#Roy: I can come back for those plans if you two are busy

[violent138]

By the law of being the worst to your siblings, the various Bat-teammates are probably stunned whenever they see their respective Fearless Leader devolve into the pettiest, whiniest piece of shit around whatever sibling they're presently beefing with.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Bedroom Eyes Like a Remedy

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader

3.6k words (kind of a long one!)

Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, fluff & flirting, some spice, mentions of drinking, "locker room talk", protective dad

Staying up all night with a professional footballer sounded good at the time, you reasoned with yourself as you stifled a yawn. But now, walking down the hall to grab one of the coaches a breakfast sandwich, you were almost regretting it.

Almost.

You were nearly at your destination when a hand grabbed your wrist. When you whirled around, Roy was smirking at you.

“You busy tonight?” he murmured in place of a greeting.

Melting at the sight of him, you leaned against a wall and batted your eyes flirtatiously. “Depends, are you making me an offer?”

Roy bit his lip and shrugged. “Homemade dinner. Horribly expensive bottle of wine.” He leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “Finish what you tried to start last night.”

He definitely noticed the way your thighs pressed together at his suggestion. “Sounds like a plan, Kent.”

He opened his mouth to say something else-

“Oi, Kent!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your dad was striding down the hall, head tilted at the sight of you and Roy clearly in the middle of a conversation. Oh hell, did he notice the way your eyes were wild for the midfielder? Did he catch Roy’s tiny step back to put distance between you? Shit, did he see Roy whisper suggestively in your ear?

Roy stood like a soldier at attention as your dad approached. “Weight room,” your dad said sharply.

“Coach.” With a nod to your dad and not a second glance at you, Roy walked briskly down the hall in the direction your dad instructed.

You tried to sidestep to get back to your task, but the sound of your dad clearing his throat had you freezing like Roy did. “What were you and Kent chatting so intensely about?” The question came out slowly, as though he was dreaded your answer.

“A book he recommended to me,” you blurted out quickly. Roy and you suggested books to each other from time to time; your dad knew that well. “Kent wanted to know how I was enjoying it.” You shrugged. “Sorry for keeping him from training,” you added, hoping your face was innocent enough to convince your dad.

He nodded, a slow nod, processing your words. “You two seem to be quite chummy lately,” he observed. “Smiling at each other, whispering in corners.” He narrowed his eyes. “Anything you need to tell me?”

You were thrown back to being a teenager, caught coming home past curfew, caught with a boy in your room, caught with alcohol on your breath. Each of those times, you had been honest with your dad. Each of those times had concluded with a firm but loving conversation, a hug between father and daughter, a better understanding of each other.

But not this time.

“No,” you lied. “Just being friendly. But I won’t distract him from work anymore, I promise. We’ll save our chats for after practice.”

A small shove from your dad told you that you were off the hook. “Alright,” he conceded. “But be careful with Kent, alright? I don’t have to tell you about his reputation. Not that he’d be daft enough to go out with you.” He let out a light chuckle, one you returned with a weak smile. When he caught the absolute mortification on your face, his own grin dropped. “Because you’re my kid,” he clarified firmly. “And Roy Kent knows better.”

Apparently not, you thought to yourself. “Dad…” You cleared your throat. “D’you think it would really be so bad if I… if we…”

“Don’t.” Your dad’s voice was a sharp knife to your abdomen. “Come on, love. You know how these guys are. Talented as hell, but not boyfriend material.” He shook his head. “I know you probably think he’s a nice guy, he’s good-looking and famous, but you’ll only wind up hurt, and I’ll wind up in an awkward situation here.” He smiled at you. “There’s plenty of other fellas you can go after. Leave Roy Kent and the rest of them on the pitch.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, missing the distressed look on your face. “Think you could grab me a breakfast sandwich too?”

You pretended you weren’t struggling for air as you nodded. “Sure, Dad.”

The knots in your stomach from your conversation with your dad were still there that night as you stood in front of your closet. No one likes lying to their parents, you reminded yourself as you pulled out your favorite dress, the one you usually saved for clubs and birthday dinners. But sometimes, a girl had to do what a girl had to do. And what you had to do was dress yourself up and go see Roy Kent at his flat, even if it meant looking your father in the eye and lying through your teeth about going out with your girlfriends.

