into things, or slamming different objects onto her wrists) and then blame her for getting in the way.

Juleka and Rose had helped Marinette calm down a little as the girl broke into tears as soon as they were away from the rest of the Akuma class but she just kept panicking— and ran away. They didn’t know where she ended up until he texted them and asked.

Then Luka asked for Alya Cesiare’s phone number and made an unsettling discovery.

Marinette and the blogger were no longer best friends.

And, horrifyingly, she had been accused of being a bully, a liar, and a manipulator. Lila painted his melody in the way that everyone should view her instead.

Finally he created a group chat with a few allies he could trust.

He contacted Adrien Agreste (because even if the boy had been painfully oblivious that Marinette had once been in love with him, he would do anything for his lady), Kagami Tsurigi and her girlfriend and spoiled brat, Chloe Bourgeois, the boyfriends Marc and Nate, and then the rest of his band.

He named it ‘The Marinette Protection Squad’ and, just like that, the war was on its way.

*-*-*

Lila Rossi was waiting in the back of the school by herself when Luka arrived. He found her hidden between one of the walls and a thick oak tree and he didn’t bother to hide himself as he crossed the grounds over to her.

She saw him, surprise lighting her features for a second before it shifted into a— what he would guess, if it wasn't on someone so repulsive— a seductive smile.

“Luka!” She squealed, sauntering up to him and stopping a few feet away. “How are you, sweetheart? It’s been forever since we saw each other, since your last year in Lycee, right?”

“I don’t care,” Luka took a step back, face emotionless as he looked down at her. His eyes gave away nothing as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’ve made a lot of people angry, Lila.”

“A-Angry?” She stammered, feigning innocence by putting her hands over her heart with too wide of eyes to be real. “Why would they be angry with me?”

“Because you’re a liar and you hurt the people they care about— you hurt the person I care about.”

“Oh,” Lila straightened her back. “You must be talking about my bully.”

“Your bully?” Luka scoffed, less than amused. “Sure, I’ll play along for a minute. Who is your bully.”

“She’s... s-she is Marinette,” The liar sniffles. “And she says such horrible things about me and they’re not true! She pushes me and, and she rips up my homework and she insults me. Whatever you heard isn’t true, I swear!”

“Are you done?” He sighed out, shrugging his shoulders to make them relax more. “You’re a lying bitch, I get it. I’m not here to let you try to sink your claws under my skin, not that it would work, I’m here to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?” Lila asks, voice going a bit nastier than she probably intended.

What a two-faced bitch.

“That you should watch your back,” He says simply, turning slightly to walk back to his house. “You pushed a lot of people into your enemy list by threatening Marinette and now you’re about to face the consequences. It’s only fair to give you a head’s up.”

“Marinette,” she shrieks, “is nothing but a liar and a horrible person—”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, no matter what anyone says, is the kindest person you will ever meet,” Luka snarled, whirling on the sausage-haired girl so fast that she stumbled back, unprepared. “And I’m hers. You hurt the wrong person, you egocentric bitch, and you’re going to pay for it.”

Lila gaped for a second before she forced an innocent look on her face, mouth opening to say something but the musician just continued, eyes hard and narrowed and angry, mouth drawn into a tight line.

He was a generally calm person, he could handle a lot before ever blowing a fuse. Because he was also a Couffaine at heart. He thrived in chaos where others wither and when it came to those he loved, nothing would stop him from protecting them.

Especially when the one he loved and had to defend was the girl he fell in love with.

“She is thoughtful and compassionate and selfless and astounding in how she will push herself to the knife’s edge just to make sure her loved ones are okay. She is a cinnamon roll but the fiercest ally you could ever have. There is no stopping her, there is no convincing her to step down when she’s standing up for something that’s right— when she’s standing up for someone, unless that someone is herself.”

He took a step closer and, well, that must’ve been pretty intimidating because she scrambled to take one back, causing a humorless chuckle to leave his lips.

He was his mother’s son but he had enough of his father in him to leave others terrified.

“And you want to convince me that just because you have the Akuma class, Mlle. Bustier, and M. Damocles so far up your ass that people will hate her? Really? Let me tell you something, sweetheart," He gave a cruel smirk, voice mocking as he repeated what she called him earlier. “This isn’t you and all your puppets against Marinette, it’s now you against the entire school. You might pretend to rule this place but she is the one who everyone looks up to and loves. She’s their sunshine child and leader and she has connections everywhere. She knows people that could make your life a living hell and it is her kindness alone that has spared you in the past. And you should have cut your losses when you had the chance because I, however, am not as kind. You declared war, Mlle. Rossi, do not be surprised when your downfall comes knocking on your door.”

With that and smirking at the ugly glare on her face, Luka saunters away, whistling a happy tune despite how tightly his fists are clenched inside his pockets.

It’s a week later when they make the first move.

Ivan and Rose, because despite her size she puts up one hell of a fight, are Marinette’s bodyguards during school. They prevent her from getting hurt while Mylene, Marc, and Nate make sure to record anything and everything Lila does that’s incriminating towards her reputation. 

Juleka is on sabotage duty during school to make sure any plans backfire onto the bitch while Adrien is the distraction. Both were excellent at their job. Almost scarily good.

Outside of school Kagami and Luka strategize and come up with plans to make sure anything Lila says can be used against her. They organize groups and make sure that Marinette and her family doesn’t get bothered by Lila or any of her followers.

One by one more people in the school help. Marinette’s friends from different classes going from the highest grade level to the first year students at Lycee all jump in when needed— when they overhear a lie and debunk it by pulling up proof or contacting the people involved directly (Marinette isn’t the only one with contacts).

One by one Lila is getting more isolated, one by one she’s losing her power.

And it’s so satisfying to see that Luka goes to sleep laughing.

It’s not even a full month before the Akuma class had fully left Lila’s side, the last to turn was Alya— the reporter so distraught over how she realized she had been treating her former best friend that she had a mental breakdown.

It was a month on the dot when Honeybee and Ryuko got video footage of Lila snatching one of Hawkmoth’s butterflies from the air with a wide grin and a “What can I do for you today, boss?” and it was a week later when her life got ruined.

(Marinette was so overjoyed that the constant terror— in her civilian— life was going away that she kissed Luka until their lungs ached and, just like that, Luka got revenge and a girlfriend in one sweep.

And that girlfriend was very, very grateful for it too. Most nights he went to bed with bruise-kissed lips and a beautiful girl in his arms. Marinette looked happier than she did in years and all the planning and frustration melted away when he saw her wake up with a smile.

He couldn’t protect her when she was fighting an Akuma but he’s proved more than enough times that he could protect her when she goes back to having two left feet.)

First she got expelled from her Lycee for false accusations, thief, bullying, and cheating. 

Then her lies— ever last one of them— were exposed and her mother was informed about what her daughter was up to and even waved her daughter’s diplomatic immunity— being absolutely disgusted with her daughter’s behavior— when the court cases of people suing her for fraudulence, harassment, threats, attempted murder, and acts of terroism.

Last, but not least, Lila was banned from Paris and all the cases stacked up against her were moved to a different court within France so they wouldn’t even have to see her again.

Though they did see her screaming and shrieking and snarling towards Luka as he joyfully waved at her when the bitch was getting dragged to the back of a cop car, “You! You did this! You made this all happen! I’m going to get you back for this, Couffaine, I swear I’m going to get you!”

She seemed absolutely insane, drool going down her chin from how hard she had been yelling, eyes frantic and face flushed and she jerked like a wild animal trying to get out of her cuffs and the officer’s hands that held her back from attacking the young musician.

He was a Couffaine and this chaos made him delighted to witness.

After all, it’s not everyday you get to see the downfall of the bitch who made the love of your life miserable.

Luka just laughed and sent her a cocky wave, “I look forward to it, sweetheart.”