As you drove the now familiar route to Roy’s, you were struck by the realization that your alibis had one thing in common: your recently neglected friends. Shit, you thought. You needed them to be in on your secret if you were going to keep this up. You fished your phone out of your bag and quickly dialed the friend whose name had slipped out of your mouth a lot lately.

“She’s alive!” Angela shrieked when she answered.

The chuckle you let out was tinged with guilt. “Hey,” you greeted. “Sorry for falling off the face of the earth.” You cleared your throat, trying to figure out where to start. “See, there’s uh, this guy-”

“He must be fit to have you forgetting your friends,” she teased.

A dreamy smile crossed your face as you thought about the sight of Roy in the changing room. “He is,” you assured her. “But… he’s also kind of a secret.” You sighed. “And I’ve kind of been using you as my excuse to leave the house to see him.”

Angela tsked at you jokingly. “Dating a guy Mum and Dad don’t approve of? Naughty girl.”

“Well, Mum might approve if she got to know him.” You paused for a long moment. “But Dad-”

“He’s not a footballer, is he?” Angela laughed. “Let me, guess, you finally shagged Roy Kent?”

She’d meant it as a joke; all of your mates knew how much you drooled over the midfielder. They teased you constantly. But they also knew your dad’s feelings about his players, having heard his warnings first-hand once you had all grown up and found yourselves looking at his team in a new light. They knew his one rule for hanging around Chelsea FC was staying away from the fellas. And here you were, his own daughter, completely breaking that rule.

“I mean…” You let out a deep exhale. “I haven’t shagged him yet,” you explained pathetically. “I’m actually on my way to his flat now for…” Your face was burning hot. “That.”

A choking sound came through the phone. “I’m sorry,” Angela scoffed. “You’re sneaking around with Roy Kent?”

You paused for a moment. You could tell her you’re joking, that you’re seeing some nobody and you just want to keep things private. But shit, you had to tell someone. “Yes,” you quietly confirmed.

There was a long silence on her end; for a moment, you worried that she’d hung up to call your father and tell him everything. Finally, her voice returned. “Well shit,” she laughed. “Good for you, girl!”

The breath you’d been holding flew out of your mouth. While Angela promised to help keep your secret, you arrived at Roy’s place. After agreeing to get together soon so you could give her all the details, you hung up, satisfied that you had at least one person in your life who was happy for you and your relationship with Roy Kent. Not that you considered this a relationship relationship, you quickly scolded yourself. Maybe fling was the better word. No, that didn’t quite cover the way Roy looked at you while eating hot dogs the night of his photoshoot. Romance? Sure, you told yourself. This romance with Roy Kent.

Roy was certainly feeling romantic, it appeared. He greeted you with a slow kiss in the doorway before taking your coat and purse from you and ushering you inside. A couple of candles were lit in the otherwise dim living room, and from his stereo you could hear soft music playing. He took your hand and led you to the dining room, which up to this point was just the room you passed through on your way to the kitchen. Tonight, however, the table was set for two, with candles and wine and a vase of flowers sitting on a white tablecloth. You eyed the tablecloth carefully; you wouldn’t have thought of Roy Kent as the type of man to own a tablecloth, if you were being honest.

He must have caught the way you blinked in surprise at the setup, because Roy cleared his throat as he held out your chair for you. “Figured, my first time making you dinner, might as well do things properly,” he mumbled as you sat down.

“It’s lovely,” you assured him. You stared at him, with his hard expression and twitching fingers. “Thank you. Really.”

A pleased look twinkled in his eye as he turned to the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry.” He returned with a pair of plates accompanied by a heavenly smell. “It’s, uh, a pesto gnocchi,” he explained as he set the plates on the table.

As the two of you tucked in, you stole a glance at him. He had a hard look on his face, stony and expressionless as he stared at his plate. But when you looked at his hands, you caught the way they twitched and fidgeted, betraying how… nervous he was? Excited? You hoped happy was somewhere in the jumble of emotions it looked like Roy was feeling.

Just as you were trying to decide what to say to break the quiet, Roy looked up at you, eyebrows scrunched. “The fucking candles aren't too much are they?” he blurted.

A soft smile graced your lips. Nervous, you decided. Roy was definitely nervous. “Everything is perfect,” you murmured, feeling bold enough to touch his hand. “Especially this food. Holy shit, who knew Chelsea’s superstar could cook?” You smirked at him. “I bet you learned to cook just to impress women, Kent.”