Well… you can’t say she wasn’t warned.

[mcheang]

This was submitted to me by @andromeda612

My ideas were added in orange

Idea/Prompt(? : is a new semester and Marc joins the class! Everybody is happy, Marc is such a sweet boy and a caring friend! Obviously the most happy are Nathaniel, Alix and Marinette.

Lila is not. Some nobody is stealling the attention! And it's not fair! She is dozen times more interesting and is obvious that this boy doesn't like the spotlight! But it's ok, the hype would decrease in a couple days. She would be the center of the universe again.

Except that it didn't happen.

Marc is very likeable specially whe he opens up with his friends, also once he is comfortable enough he shows his 'mom friend' side and is so endearing! Marinette, Alix and Nathaniel are the ones who can see this side of him the most, though. But the class is so touched by it, they also want to help him.

Also he and Nathaniel make one of the most popular comics in Paris, and all the class (even Chloe but she would never admitt it) are fans. Oh and Marc is an awesome writer and storyteller!!! Sometimes they manage to convince him to tell some of his stories and forgot completely about Lila.

Lila: but my stories are real! (You wish!) Isn't it more excited?

Kim: yeah, your experiencies are pretty cool, but Marc's stories are just too AWESOME! even if they are just stories, and he is a very good storyteller... once he controlls his nerves.

Not to mention Lila’s bragging has become rather tiresome

Her ego doesn't like this at all. She tries to befriend the boy, maybe she can take advantange of the new darling of the class (and is obvious Marinette is fond of the guy, so it would be a plus to piss her of)

But it is more difficult than she thougth. Everytime she tries to talk to him he just gives her short answers and stammering, he doesn't even make eye contact, and is hard to mantain a conversation straight. She tried to complaint with her minio... 'friends' but...

Lila’s friendly approach is too forceful and bold for the shy Marc

Max: oh yeah, you see, Marc has a lightly social anxiety, so it takes time for him to open up with new people. With the exception of Marinette, Nathaniel and Alix, apparently they manage to win his trust and friendship very quickly. Like some people would say, they just 'clicked'

Alix: Yeah, and Nathaniel and Marc definitely 'clicked' in more than one way if you know what I mean.

The girls giggle.

(Of course that I HAVE to put some Marcaniel here)

Mylene: is not something personal, it took time for all of us to befriend him, but now we are very good friends, and he even is our new "mom friend" I'm sure you would be his friend too, you just need to be patient.

But patient is not what she is, specially when she has to share the adoration and attention of her dumb classmates. Even Nathaniel, who never was one of her admirers or paid her that much attetion like the others do, seems to has eyes only for him! It was low blow to her ego.

Actually I feel like Lila can be patient if the Ladybug episode was anything to go by...

She tries to speed up the proces by charming him with one of her faboulous 'experiencies' and 'conections'

It backfired bad.

Because when she finished to tell her lie a very confused (and uncomfortable because he is still shy around her) Marc started to point out all the holes in her lie and the wrong facts or nosenses in it, with proof. AND IN FRONT OF THE CLASS

She was sure that having the support of her classmates during her tale would help to amaze him, but now the others are seeing her with a confused frown, she need to fix it!

For her luck Marc was starting to look overwhelmed for the attention their confused classmates were given him, so Marinette took him outside to calm him down. She took the chance and did some damage control. Somehow she manage to save face but was a very close call.

Now, the boy is clever than the rest of her dumb minions, and he actually almost got her exposed, so he is clearly a threath, specially if Marinette talks to him about her lies. If he already didn't find it out by himself.

Lila needs to take care of this new obstacle, so she decides to go hostile.

What Lila doesn't expecto is the Marc protection squad.

It turns out that after that close call some of her classmates were skeptical and noticed that something was off (they already had this feeling since Mari was expelled, but they brush it off, but now...) this classmates are Nathaniel, Alix, Kim and Max.

Alix noticing the mood in her friends was the one who brought up the topic, they talked and after a little thinking and the input of Markov they realized that Lila was lying. Then Alix remember Marinette's claims about Lila and decide to talk to her.

When they found her she is talking with Marc, of course is about Lila and her lies, luckily Marc is a good listener and has his own suspicions. They all talk, Marinette's friends finally listen to her and discover Lila's true colors, they apologize and she forgives them, after all despite Lila's threat they never treated her different and were still good friends with her, it hurt that they brush off her concerns but everybody makes mistakes.

They also discover that Adrien knew, at first they were angry, but then Mari calls Adrien and he explains his motives, and well the poor boy really didn't knew better, but he does now and a deal with devil is punishment enough, also he is the reason Mari's name is clean.

Now that they are in the same page, and Adrien is also present (through video call) Marinette tells that now she is more concerned about Marc.

He almost got Lila exposed and he wasn't even trying! Lila is going to see him as a threat and will make everything to get ride of him, just like she tried with her.

That make all of them worried and angry, Alix and Nathaniel the most. So they decide that the bitch needs to fall.

They would protect Marc (and Marinette because despite the deal they highly doubt that Lila would let her alone) from every scheme Lila tries. They also will research and collect proof to expose her.

Lila's first plan is hostility, the boy is terrible shy, it would be easy intimidate him and use fear to controll him like a puppet.

But every attempt goes wrong or backfire somehow, she is caugh in the middle of some of them, of course she says is all a misunderstanding or an accident, but she can't get close thin ice.

Also she can't cornered nor threaten him like she did with Marinette, the boy is NEVER alone, he is always with Alix, Marinette, Nathaniel, Kim or Max, EVEN ADRIEN would keep him company if either of them aren't near.

Then she tries to frame him, maybe she stole an important object from some classmate and tried to planted it in Marc's school bag, but when she tries to put the item in it her arm gets caught by some trap.

Of course she tries to complain against Marc, but Marinette is quick to defend him, Marc is a little paranoid about his stuff, specially his journal, and due to past accidents with stolen stuff (everybody glares at Chloe) she offered to make some security system for his stuff. Marc frees her arm with the key of the trap and shyly tells her that if she needs to borrow something the next time she just need to ask. The brat actually has the nerve to lectures her.

Marc: it’s rude to touch other's belongings without their permission.

And when Marc looks in his bag and takes out the stolen item she tried to make her move, but before she can even open her mouth the owner inmediatly assumes that somehow they lose it and hugs Marc for finding it and keeping it safe "Thanks mom!"

Aaaaarrrrgggggghhhhhh!

And just badmouthing him won't work, from what she learned about the boy he is a little ball of nerves and so sickenly polite, even Lila has to admitt that it would be hard to believe that the boy was being mean even by accident without a well planted proof. Also all the class seems to adore him, and Alix, Marinette and Nathaniel would defend him with tooth and nail.

She tries again and again, but always end the same, all his stuff is sabotage proof and she ends tramped. And her classmates are starting to look at her with suspicion, because is like the fifth time she is caught and why is she poking around Marc stuff in the first place? And oh! Poor Marc! Is the sixth time in two weeks he almos trip over very bad, and he has have many accidents recently! Is a luck that Alix, Marinette, Nathaniel, Kim, Max and Adrien were always there so it never happen something bad!

Hey! Lila is involved in many of them, some of the accidents were her fault! Is strange, isn't it? (Yep, the squad is sowing the suspicious deeds)

She changes targets, If she can get ride of Marinette again she could drag Marc with her.

But Marinette also has all her stuff with tramps, after her expullsion she is more careful with her stuff and the class is on her side. And now she is more suspicious, first with Marc and now with Marinette, is that she hasn't learned her lesson with all her incidents with Marc? Oh and him? That little wretched boy has the audacy to give her a I'm-not-mad-just-dissapointed look everytime she is caught with Marinette's stuff. The class can't help but agree with their 'mom friend'.

The class is getting wary of her, she is losing control, but she refuses to lose against this nobodies!