He rolled his eyes as the corner of his mouth curled upwards. “Fuck off, I actually enjoy cooking.” He chuckled and added, “But yeah, it does seem to be…” He bobbled his head. “Impressive.”

You decided to shove down the pang of envy at the idea of other women, gorgeous models and famous actresses, sitting in this same spot, eating this same dish and drinking the same wine from the same glass. Instead, you focused on the warmth of Roy’s eyes as he gazed at you. “Well, consider me impressed.”

You tried to think of the last time you had such a perfect date. It wasn’t as if you went out with losers; the guys you dated were always good-looking enough, smooth enough, smart and clever enough. Most of them were decent enough in bed. They knew the right places to go and the right things to say. They were fine. Hell, some of them were even great.

But none of them were Roy.

Roy who rolled his eyes playfully and told stories that made you laugh and made faces at you when you called him a prick. And gazed at you with the softest brown eyes known to man and offered up small smiles when he listened to you talk. And asked about a million times if you liked the food and made sure that you had enough of the wine that you knew the campus pub would never carry.

Roy Kent was nothing short of the perfect date.

The empty plates lay in front of you for a long time, ignored in favor of chatting about football, university, mates, books, everything and anything either of you could think of. While telling you about being a kid in Sunderland, Roy eventually trailed off, clearly preferring to lean his elbows on the table and smile gently at you in the candlelight. You wondered if you had the same look on your face, a look full of fondness and bliss that carried words that felt far too scary to even entertain.

“Thanks again for visiting me last night,” you murmured, tracing the rim of your wine glass. “I think you should climb through my window more often.”

 He chuckled lightly and reached out for your hand. “Well, if it gets me more dinners like this, I might have to.” He leaned forward, his rapidly moving eyes betraying the calculations he was doing in his mind. “Especially if… you want to continue from last night?”

Every inch of your skin burned in anticipation. “That… sounds like a good idea,” you breathed. You bit your lip gently. “You’ve seen my room. Guess it’s only fair you show me yours, right?”

“Right.”

This wasn’t the first time Roy Kent had taken a woman to his bedroom. Not by a longshot. Just like this wasn’t your first time letting a guy lead you to his room. But something about this felt… different. There was something in the air, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, as you held Roy’s hand and walked through his posh apartment. Something thick and heavy that you could feel in the tips of your fingers and the pit of your stomach.

But you didn’t dwell on whatever that something was. Not when Roy Kent was lying in bed on top of you, his mouth on yours, demanding your full attention. Your hands pulled and tugged at his shirt, already desperate to get him out of his clothes. He seemed to be thinking the same thing, because his own rough hands were shifting the skirt of your dress upwards. In a tumble of soft moans and even softer giggles, the two of you managed to remove each other’s clothing until you were both down to your undergarments. With only his boxers and your favorite pair of panties between you, Roy’s hardness rubbed against your heat sinfully, providing you with more of the friction he’d begun to give you the night before in your bedroom.

“Fuck,” you groaned as he bit and licked at your neck, not caring if he left little marks on your skin. He rocked against you lazily, a preview of the pleasure you knew you were in for. When his tip brushed against your clothed clit, you let out a sharp gasp. “Fuck, Roy.”

He stilled for a moment, smirk against your skin. His chuckle hit your ears like music.

Shit, had you done something wrong? “Everything alright?” you breathed.

Roy lifted his head, smile wide on his face. “I’ve just realized… I haven't heard you say my name since the day we met.”

Confusion flooded your face as you tilted your head at him. “What the fuck are you on about?” You couldn’t help but return his grin with a quizzical smile of your own. “I say your name all the time.”

“Nope.” He shook his head emphatically, his scruff tickling your bare skin. “You always call me Kent. You never call me Roy.”

The two of you blinked at each other, both trying to remember an instance, any instance, where you’d used his first name. Hell, now that you thought about it, you didn’t think he ever said your name either; it was always ‘princess’. It was nothing short of ridiculous, now that you thought about it properly. You were in bed with the man, practically naked, and you’d never even spoken his given name before or heard him use yours. As if you both came to the realization at the same time, you burst into fits of laughter, pressing your foreheads together the way you had in your bedroom the night before.