Now her exposure: it would be that now that her classmates are suspicious of her they start to take a close eye to her, and they start to notice how she is actually very near of Marc everytime he almost has an accident, and how she would make a comment that sound nice but when you think about it is actually a stab in the back, or how quick she is to blame Marinette, or how she tries to subtle disparage Marc or/and Marinette. And now they are noticing the flaws in her stories.

At the end they fact check and discover the truth, or Lila is caught red handed trying to sabotage Marc or frame Marinette. They complain to Bustier and Damocles with the squad's research, the matter goes to the school board and the principal and the teacher are under scrutiny, Lila's mom is called and she is in so much trouble, karma collect her debt. (Akumatization optional)

Or

Maybe for some reason she manage to get Marc alone, or is what she thought, the squad try to not let him alone but they have a plan for that case. If for whatever reason any of them can't accompany him, Max would let Markov with Marc, and the AI would follow-up closely the writer everywere.

So Lila finally cornered and threaten him (and if you want some bashing she can get violent and actually assaults him) but Markov witnesses everything, and since he is an AI his memories are video and audio recording that can be shown as evidence with his testimony, also Marc gave the consent to be recorded for security because they were suspicious about Lila trying something like that.

And just to put the nail in the coffin, the squad's research is presented to the school board, Damocles and Bustier are under scrutiny, Lila's truancy is discovered and her mom is called, she is exposed to all the class and is in so much trouble, karma happens (akumatization optional)

Or

Maybe she is exposed until the squad present their investigation to the school board and... you know what comes next.

In any case, the rest of the class also apologize to Marinette and promise to do better, she forgive them (because at the end they were still her friends and were always nice to her despite what Lila said, everybody makes mistakes).

Happy ending :D

Bonus: Maybe sometime in the middle of the Protect Marc campaign, or at the end of the take Lila Down, Marc and Nathaniel confess their feelings and start dating :3

[achliegh]

Trail of Breadcrumbs Part: 2

Hello again! This is the second part of my little fic, you definitely don’t have to read the first to read the second so don’t worry. If you have anything you want me to write just give me a smack on the ass and I'll see what I can do. (I do have limitations but I will bring those up if you ask something I am not comfortable with). I know the ending is shitty but endings are my fatal flaw.

CW: Smut, cringe fluff moments (because you can’t help but be a little fluffy with these himbos), Trash writing, hand on throat but no choking

All characters belong to @lumosinlove

Logan knew his boys were up to something when he got a notification from their Alexa app that was an update to the shopping list. Not thinking much of it he opened it as Katie and Marc wrestled on the floor in front of the couch as WWE (something they only got to watch when their parents were gone) was playing on the TV. Once he saw that lube was added to the list he couldn’t wait to get home.

About an hour later Dumo and Celeste came home and Logan gave them both quick kisses on the cheeks as he sprinted to the car.

He had never drove that fast in his life.

He fumbled with his keys a little as he shoved the door open to find a very planned pathway to the door of clothes. Finn always called paths like this breadcrumbs or something, he was taking his first steps to the room when he heard the lovely voice of Finn.

“WHY HAVEN'T YOU DONE THAT BEFORE!”

“And he calls me dramatic” he mumbled to himself as he walked over to the half open door and opened it the rest of the way quietly. What he saw was beautiful and will be put in the wank bank forever.

Leo had his head tipped over the edge of the bed with a look of bliss written across his charming face, he was holding one of his ankles near his head with his leg completely stretched and his other was tugging at his own hair.

Finn had his brow furrowed as he pumped himself inside Leo at a steady rhythm sweat beading on his forehead. One hand was holding onto Leo’s thigh with a death grip and the other was around Leo’s neck just holding him so he didn't fall onto the floor.

Logan had died and gone to heaven even without a little death.

He had to lean against the doorframe as all his blood rushed to his cock. “I knew the trail of clothes would lead to something good~” he caught Leo’s eye and smiled at him. He sauntered his way over to the boy and knelt beside his head, a flush covering both of their faces.

“Dites-moi à quel point il ressent mon soleil ~”

“So-so good! Uh! Kiss me Lo I need it” Leo was looking into his eyes desperately and Logan could tell he was getting close but he didn’t really know how to kiss him while he’s upside down.

“I can’t kiss you upside down”

“Spider-Man does”

“.... what the hell Leo” Logan looks up with a bewildered look as Finn pauses to laugh resting his forehead on the younger boy's chest, shaking both of them.

“I love you so much Nut” Leo had a shy smile on his face and his cheeks were even more red than before.

“I’ve never had a Spider-Man kiss and I want one” he looks at Logan upside down again with the cutest little smile and he feels his heart squeeze. “Then I’ll Spider-Man suck your dick after” Leo’s shy smile turned into a smirk when he heard Logan groan a little. He gasped when Finn removed his hand from his neck to put both his ankles over his shoulders and then Finn rested his elbows on either side of Leo’s ribs slowly grinding into him.

Logan was out of his clothes in two seconds flat and was kneeled back in front of Leo petting some of his hair back off his sweaty forehead. He leaned in to kiss him and it was the oddest sensation he had ever felt. It felt like kissing Leo (Obviously) but his nose bumped his chin and it just didn’t feel right. He pulled back after a moment and they both spoke at the same time

“Let’s never do that again” Leo let’s put a chuckle and Logan looks up to meet Finn's eyes who was staring at them with love and amusement.

“Cute” Finn smiled as Logan stood up to kiss him properly and bit his lower lip tugging on it as a moan was ripped out of Logan diaphragm.

“Holy fuck!” They looked down and they could only see Leo’s long neck and chin as he sucked Logan down to the root. His large hands came up to grab Logan ass cheeks so he couldn’t pull away as he sucked hard and swallowed around his throat.

Finn let out a breathy moan and propped himself up on one hand and grabbed Logan by his hair with the other to pull him into a filthy kiss as he started to thrust again. Feeling his climax get closer he shifted a little to hit Leo’s prostate straight on causing the boy to moan loud and static onto Logan’s cock.

Logan shoved his tongue onto Finn's mouth as they swallowed each other moans and after a while pulled away so they were just breathing each other in.

Logan reaches down to grasp Leo’s big cock and starts jerking him off in time with Finn's thrusts and it causes the boy to arch his back and dig his nails into Logan.

Finn loses it first spilling into Leo, gripping Logan’s hair and the Canadian sucks dark bruises on his throat. He slows his movements slowly until he stop moving all together and pulls out of Leo moving to sit with his back to the headboard as he catches his breath. Leo pulls off Logan with a slurp and sits up pulling Logan into his lap for a sloppy kiss as he wraps his large hand around both of them and pulls a couple of times as he spills all over hand, not breaking eye contact with Logan he keeps jerking him until he also cums over Leo’s hand.

At some point Finn had gotten up to clean himself and grabbed a washcloth for the other two as hands it to Lo as he wipes them up before they all collapse. Logan in the middle with Finn one one shoulder and Leo on the other.

“We should shower” Logan put a fat kiss on each of his boys foreheads and patted their shoulders “come one Mon Amours, I don’t feel like waking up all sticky tomorrow morning” he tries to get up but only to get fully laid on by two fully grown hockey players. He sighs and decides it’s best to get comfortable.

“If you get up you have to pick up out clothes outside this room”

“Excuse me they are breadcrumbs”

“Last I checked I don’t wear breadcrumbs”

“And why not”

“Shut the fuck up Harzy” Leo put his hand over Finns mouth as his eyes grew heavier, the three boys drifted off into sleep.

[reallyhardy]

regent’s open air theatre LSOH (2018) breakdown

act one. herein, two years later, i try to remember as much as i can about this production with the help of gifs i took from the trailer and shutterstock images. let’s go!