Once your giggles died down, Roy stole a kiss, a long, affectionate one. “I like how you say my name,” he mumbled against your lips. As he spoke, his hand snaked between your bodies, travelling down your figure until he reached your panties. With a smirk, he began sliding them down your thighs. “Bet I can make you say it again.”

For once, you didn’t tease or playfully argue. Because for once, you had to admit that Roy Kent was completely and utterly correct.

~

Once you’d caught your breath, you glanced up at Roy, whose chest you were resting on. He looked so blissful and gorgeous like this, with his bare chest and flushed face and dreamy eyes. Some part of you- alright, all of you- wished you could just stay like this all night, curled up against him.

But you didn’t think that was an option.

“I should get going,” you murmured, starting to sit up. “You've got training tomorrow and all.”

Roy’s firm grip around your middle pulled you back down to him. “You can stay,” he urged. He narrowed his eyes at you teasingly. “Unless now that you’ve gotten me in bed, you’re done with me,” he joked, as if he knew you were fighting not to suspect the same thing of him. “Because I don’t know about you-” His arms pulled you close. “-but I would like to repeat that a few times, princess.” He planted a kiss to the top of your head. “The whole date, I mean,” he clarified. “Good food, good conversation, good sex…” He raised his eyebrows at you. “Not a bad deal.”

Although his voice was light and full of teasing, you didn’t miss his meaning: Roy wanted to keep seeing you. While you weren’t totally sure what that would entail- going public, being exclusive or not, putting labels on things, telling your dad- you knew you were in. You would be in for anything this man suggested so long as it involved the two of you spending time together, in and out of the bedroom, sharing smiles and kisses and jokes and your bodies. Whether or not it was smart, you knew you were seriously falling for him. And the realization was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“Yeah, Roy,” you hummed, kissing his bare chest as he held you tight. “It’s a pretty good fucking deal.”

~

It was nearly four in the morning when you tiptoed back into your house, thanks to the alarm Roy had been thoughtful enough to set for you. It had been a challenge to remove yourself from his arms and his warm bed, and an even bigger challenge removing yourself from his lips when he insisted on walking you to your car. It was almost silly; you’d be seeing him in a few hours, but he kissed you like he was a soldier saying a final goodbye before shipping off into the unknown. Then again, it wasn’t like you could act like this during training, not under the gazes of an entire football squad and coaching staff and one very protective father.

Later that morning, that protective father walked down the hall beside you with a pensive look on his face, as if he wanted to say something, but never opening his mouth. He’d done it the night before, when he watched you walk out in your little dress and giant heels. And he’d done it this morning, before finally asking what time you’d come in and if you’d had a good time with the girls.

Roy wasn’t in the changing room when you began organizing your father’s desk for the day. He’d mentioned something to you about going in extra early, since he was already awake, so you assumed he must be in the weight room already. Perhaps it was better; no chance of your dad seeing you exchange goofy smiles this early in the morning.

Your dad was reading over a report when you saw him perk up at a conversation going on in the changing room.

“-Kent totally got some last night,” a young striker was saying.

“He say with who?” the defender he was speaking with asked, his voice dripping with gossipy curiosity.

A soft chuckle wafted into the office. “Nah. He didn’t even say anything happened,” came an admission. “But you knew Kent. He’s got that dopey smile and he keeps stretching his back, the way he always does after- ahem- strenuous activity.”

The defender laughed. “If he’s not saying anything,” he mused, “it must either be someone really fucking famous, or it’s something serious. Kent always kisses and tells.”

“Just don’t tell Coach’s girl.” Your dad tensed at the mention of you. Your eyes remained trained on his desk, as if you couldn’t hear a word from the changing room. “She’s been mooning over Kent more than usual lately, poor kid.”

“I think she’s a great gal,” the defender countered. “If Kent wasn’t… Kent, then maybe she’d have a shot.”

The two players continued their coarse chatter as they left the changing room, speculating who the mystery woman could be and recalling some of Roy’s more memorable conquests. Your dad looked over at you, mouth in a straight line and eyebrows raised. You simply blinked at him, refusing to be the first to say something, lest you betray yourself.

“See?” he finally said softly. “Leave. Him. On. The. Pitch.”

“Yes, sir,” you murmured as he turned back to his report. You quickly tugged at the sweater you wore, hoping its high neckline would hide the hickeys Roy had left you with the night before.