THE BEGINNING. i went to see a matinee so it was daytime, but the stage set was all black-and-white very newspaper aesthetic. my sister and i were very close to the front, five rows back:

and here we are, excited for everything to begin. (note my giant tooth earrings. was really hoping they’d catch matt willis’ eye.) soon enough crystal, ronette and chiffon took the stage for the prologue, belted their faces off and got me hype from the first moment. their costumes were kind of punky, street style (my favourite look was on the girl with the green jacket and shiny leggings:)

skid row was great. the grey set really highlighted the colourful costumes, and for this first number the set stayed black-and-white so the only colour were the main characters and urchins, and the ensemble wore black-and-white costumes.

and i remember being so thrilled by the costumes - in this photo seymour is wearing yellow socks but by the time i went to see it they were pink (to match audrey’s hair!) and audrey is wearing fluffy slide slippers in the promo photos but when i saw it she wore a pair of blue open-toe kitten heels.

once the song ended we got to see some character personality: marc antolin as seymour was adorable. he was (for most of the first act at least) very goofy and beamed a lot, he had a very cute smile. his voice was quite high and nasal and silly and i honestly had a really big crush on him. jemima rooper as audrey was equally sweet and adorable - she had a cotton candy pink wig and started off in kind of a sexy-ish outfit, with a sheer off-shoulder top over a bra. her eye makeup was light blue (and the bruise bright purple) and she was really short compared to seymour. mushnik was super tiny and greasy looking.

every interaction seymour and audrey had was just! so cute. at the start where audrey and mushnik discuss orin (the ‘you don’t meet nice boys on skid row’ conversation,) seymour is stood behind them kind of goofing around and he flips his shirt collar up pretending to be orin and acting macho but at the end of the scene audrey goes quiet and carefully fixed his collar back down before she left and it was!!! emotions.

da doo i can’t remember anything about how things looked :( during grow for me it really highlighted how…cute seymour was. he beamed the whole time, and the plant puppet in its baby form was fantastic, (the pod head at the top opened up and had little human teeth lmao) and they used like… household objects painted green for plants. the roses were red toilet brushes:

with red ink on them so when seymour touched the bristles there was visible blood on his finger which was fun. lots of attention to detail in this production.

seymour on the radio i think happened off-stage? so we just hear him being interviewed while we watch mushnik and the urchins listen to the radio together. the choreography during you never know was really fun too, with seymour and the urchins dancing together, seymour did a lot of hip wiggles and kept trying to stop audrey ii from trying to bite at the urchins as he danced. one of the green ping-pong balls fell off the puppet but nobody slipped on it so it was fine. also GOD the voices of the urchins were just so good in this one.

somewhere that’s green is a song that makes me cry most of the times i listen to it or watch any versions of LSOH, but this is the first time i’d seen a version where audrey was also crying. during this number the actress climbed up onto the top of the mushnik’s store prop and she still had the bright purple black-eye makeup on as well as the cast on her arm so she looked so beat down and sad and it was just toward the end of the song at ‘i’m his december bride’ where her singing started to break down and she started crying, and covered her face by the time she got to ‘far from skid row’ with her voice breaking oh my god the tears were flowing VERY much from my eyes.

and as a note the actress did not have this beautiful wig on when i saw it, she wore one with much less volume - it could have been the same wig just styled differently, (tucked under/trimmed to be just sort of...round?) but it was just... so much less cute lmao, you can just about see it here in this cast mirror selfie:

anyway. then it was time for closed for renovation! this one was fun, audrey and seymour i think were just...arranging plants and other things? the ‘mushniks’ shop prop might have expanded a bit? they turned it around?

there were some cute little dancey bits with the three of them together:

then audrey & seymour talk a bit. audrey gives seymour the kind of advice that she also needs to be taking herself -- seymour asks audrey if she’d go shopping with him, and then orin arrives on the scene.

dentist was amazing. i’ve seen a lot of bootlegs of kind of lackluster orin scrivellos but… well, me and my sister decided we were absolutely going to see this production when we found out matt willis was playing the dentist. (we were big busted fans lol) he wore this insane painted leather jacket with this tooth-themed biker gang design (he and his backup dancers all had hell’s teeth on the backs of their jackets) and his dentist coat underneath had the sleeves ripped off to show his tattoos… they gave him white foundation to make him look i guess more ill/joker like? it totally worked. he honestly kinda stole the show and he totally exceeded my expectations (which is saying something because my expectations were that he’d be perfect for the role and that i’d enjoy his performance thoroughly!!!)

then he comes into the shop, comments on the plant, poses around, treats audrey terribly. and not only does he abuse audrey in front of seymour who iirc was watching horrified (as you would) but also poor seymour gets his junk grabbed twice by villains in this production too lmao, orin grabs and squeezes seymour’s junk while he’s yelling at audrey. it’s a theme i guess???

(hell of a promotion image, that one.) then orin and audrey leave and it’s time for mushnik and son. they did a lot of the usual ‘awkward-tango’ choreo and it was just excellent really. there’s nothing i didn’t enjoy about the number, plus mush was quite a short guy but had a real big voice.

you get a good view of all the fun things they used to represent plants here too: cleaning brushes, feather dusters, hairbrushes, a small fishing net, a bubble wand...

so feed me was great because it starts off of course with the plant puppet prop:

but then by the second verse (when it comes to ‘does this look inanimate to you’) they opened up the puppet’s leaves like a mouth and audrey ii in drag queen form emerged (to thunderous applause). [i found a short clip someone got on instagram a while back, you can watch it here!] she was holding a microphone in her hands so when it came to seymour’s responses she held out the mic to his mouth and it was :’) really funny. and seymour gets his junk grabbed again:

because he can’t catch a break. staging wise i think i remember this was very bisexual - it’s important to note that the first wig audrey ii wears strongly resembles the wig that OG audrey wears - and at times during this number audrey ii acts quite flirtatious with seymour and he seems receptive to it and has to visibly shake himself out of it.

audrey comes back for her sweater (iirc it was a VERY jazzy 1990s looking one in aqua green and pink) and seymour and audrey ii make up their minds about what to do with orin.

so seymour heads out - the dentists chair was just a beat-up shopping trolley with various things stuck on (see there’s what looks like a plunger, wrist restraints too lmao) and orin had a bunch of bloodied weapons such as a power drill instead of a dentist drill:

anyway i usually don’t enjoy now(it’s just the gas) as a number when i’ve seen it in bootlegs but again matt willis had tremendous feral energy and he pulled it off. plus the gear was quite retro-futuristic very cool looking:

it was also especially funny just after ‘now’ because after seymour runs off with orin’s body in the trolley he comes back in with it all chopped up and he was pushing dismembered limbs (the arm was even painted with matt willis’ tattoos and nail polish which was a GREAT detail) into the windows of the prop mushnik’s building that audrey ii was inside of, and he even threw up into the audience which was :’) gross but funny. it was yellow. i didn’t see if it splashed anyone.

then... intermission. will continue this in [part 2, which is here!]

[deceptive-jo]

Merry Christmas

(The final ficlet for this...year probably! And Merry Christmas to all my celebrating followers!)

Even the numerous inhabitants of Egotropolis celebrate Christmas in their very own way, with their families and friends. Let’s take a look around the houses, shall we?

Words: 1922

Ships: The Author x Actor Marc; Darkstache; Marvin x JBM

“Merry Christmas!” Mad Mike slid into the living room, clearly exited to already be getting presents. “What in the heavens are you wearing?” Author’s shocked expression was exactly what he had tried to achieve and Mike looked down on himself. His sweatpants were a simple light blue but his sweater could be a bit...much with its blues and pinks. “You look like you slapped the Trans pride flag in there and then dumped a gallon of glitter on it.” Admittedly that was pretty much what had happened after he asked Bim for help… Marc threw his arm around him, in his own nightmare of a red Christmas sweater, “I for one like it. Good job on that, kid.” He ruffled his already unruly hair before falling down next to his fiance. Mike preferred a place on the floor, with direct view over the presents. Author’s were already in his room, having gotten them on the end of his holiday celebrations (an USB-stick from Anti which’s content still no one knew, though it was certainly not due lack of trying on Marc’s side, and a Death Note from Mike- a hilarious joke they were sure but considering their connections Author couldn’t be too sure). The lights on the tree flickered for a moment before Anti glitched into the room, red and green lights flickering in his hair. Well, you took what you got and at least he was enjoying himself. “When’s that brother of yours supposed to arrive?” “Any moment now, surely”, a voice came from the entrance where the Host entered. The room seemed to light up as Author jumped over backrest of the couch and pulled his brother in a hug. “Glad you could make it”, Actor smiled as he passed him a glass of eggnog. “Merry Christmas everyone.”

~~~

Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache were awoken by the sound of rapid knocking on their bedroom door. “It’s Christmas morning, get up!” Dark could only burrow his head deeper in the pillows, “Just wait, we’ll be out in a moment.” They could almost see Bim dramatically draped against the door when he answered, “I’ve waited one whole year. If you’re not down in ten minutes we start without you!” Slowly Dark lifted his head, hairs askew, “This boy, I swear-”

Exactly ten minutes later the couple entered the sitting room, with its enormous tree and the pile of presents underneath. Bim looked like he should be held back and as soon as he saw the two Egos enter he bolted forward, only to get tripped by Yancy. “Youse need to chill!” Wilford watched the scene fondly, Bim somehow managed to pull half the Egos into his enthusiasm and now the Jims and Illinois ere figuratively vibrating with excitement (Bing was literally vibrating next to Google which was disturbing to say the least). “Okay, go on-”, he hadn’t even finished before Bim surged forward and began handing presents out in light-speed. The whirlwind only stopped when the Host, so far clearly light-asleep next to Dr Iplier, got hit into the chest with what was probably another note book (they could be glad Bim decided against throwing the box that turned out to be a new typewriter). Egos began opening presents, either tearing into them like small kids (the Jims and King, mainly) or slowly unwrapping and folding the paper together again (the Googles and Yancy). Dark nearly got strangled when Bim thanked him for the new set of ties while Wilford next to him was too busy examining the dagger that had been sent from the Cabin. Google was fiddling with some new gadget, judging by the accompanied message in clean letters on gold-white paper it came from the Mind Palace. Bing looked over his shoulder while trying to pay attention to Chase’s present at the same time. The Host turned towards the demon, pulling his attention away from the gold-black journal- no, scrapbook- he was holding. “A merry Christmas.” “It is indeed.”

~~~

"Holy shit, now that's a tree!" Jackie stared in amazement at the giant Christmas tree that filled up half of the open living room. Marvin turned around from where he was letting the last ornaments float into position, "Good Morning, darling." "Morning", the hero pressed a kiss on his boyfriend's cheek, "you did an amazing job. How long have you been working on this?" "Pretty much all night", the magician wiped off the sweat and slipped his mask back on. "You must be tired. Tea?" "Coffee..." He chuckled dryly when the cup was pressed in his hands. "Oh wow, this looks so cool! Uncle Marvin did you do this?", Connor came running into the room, his sister close behind. "Sure did, glad you like it, kid." "This is great for celebrating- can we open our presents now?" Chase came down the stairs and began leading them towards the dining table, "Nah, first breakfast, then presents." Ashley pouted but sat down and waited patiently until everyone had finished their christmas pnacakes before she jumped out of her chair and rushed towards the heap of presents. The others followed in a calmer pace (if only to annoy her a bit) and to her credit she waited until everyone was seated before reaching for the first present.

Surprisingly enough Ashley didn't open it but instead got up and handed the small box over to Jameson. Four more packages followed and once every adult had a wrapped box in their hands she looked at them excited. "Go on, open them!" The wrapping wasn't very neat but you could see the effort put into it and a moment later Marvin held a small item in his hand. A strangled noise escaped him as he stared down on the handmade bracelet. It wasn't anywhere near as high-quality as his usual accessories but he could see its aura, could feel the love radiating off of it. Looking over he recognised similiar bracelets in his brothers' hands. Jackie and Jameson were looking utterly delighted and over-joyed, while Chase and Henrik smiled, there were clearly tears shining in their eyes. "I made us family bracelets! Connor and I have our own already-" Chase didn't wait to pull his kids into a tight hug, his brothers joining right after. "I love you, sunshine, so much." "I love you too, daddy. Merry Christmas."

~~~

The Crankgameplays Mansion was bustling with energy, if a  bit different than the manor’s. All the Egos were seated in the living room, enjoying a movie marathon when a chime echoed from the kitchen. “Oh Blank, the cookies!”, Mrs Thomson looked up from her brochure at the dark ego who was already slipping out of the room. A mere minute later he returned with a plate piled with cookies. “Oh damn, those smell awesome!” Bernice snatched a cookie away, painted red and green nails matching with the green designer sweater she was wearing. “And they taste delicious. Good job, boy”, Father Ethan patted Blank’s shoulder as he fell back into his chair, but now with a small smile grazing his lips. The next hour or so passed in peaceful silence as the family followed the movie and enjoyed their cookies and hot chocolate. But of course it was interrupted when Mc Gee cam tumbling down the stairs from where he must have been decorating the roof, as he usually did. “They’re coming!”

Mrs Thomson rose with a shriek and rushed to the nearby mirror, nearly pushing Bernice out of the way. “Oh god already? They’re early for once- How does my hair look?” “Nice, my dear. Don’t stress yourself on this peaceful day”, Father Ethan once again made no indication to get up when the doorbell rang but luckily the Postman was already in place. “Well hello there, Gentlemen. Looking fine today!” “How dare you, I always look fine!” Mrs Thomson had to smile at the teasing, oh how she adored her grandchildren. Speaking of- the entrance hall was filled with people, taking off their jackets and shoes and shaking out the snow-filled hair. One of the black-haired men was standing in the middle, still in his coat and clearly struggling with the package in his arms. “Oh, let me help you!” With a surprising swiftness the old lady took the box from his hands. The young man’s eyes lit up, “Mrs Thomson, how wonderful to see you. You look lovely as always”, he bowed down for a light kiss on the knuckles. “You’re impossible, Author!” She hit him playfully on his shoulder but couldn’t hide the blush at his attitude. “You know me, I’m an old man after all- Marc were are the presents?” A hand reached out of the mass of people and a pile of wrapped gifts floated into the living room. “You brought presents?” “Yeah, you got some as well, we planned ahead this time”, Mike tumbled out of a group hug with his brothers and came over to greet her, “Merry Christmas, grandma!” With a smile she send him in the living room to follow Author into the kitchen. The writer was rummaging through the cabins, “Where are the plates in this house?” “What’s in the box?” “Uh...a cake, the Gingerbread house Mike failed to deliver...Sufganiyot from me and Rugelach because Host made too many- Aha!”, when Author finally re-emerged with enough plates the female Ego looked like she was about to faint. So many baked goods!

Once they entered the living room with their for plates everyone else had settled down around the  TV. Blank was trapped between Mike (chatting with the postman) and McGee, looking peaceful and happy for once. Marc was already in an animated conversation with Bernice and Father Ethan (he was about to snap his neck, should probably stop that) while Anti was hanging around Yandere. Mrs Thomson teared up at the rare sight of her whole family together and joyful, untroubled by their problems for once. A large warm hand came to rest on her frail shoulders. “Merry Christmas, Oma.”