Taglist:@gee72sstuff@book-of-roses@kissykissymouth@emmy2811 @hart-kinsella @klaine-92@dearvoidgoodnight@misshall14@issieruby@royal-sunflower@kissmekent @itswhateveripromise@slaymybreathaway@darkmagazineblaze@larascorneroftheworld@infinetlyforgotten@caught-the-feels@rae4725@sisinever@cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782 @dd122004dd @veryprairieberry @spacecluster

[junespriince]

you know what fuck you! *Yuri your birdflash* au

Wally: Linda! Hartley! Guys I need help!

Linda: what's wrong?

Hartley: is Chris still bothering you? God, he can't take no for an answer!

Wally: not him, those he did try to sit with me in lecture today, but that's besides the point just, ugh just come with me to my apartment!

Kyle, Conner, Hartley, Linda, Ace, and Bart sitting in her living room.

Wally: so Birdie just asked me out on a date—

Kyle: about fucking time.

Wally: shut up Kyle, and listen!

Wally, huffs: anyways, she asked me out on a date, and I don't know what to wear, she said we're going to a thrift store, and then a botanical garden exhibit, and then a dinner at this way to fancy restaurant and I don't want to make more of a fool of myself then I already have, I mean what if I dress to fancy I'll stick out, but if I dress to lower she'll hate me and I'll never see her again and like this was a dream come true she asked me out, if she hate me then we won't build a house together in the forest, adopt a turtle as our child, maybe have a dog too, and we won't wake up together or make bread together or anything! I need you guys to help me here!

Hartley: if she hates you for dressing comfortably then she ain't it then.

Wally: but she's everything! She's smart, beautiful, talented, her eyes are the most beautiful gems I ever seen, her dimples are so cute, and she takes up half my future planning I can't mess this up, please just help a girl out over here! *Staring to tear up*

Kyle: okay, okay we get it! We'll help, stop crying!

Bart: must be real desperate bringing all of us in here to help.

Wally: very! Kori off planet or I'd call her too.

Ace: okay sis, bring out the outfits you have in mind.

Linda: and the shoes! Oh let me get my makeup bag as well, I'll be right back!

Conner: I'll make some tea and look through your hair products, I'm thinking hair down, help shape those curls out, and maybe a cute hair accessory.

Kyle: can I go cunty?

Wally: no! This is the first date! I need to be cute, but rememberable.

Hartley: let me see your closet, when the date?

Wally: in seven hours.

Hartley: a little bit of a challenge but doable.

Bart: I'll make snacks, and I'll have Kon spy on her so we can match her levels!

Wally, about to cry again: oh my god thank you, thank you, thank you!

7 hours later and at Bludhaven's cafe, lesbian owned

Rania ((Urania ))(Dick*), dressed in a cute and nice little blazer moment, in deep green, dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, Sharp but not too sharp makeup, short hair slicked back a bit, tented glasses rest at the edge of her nose and they're red hearts: My little Willow tree, you are right on time, excited for our date to be late? *Soft chuckle, dimples showing*

Wally, long waterfall curls with a cute strawberry headband, that iconic strawberry midi dress, very little makeup Bec we don't cover freckles in this house hold, nervous: very, I-I,,, I didn't want to keep you waiting is all, rainy.

Rania, calm and collective: no worries, *offers arm* let's go, have a busy night ahead of us.

Wally, blushing taking her arm: y-yeah.

Rania, hours before

Rania, holding her brothers, sister, Steph, Barbara, Donna, her dad, the butler, Roy, and Kori hostage in her room: if I don't look stunning for that pretty girl, I will die! I need suggestions and support people!

Jason: why would we want to help you?

Rania: because if I don't impress her, I'm destroying all your books.

Jason:

Jason: I'll get the makeup.

Roy: girl, I don't know how to dress myself the hell you think I can help you here?

Rania: then support me!

Bruce, on the phone: calling Diana, Selena, and Talia as we speak sweetheart.

Alfred: I'll get the outfit Miss Urania.

Rania: thanks, I just,,, I have to make a good impression on her! My future hangs in the balance with her!

Barbara: getting the gel, Damian get Jon to spy on Willow we need these two to match, sapphics love a good match.

Damian: got it. Do you want some tea Urania?

Rania: yes, please, thanks Dami, you're a good kid, and I love you so much, you know that?