~~~

The view from the Mind Palace was always magnificent but now that the sun was setting and reflecting the snow covering the hills one last time it nearly looked magical. So Roman was sitting at one of the large windows and painted. He’d gotten new brushes after all, those should be tested! The whole atmosphere was soothing. The Christmas tree and few candles were the only source of light while the full room offered enough light for Roman to draw, while Virgil played some slow song on the piano. Logan relaxed on one of the couches enjoying his newest book and the rare quietness. Janus was over by the tree crafting something that was either a simple wooden statue or a doomsday device (depending on which of his acquaintances sent it). He was completely emerged in the gift- where those tears shining in his face? Roman shook his head and decided not to stare too much. He did however exchange the canvas for a new one to turn the easel around and instead began to draw the group in front of him. Where the first four Sides were keeping to themselves and savouring the last hours of Christmas, Patton and Remus were huddled together on a love seat, with the dad Side nearly slipping off, while Remus had draped himself over the back rest. They were giggling over something on his phone while Patton’s lighted up constantly with all the Christmas wishes he must be receiving. Roman allowed himself a short sincere smile. Merry Christmas.

[vendettacanons]

Some Fun Facts About Antony

// Because I did a bit of research to develop him a bit more after that IMDB discovery and then kept writing-

It’s not made clear exactly what rank Antony holds in relation to others in the Legion but I have a deduction based off of some research, Caesar based his empire off of Rome. Antony is a reference to Marc Antony- Caesar’s Master of the Horse. Despite the title, according to my research, his actual rank was leader of the Roman Calvary and his rank would have been comparable to or directly below Brutus- you know, Caesar’s military leader.

Carrying that over into Caesar’s Legion, if Caesar is, well, Caesar, then that would make Legate Lanius his equivalent of Brutus (seeing as Lanius is next in line to be crowned and also at the head of seemingly all military operations under Caesar). And since Marc Antony was head of the cavalry and therefore just below Brutus, and Legion Antony is a direct emulation of him, that would mean he’s directly beneath Lanius in rank.

Looking at the Legion’s hierarchy those directly below the Legate are the Praetorians, which I personally put in a class of their own with Caesar since they’re basically his bodyguards. However, as we see with Lucius, they do have their own specialties. Theoretically, this means that Antony could be a Praetorian. The only problem is, Praetorians specialize and fight in hand to hand combat only. And Antony does have a gun and a machete in his inventory (additionally he’s wearing Veteran Legionary armor).

So really, it seems like it boils down to Antony being the same rank as one of Caesar’s Frumentarii. He is not a Frumentarii, but he has equal standing with them on account of being in charge of the cavalry, and he answers only to Lanius, Caesar, and the Praetorians really.

Going off of that, and basing it off of historical references, this means that theoretically, if Lanius was killed as Caesar Antony could become Caesar. Let that sink in.

For someone who works with dogs all day and does hard labor training them, Antony’s remarkably very clean. He bathes fairly often and stays fresh as he can. The tent where he sleeps and works the rest of the day is... less so. It’s not terrible nor is it unbearable (for most people in the Legion at least), but it’s definitely not as well-kept as he is. Thanks, Lupa.

I mentioned previously that Antony does have a machete and gun on him that he can use but in my portrayal, he doesn’t nearly use it as much as he could. Nah, Antony would rather wrestle someone to the ground and choke them out or fist fight someone to the death if he has the chance. Hell, this man will bite you if you get close enough to him.

Antony, much like Lanius, has no love for the Legion, and his opinions of it are overall very mixed but predominantly very negative. He has a begrudging type of respect for Caesar and what he’s built. He also respects the people that follow him so blindly for their loyalty and their dedication. But in all actuality, Antony does not like Caesar, doesn’t truly believe in his cause, and indeed he wouldn’t stay loyal to him if it weren’t for one thing: Lanius. He despises and is terrified of Lanius. Everything he does for the Legion, he does because he’s scared of having Lanius thrown upon him as a punishment. He’s seen first-hand what the Legate is capable of. He’s witnessed and experienced his callous cruelty and it is something that he fears with every fiber of his being.

Which is why when Caesar dies, if Lanius takes over he’s defecting. Caesar is the only reason Lanius has not obliterated him completely, and even now when he thinks Antony’s dogs do a poor job, he’ll have his men throw them into flames live for their failures and make sure word gets back to him out of spite. (And yes, Antony can, has, and will silently cry himself to sleep every time he hears that news bc fuck Lanius, those things are his spirit animals.)

Antony has a weird push-and-pull relationship with fire. Campfires and matches don’t bother him. In fact, he actually finds controlled flames very interesting and mesmerizing to watch and will easily become distracted by light sources in the distance (especially in the dark) because he’s become so sensitive to them. But larger uncontrolled flames terrify him. Wildfires or the kinds of scorched earth-style fires Lanius sets to try and erase things from the earth are just so scary to him. He doesn’t know why.

If Antony does not like something and it’s too close to him, he will bite it or smack at it. And not just regularly open palm smacks either. He curves his fingers so his nails are out and will actually claw at the thing bothering him and break flesh because his nails are surprisingly tough and catch flesh easily.

Antony gets a lot of looks and a lot of whispers about him for being so much more focused on his dogs than his comrades at times. He doesn’t really care what people say to him or about him. Now saying something about his hounds will draw more of a reaction.

If you think Antony spins around three times before laying down, you’re not entirely wrong. He actually checks everything in his tent three times before laying down.

Antony has a very sharp sense of direction. He’s very good at memorizing certain landmarks to indicate where he’s at. He only needs to pass through an area once to commit it to memory.

Likewise he’s also good at remembering names and faces. He has a habit of studying people’s traits and features and has an easy time putting names to their quirks. On more than one occasion, he’s found himself identifying the bodies of his comrades that either no one else can name or no one else can recognize for varying reasons.

Antony’s not the strongest swimmer but he makes up for it by being able to hold his breath longer than most. He can doggy-paddle and dive very well. It’s the coming back to the surface part that he has yet to master. Luckily, he’s learned that if he just holds still the air in his lungs will eventually cause him to float up to the surface.

He’s not great at climbing either. Lacks the balance and grip for it. Plus he get nauseated from being up high. He’s fine so long as he doesn’t look straight down. The problem is, Antony often gives into the temptation to look straight down.

Honestly, Antony is probably best on foot. He might not be as meaty as some of the other Legionaries, but he’s still a tough little bastard and his size gives him a remarkable advantage for being fast and agile. It’s harder to land a hit on him than you think, and even if you do, he tends to shrug it off and keep going. That’s not to mention Antony is hard to sneak up on.

Antony is a very alert person. Don’t let his odd demeanor or tendency to linger alone fool you. Tying into his memory, Antony has a habit of looking over his surroundings often. He counts the number of people around him and makes notes often of where they are. He also takes note of where things are (weapons or vantage points in particular), where sounds are coming from, and what is making them. He’ll notice if someone disappears or something suddenly starts or stops very quickly. The drawback to this is that his focus is immediately broken when he does... well, anything. And it kind of shows in conversation when he is not paying all of his attention. It’ll seem like he’s unfocused or spacing out. Luckily this is rare, as he was raised with some respect.

Whatever Antony doesn’t detect, Lupa and his dogs will.

Antony carries on some of the practices of his tribe in a secret. The Legion may boast that they assimilated him, but he refuses to let Caesar erase the Hangdogs completely. Especially because his old practices are something he clings to for comfort and security, just as much as he does his dogs.

Another cool thing about Antony is his ability to track things. Like seriously, this man could track a stray nightstalker pup across the Mojave. It’s not just because of his hounds either- Antony is great at picking up on tracks and footprints, determining how long they’ve been there, and following them. He can do it for days. He’d make a good Frumentarii for the fact that he can just go for weeks at a time tracking and following something undetected, studying its patterns and habits, and strategizing where the best opportunity to strike will arise. It’s because a part of the Hangdogs tradition was knowing how to hunt for yourself and survive on your own. If you could do that, then your dog would only make you more powerful. (They wanted you to have a symbiotic relationship with your sacred hound, not be completely dependent on it.)

For someone so good at keeping tabs on things and tracking things and being fairly decent in combat, you’d really think Antony is a well-rounded Legion soldier. But you’d be wrong. This man cashed out on luck and is only subpar on intellect. He’s only average intelligence but with how clumsy and ditzy he can be sometimes, it’ll leave you wondering if that’s the truth. And sometimes the things that come out of his mouth or the way he phrases them makes it hard to believe his Charisma is anything above a 2 (in actuality its a 5 but he hardly talks like it so-).

Antony is more emotional than most men of the Legion. He tends to think with his heart rather than his head sometimes (see: predominantly) and speaks out based on how he feels rather than what’s logical without saying it. (Ex: if something seems unfair or makes him angry, he’ll convey that without actually saying that he’s upset and simply try to intervene.) It also drives him to be a bit more interactive with others, especially if they’re distressed. His lack of experience leaves him a bit awkward about it, but he’ll do his best to comfort people and is actually pretty good at it.

Likewise, Antony’s strong emotions and quick-to-judge nature cause him to develop equally strong opinions of people fairly quickly. For example, he quickly began hating Lanius.

Antony has a tendency to throw his weight when he sits or lays down. Just a full body flop.

Antony doesn’t like having his hair touch unless it’s by someone he cares about. In which case, he loves having his hair touched. He loves being touched in general. He’s touch starved and very physically affectionate. He’s also big on giving gifts.

Antony knows how to carve wood and is fairly good at sculpting. He never gets to do it though.

He’s also fairly good at tanning, smithing, and sewing, and prefers to repair his own armor when it gets damaged. (And yes, he has tried making armor for his dogs.)

Antony has several tics that he does. He bounces his leg, taps his foot, curls and uncurls his fingers, cracks his knuckles and his neck a lot, taps his cheek or chin with his fingers, bites his nails, and tends to pace a lot. It’s not just when he’s nervous either. He just happens to do it a lot. Mans has too much energy.

Antony loves food. He knows how to cook a lot of things from his old tribe and cooks for himself mostly. Bring him ingredients and ask him to make you something new and he will love you forever.

Tying into that, Antony always has food and drink on him. Always. Like it is astonishing the ways in which he stores food and how much of it he can carry on him at a given time without anyone even knowing. It’s not like he has a super huge appetite either. Antony easily survives on just one or two meals a day.

Antony does have a regiment he follows in terms of walking his dogs. He wakes up early to go for walks out in the desert, gives them a small breakfast, trains the whole day, breaks for a walk or two, goes for one long walk by the river to drink and then take them out into the desert again, then returns them to the camp. He savors it too. He doesn’t like the feeling of being cooped up for too long. He prefers to be outside more.

Antony has a soft spot for children. So do his dogs.

Antony never took any slaves. He, like many who were brought into the Legion, could not bear the thought of taking any slave knowing that they could be one of his sisters or brothers. 

He might not seem like he ever runs out of energy but he does, and when the batteries are finally empty, Antony crashes. Hard.

For someone so tough and so brutish, Antony sure is good at giving puppy eyes.

Antony has jokes. Lots of them. They’re mostly stupid puns. And pranks if he feels close enough with someone.

[irwinkitten]

Laura I need daddy!ash finding out that you’re expecting a baby

For your new dad!Ash series, what about the daughter getting a sibling? I reckon that would be so freaking cute

for the daddy!ash series i would love to see ash talking to you about having a child of your own together!!!!

UAHSJSJSS ash and y/n dining out shes pregnant??? and trying to explain to princess shes getting a brother or sister im CRYINGG

Yo,,,,,,sooooo dad!ash finding out that you’re expecting a baby together. And you’re kind of scared because how is princess going to react? Is Ashton going to leave like Jamie did?

IF ASH AND BABY MAMA DON’t end having their own kid I’ll hate you forever!! Okay I wouldn’t hate you, but would very much curse Ashton never to wear red again.

ok but daddy ash getting a surprise from y/n and shes expecting and they have to explain to princess that shes getting a new brother/sister :-)

listen i am soft as fuck so i’m coming for ur hearts. 2.5k of fluff fluff and fluff.

masterlist is linked in the source

this is part eighteen

—

As you went around the various people, unable to let go of Anne for more than three seconds in amazed disbelief that he’d flown them all the way out to LA for this, your little girl was animatedly chatting with Cal, sat on his shoulders as she described how she helped Ashton pick out your ring.

“He took such a big risk getting all of you out here to celebrate a potential engagement.” You hummed to Anne whilst the two of you stood in the kitchen, away from the chaos. Ashton was in the lounge his laughter ringing clear through to the kitchen.

You smiled.

“When you’re sure about someone, you know it’s going to be a yes. The last time I saw him so sure of something was when they decided to really try it as a band. When we met both of you for the first time, and I saw how he interacted with you and the family, I could see how he fell in love so quickly with the both of you.” Your cheeks flushed a dark shade as you felt the tears build up.

“If it’s any consolation, the way you’ve accepted both of us, it means the world to me. You’ve made more of an effort than my own family, the same with the boys and it’s so overwhelming and I shouldn’t be crying.” You laughed as you wiped the tears that had fallen.

Anne wiped her own as she pulled you in for another hug, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as she pulled away.

“It’ll be official soon enough, and I look forward to officially welcoming a new daughter and granddaughter to the family. Even when said granddaughter already calls me her nana.”

Almost as if she were called, Calum entered the kitchen with her sat atop his shoulders, a beaming grin on her lips.

“Look at the two of you!” Your phone was out fast as you snapped a photo of the two of them. Calum laughed.

“Nana! Uncle Cal helped me be taller than daddy!” You both giggled a Calum helped her down so she could give Anne a hug.

“You alright?” Calum’s voice was quiet as the two of you watched her wrap her arms around Anne’s waist and lean her head back, talking a mile a minute to Anne. To Anne’s credit, she nodded in the right places.

“Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed. Don’t get me wrong, I am absolutely loving this, and thank you so much.” You leaned up, kissing his cheek. He smirked, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he squeezed you tightly.

“Hey, you’re officially family now.”

“Not till the wedding.” Calum shrugged.

“Your munchkin made us family the day she called Ashton her dad. And there was the pang once more, the wish for your mom to be there to witness it.

“I just—I sometimes wish my family didn’t turn their backs on me when I found out I was pregnant. She’d have been spoiled rotten. They would have loved Ashton.” The hitch in your voice caused him to pull you outside, Anne craftily distracting your daughter so you could escape unnoticed.

Pulling you into a tight hug, you allowed the tears to fall, just for a few moments.

It was times like these, big milestones in both of your lives that you wished you could share with your family.

But they’d taken the route of turning their backs on you when you had announced your pregnancy. Your mom had been a staunch supporter, especially after your little girl was born. The rest of the family actively ignored you both.

It was only when you’d come home to find your mom in tears, did you learn why they’d cut you off completely.

“They think that you were too influenced by a single parent. Should’ve married someone who would’ve treated you right enough to teach you family values. Said our line was cursed, single parents out of all of us.”

You’d called them that day, screaming about how dare they take their so called beliefs and turn their backs. But they’d come back with crueller insults.

As you pulled away from Cal, he wiped the few remaining tears from your cheeks and you sighed.

“Better?” You snorted at that.

“Not really. I miss my mom. I wish my family weren’t such dicks. I’m surprised they haven’t come knocking yet.”

“What would you do if they did?”

“Honestly? Tell them to get bent. I found a new family in Shay and Marc, in you guys, with Ashton. I’m good.” He grinned before glancing  up as the backdoor opened.

“Everything okay?” You turned to see Ashton, holding your daughter on his hip, smiles on both of their faces.