Damian, prideful about the praise: of course I do.

Tim: kiss ass

Damian: hate not being the favorite, I see.

Kori: oh, oh, I want to pick out the shoes! Maybe favorite are in your closet right?

Rania: the Church's Burwood Oxford in black or the Church's Fairstead Oxford?

Kori: the first one.

Rania: uh, in the shoes closet, back right wall.

Kori: yay!

Donna: getting the accessories, you want the tinted pink shades or the red?

Rania: red heart ones.

Donna: gotcha.

Stephanie: let me see those outfits Al, I have a vision.

Damian: hope that vision includes strawberries, West is in a strawberry midi dress, whatever that is.

Stephanie: GASP, it does! I could kiss her! Get the green dress suit!

Cass: I'll get it!

Duke: how her make up Damian?

Damian: soft, they're leaving the freckles.

Rania, blushing: they're leaving the freckles,,,,, Dad, tell them to get here fast and call Harley and Ivy and auntie kate we need those two lesbian asap!

Bruce: got it!

Damian: some chamomile tea, and I have some lavender at the ready if you need it, Urania.

Rania: thank you dami, again *kiss his forehead*

Back on the date

Wally, in her head: wow she's so calm, and pretty, oh focus Wally, you don't need to trip!

Rania, in her mind: god she's so pretty, damn I can the wedding, no, no, focus on today damnit!

*but a Romani name I really like for her also I did use behind the name so if it's not right oops I did look into this

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

(for those of you who prefer reading fanfics on tumblr instead of ao3)

Summary:

What if Jamie had actually done as Roy had asked all the way back in season 1 when Roy told him to get Colin and Isaac to stop messing with Nate? Or Roy Kent accidentally becomes Jamie Tartt's minder and regrets every step of the process until he doesn't.

Chapter 1: Roy Kent Has Regrets

The first reluctant step in their respective redemption arcs.

When Roy goes up to Jamie to ask him to get Isaac and Colin to leave Nate the fuck alone, he doesn’t have much hope that the little prick will listen to him.

When said little prick laughs in his face, Roy considers glaring at him into submission or knocking his teeth out.

Instead, Roy finds some relic of self-control within himself, a pool of patience so shallow it might as well be called a puddle.

“Look,” Roy says, “I get that you don’t give two shits about Richmond—”

“And you do?” The prick interrupts him. That puddle gets a lot smaller. “The way I see it, you give about as much a shit about Richmond as I do. I’ve been here for months, and what? Now you’ve decided to act like the fucking captain? Finally remembered that there’s actual shit that comes with that fancy title? That Alzheimer's really kicking your arse, innit?”

“Just fucking do it,” Roy says. Pauses. Very reluctantly adds, “Please.”

Jamie looks at him, eyebrows raised, a fucking bewildered expression on his dumb fucking face. And yes, okay, Roy doesn’t say please much, he’ll admit to that, but the twat’s been here for a while now; Roy has definitely used that word in front of him. Right?

“Yeah, alright,” Jamie says, looking at Roy like he’s got something contagious, “If it means that fucking much to you. I’ll take care of it; Nate’s a good lad.”

And because the magic fucking word was so effective, Roy decides to use another one, see what that can get him.

“Thanks,” he says, and walks away, leaving Jamie to his weights. He catches Jamie’s face as he steps out of the gym. Definitely one of the funnier expressions he’s seen on that prick. All scrunched up and confused.

The things is though, in some dark little corner of his mind, Roy knows he’s being a shit captain (not that he’ll ever say that out loud because fuck if he’ll admit that Tartt is right). He’s too stuck in his own head to give a shit about Richmond, too worried about how bleak his fucking future’s looking. Retirement striding closer and closer every time he steps onto the pitch with his bum knee.

The great Roy Kent, too busy raging over the end of his fucking career to actually do his fucking job properly.

And some not insignificant part of him thinks why bother putting in the effort now. Why not just finish up his career coasting at Richmond like he’s been doing, and then fuck off to become irrelevant like so many footballers before him. It’s practically a right of passage in this life.

However, now that Ted Lasso has come to darken the club’s doorstep, that plan is looking less and less feasible as the days go by.

(He decides to ignore that somewhat less insignificant part of him that’s relieved by that.)

Later, Roy rounds a corner to the locker room and sees the prick talking to Isaac and Colin. Roy backs away before they can see him and peaks his head around the corner.

“You’ve had your fun. It was a good laugh. But maybe ease up on Nate a bit, yeah?” Jamie says, doing that stupid thing he always does with his shirt, hands tucked underneath it, stretching out the fabric, “Don’t want the gaffer to think we’re a bunch of animals, right?”

Colin and Isaac look almost as confused as Jamie did in the weight room, but they nod solemnly and say ‘yeah, no problem’, before walking away, Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-fucking-dumber.

Roy steps back into view, “Now, was that so fucking?” he asks and takes great satisfaction when Tartt jumps out of skin like the little baby he is.

“Fukin’ hell!” Jamie clutches at his heart, the dramatic idiot, “The fuck you doing sneaking around like some senile old ninja?”

“Making sure you keep your word.”

“Keep your fucking tartan socks on, grandad. I did what you fucking asked.”

“And I’m sure it must have been very painful for you. Are you alright? Did you pull something? Do you need to have a sit down?” Roy asks because he’s mature like that.

“Fuck off,” Jamie says, and storms away, further proof that he’s a fucking baby.

Roy thinks that that’s that; Nate can rest easy, Roy can congratulate himself on his good dead for the year, and he can go back to ignoring Jamie ‘The Prick’ Tartt. Except, of course, fucking Lasso has to go and put his moustachioed fucking nose where it isn’t wanted.

Sitting at the same table as Jamie fucking Tartt, about to be sold off like fucking cattle all in the name of the children was not Roy’s idea of a good time. Fuck Ted Lasso. And fuck his fucking moustache. Roy would pay the fucking charity triple whatever he was sold for if it meant he could go home and leave this fucking farce behind. Unfortunately, that wasn’t allowed; he’d checked.

Though admittedly, messing with Tartt, telling him he would have to fuck that old lady was fun enough, until Tartt stormed off again, Keeley chasing after him. The little prick has been doing that a lot lately.

But then Roy starts thinking about what Jamie said. About Roy being a shit captain. And watching Jamie walk further and further away is no longer fun. And no amount of beer seems to make it fun again.

After a while, Roy sighs and, against his better judgement, decides to be a decent fucking person tonight.

He regrets getting up as soon as he’s on his feet. Regrets every step that takes him closer to the prick.

He finds Jamie at the bar, peeling off the label from a beer bottle and ripping the paper to tiny, little shreds, Keeley nowhere in sight. Roy stands next to him and regrets it. Jamie doesn’t look up, his eyes fixated on the beer label, the bits of paper getting smaller and smaller. And Roy realises something (he regrets that realisation).

“This auction really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Roy watches as Jamie tenses, just enough to be unnoticeable had Roy not being properly paying attention.

“Fuck off.” Roy watches as Jamie’s hands let go of the shreds of paper and try to worm their way underneath a shirt that isn’t there. Jamie’s hands drop when they don’t find the fabric.

More than anything, Roy regrets that he’s starting to get concerned about Jamie Fucking Tartt. The world really is going to shit.

“You don’t actually have to sleep with them, you know,” Roy says.

“Yeah, I’m not fucking stupid.” But Jamie had believed them, hadn’t he? When Roy and Keeley had ganged up on him. He’d believed them, and he’d looked panicked.

And Roy is feeling shittier and shittier the longer this conversation goes on.

“Anyway, it’s just sex, innit,” Jamie says, “Not like it’s a big fucking deal.”

Except this was starting to look like a big fucking deal, because Jamie was still so tense, and if Roy looked hard enough, he could just about see Jamie’s hands, fisted at his side, shacking slightly.

“You don’t have to fuck anyone you don’t want to,” and Roy doesn't know why he says that, doesn’t know why he’s reminding a fucking grown adult about fucking consent. Only with the way Jamie’s acting, it’s starting to feel fucking necessary.

Silence, and then, “Yeah,” Jamie says. And Jamie took too long to answer, and now Roy's really starting to get concerned, and being concerned about Jamie Tartt feels fucking awful.

But before Roy can get into whatever the fuck that’s about, the auction’s about to start, and they get called back to their table.

Roy has many, many regrets.

Roy doesn’t even think when he does it. He’s starring at Jamie up on that stage looking as uncomfortable as Roy’s ever seen him, their conversation and the fucking awful implications behind it playing a constant loop in Roy’s head.