“Yeah, we’re good.” You returned the smiles with ease and Calum gave you another soft squeeze before heading to the backdoor.

You watched in amusement as your daughter reached for him and he lucked her from Ashton’s arms.

“C’mon cuddlebug, I think it’s time we try to beat Uncle Mike at Mario Kart. You wanna help me?” You could hear your daughter cheering as the door shut, muting the sounds inside as Ashton moved closer to you.

“I know you said you were good, but was that for her sake or mine?” His lips met yours in a soft kiss and it hit you that you were the lucky sod that got to marry this man.

“Just, slightly maudlin over family stuff.” Ashton sighed, his fingers lifting up, gently tracing down the side of your cheek. You leaned into his touch with a small smile.

“I hate that they did such a thing. I know it happened before I met you, but as good as you are lying to your daughter, you’re not that good with me.”

This caused you some soft laughter before he pulled out his pulled out his phone. You watched as he stuck on a playlist of soft songs before taking your hands within his.

“Dance with me?” You could feel your heartbeat pick up a little before it settled once more, a feeling of content washing over you as you slow danced with him.

“So I’m an open book to you, huh?” You teased playfully as your bodies moved slowly to the music.

“Not all the time. I think I’ve got it nailed down close though. Whenever she does something, your eyes are full of joy, but your smile isn’t all there sometimes. Especially her big milestones. Don’t think I didn’t hear you crying after her first day of school.” You knew that the comment held nothing but love behind those words.

“She’s growing up so fast Ash, and I’m scared that when she’s ready to leave, I won’t be ready for her to go.” His lips pressed against your forehead as the two of you swayed.

“I can’t offer great advice because I’ve only entered her life when she was already starting to grow up and when my siblings were growing up, I was already on tour and out of the house.” The two of you traded small laughs.

“I just, I want her to stay this age. Where she wants her days with us, and her uncles. And that Nana is the best thing since sliced bread because she listens like no one else does.” More laughter followed from the two of you.

It was easy to lapse into silence, your head resting on his chest as the two of you danced around the porch. Neither of you noticed the curtain twitching.

As the opening chords of Elvis’ Can’t Help Falling In Love began playing, you found yourself smiling as his head tilted down and he began to sing along softly.

You enjoyed the moment of peace that seemed to wash over the two of you, nothing but you and him, dancing together on Calum’s back porch and him serenading you.

“You best pull out all the stops for the wedding.” You finally murmured and he laughed, his lips meeting yours softly.

“You know I will.”

—

As you adjusted to being engaged, you found yourself almost brimming with a lot more confidence.

It was certainly noticed and appreciated by Ashton, especially on the days where your little girl spent the day with one of her uncles. They were god sends during the summer holidays, especially on the days that Ashton had to be elsewhere and she wasn’t able to tag along.

You’d had a sit down dinner with Shay and Marc to celebrate your engagement.

“So now that you’ve announced to the world that you two are engaged, are there any solid agreements on a wedding date?” The two of you traded small smiles and Marc chuckled.

“This is where they tell us they eloped.” You gave Marc a very scandalised look, prompting both Shay and Ashton to laugh.

“Not eloping, no. But the boys have an album coming out, followed by another world tour. So we’ve been looking at dates and realised that if we get married before or during the tour, it’ll feel like a rushed honeymoon.” You explained and Ashton smiled softly.

“So we figured, we’ve been together this long, why not a little while longer? So we’re looking into dates the following spring.” Ashton explained to the almost bewildered couple.

“So not next spring, but the following spring?” Shay clarified and you nodded. “Well at least they can’t say you’re rushing into the wedding.” This set off a round of laughter.

When you got home later that night, with the promise of another get together with Shay and Marc soon, you took advantage of the quiet house.

Or at least, you were going to until a wave of nausea hit you and had you running to the bathroom, that nights dinner showing up in the toilet bowl.

You knew then that the mood for the night was ruined, giving a pouting look to Ashton after you’d cleaned your teeth and gotten changed.

“It’s rare we get a child free house.” You grumbled at him, making him laugh.

“I know, but if you’re throwing up your dinner, lets not tempt fate, shall we?” And you knew you couldn’t argue with that.

So when you woke up the next morning, long after Ashton had kissed you goodbye, a sudden thought hit you as you scrambled for you phone, checking the health app.

Your period due date had come and gone. And instead of morning sickness when you’d been pregnant the first time around tended to happen in the evening.

“Okay, deep breaths. Buy a few tests, see if you throw up tonight and tomorrow. Once is chance, twice is coincidence. Third time’s a pattern.” A soft pang hit your heart at the words your mom had often told you.

You carried on with your day, locking away the internal panic as you added the pregnancy tests to the grocery run you did.

When you got home, you shoved them in the cabinet under the sink and distracted yourself from the way your thoughts were going.

The process worked until  you were throwing up again, and Ashton was running up the stairs in worry.

“Are you sure you don’t have any kind of bug, love?” His fingers pressed a cool, damp cloth to your forehead and you sighed in relief.

“Not too sure. Do you think Mike could keep her another night? If it is a bug, I don’t want her catching it.”

“I’ll text him now. She’ll be overjoyed she gets another night with him.” This made you giggle before the wave of nausea hit and your head was over the toilet bowl once more.

The next day, Ashton stayed home all day. He kept you on dry toast with lemon and ginger tea which seemed to be doing wonders for your stomach.

But when you were running for the bathroom once more, even after having only had toast throughout the day, you felt your heart flip at the possible reality of being pregnant.

So once you shooed Ashton out of the bathroom, you got the three tests out, taking a slow, deep breath as you peed on the sticks and waited.

“Babe, are you okay?” You opened the door, and pulled Ashton inside.

“I wasn’t too sure, but mom always say ‘first time is chance, second is a coincidence and third time’s a pattern,” you rambled to his confused face, “so I worked out that my period is late and I’m suffering with the same sickness I suffered the first time around and I went ahead and bought some pregnancy tests and-”

Ashton covered your lips with his hand and you stopped talking.

“Breathe, angel.” And you did.

It took a few times to slow your heart rate down and you could feel your heart and stomach flutter in nerves and anticipation.

“I’m suffering the same symptoms I had when I was pregnant the first time around. So I got some tests. I wanted to wait because, it’s stupid but mom always said-”

“First time is chance, second is a coincidence and third time’s a pattern. You wanted to be sure it wasn’t just food poisoning.” You nodded at his words.

“How much longer do we need to wait?”

“They should be done. Ash, I’m scared.” You finally blurted out and he took his hands in yours.

“We’re in this together. I promise.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Taking in a deep breath, you looked down to the test and you felt your heart stutter.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant with Ashton’s child.

“Baby?” You whispered, your eyes turning to him and you could see the tears gathered in his eyes and panic flooded you for a second before his lips curved up into the biggest smile you’d seen him wear.

His gaze turned from the tests to you and you couldn’t help yourself. You were grinning with him.

“We’re gonna be parents again.” He whispered and you couldn’t stop the sob of joy as his arms picked you up, laughter bubbling from both of you.

“We’re gonna be parents again!” Came from your lips this time, and as he danced around with you in his arms, you felt lighter than ever.

He placed you on your feet, immediately falling to his knees afterwards and his fingers pushed up under your bed shirt, caressing the skin softly, his eyes studying the soft skin with an awe like look upon his features.

“Hiya peanut,” he whispered so softly that you almost missed it, “your mommy and daddy are gonna take real good care of you.” His lips pressed against your stomach and you giggled through your tears, running your fingers through his hair.

He tilted his head back, a few tears falling as he took you in.

“You are an amazing woman.”

“I’m still the same woman, just pregnant.” You giggled again, leaning down to meet his lips with yours.

“That still makes you amazing. Holy shit, we’re going to be parents again.”

—

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