Then that perverted Shetland pony matriarch bids five thousand quid. Jamie starts looking desperate. Roy feels himself lift his arm up.

“Six thousand.” Those words come out of his mouth before his brain can even kick in and decide that no, that’s a fucking stupid thing to do.

He sees Keeley look at him as she places her unused paddle back on the table, bemused as fuck. Because of fucking course Keeley was going to bid on her own boyfriend; she’s the nicest person he’s ever met even if her taste in men leans towards those who are pretty and shit in equal measures.

And he knows that Jamie’s digging holes into his head with those fucking eyes of his much like Cheryl fucking Barnaby is doing, only he refuses to look at Jamie, because what the fuck is Roy even doing.

“Well, well, well,” Fucking Rupert Mannion opens his mouth, and why is he even here? “It seems the Richmond Captain wants a bit of one on one training with the gorgeous young man to my left.” And why the fuck did he say it like that?

Cheryl Barnaby bids seven thousand, probably wondering what Jamie looks like on a fucking Shetland pony. And because Roy’s already started this, he’s fucking finishing it.

He bids ten thousand and decides then and there that he’s disappearing off the face of the earth and moving to some fucking remote village in South America where nobody’s ever heard of him.

Cheryl keeps her mouth shut and doesn’t lift her paddle again.

Roy’s won.

Fuck.

Roy goes back to the bar and finds Jamie where he left him last time. Roy leans against the bar, his shoulder jostling Jamie’s. Neither talk for a moment.

“The fuck was that about?” Jamie asks after the silence becomes awkward enough.

“I was being fucking nice; it happens sometimes,” Roy says. You looked uncomfortable, Roy doesn’t say. “Unless of course, you want to spend a night with Cheryl Barnaby, Shetland pony breeder extraordinaire.”

“Fuck no,” Jamie says immediately. He takes a drink, so does Roy. Then Jamie asks “Was I, like, meant to return the favour?”

“Fuck no,” Roy repeats Jamie’s words, “This is weird enough as is.”

“I’m not going to fuck you no matter how much you paid for me.”

“Did you not hear that whole conversation we had about consent?”

“Just saying.” And then more quietly, “Thank-you” so quietly Roy barely hears him.

And Roy doesn’t want to thing about the vulnerability leaking into Jamie’s voice, so instead he changes the subject because Jamie is looking small and uncertain, two things that Roy refuses to associate with Jamie under any circumstance.

He brings up his old dickhead teammate, Doug Stashwick, and thankfully Jamie follows the change in conversation.

By the end of it, they’re both smiling and laughing together which is fucking weird but at least Jamie doesn’t look so small anymore.

Though, knowing that the prick had a poster of Roy on his wall when he was a kid makes the whole Jamie situation just a little bit shittier.

Ch2

[beybaldes]

you looked back at me once (but I looked back two times)

summer sleepover masterlist

ted lasso x gn!reader

summary : “talking and realizing they're just nodding to everything you say (because they're busy admiring u dhsdbgfgydesuh)” requested by anon.

an : the anon who requested this was so right when they said it screams ted I acc can’t think of anyone else in the world it’d fit better

“So it’s only feasible to get it done Tuesday, if that’s okay with you guys?” Though you tried your best not to make your way down to the coaches office until lunch time, today you had to go on business, driving you to be down there bright and early at 8am.

Roy, Beard and Ted had been nodding along to everything you said, each taking your words into account and trying to figure out how they could rearrange their plans to fit it in to their schedule. Roy, naturally, was the first to disagree with your change of plans. “Can’t do Tuesday. I need-“

“I can pick Phoebe up from school.” You assured, fingers drumming against the back of your clipboard. “She can come hang out in my office while we wait for you to finish up.”

Roy clearly hadn’t expected a response to that, nodding his head with a half-scowl on his face.

Beard was the next to query the change of plans, his hands raised above his head waiting for your permission to speak. “It won’t interfere with your dentist appointment, Beard. We won’t need you until 2pm at the earliest, so you’ll have plenty of time to get there.” Beards hand went back to his side as quickly as he raised it.

When you turned to the other coach in the office, waiting for a question or query from him, you were met with silence. Ted was staring up at you with the most doe eyed look you’d ever seen. His chin rested against the back of his interlocked fingers and his head was tilted so he could look directly at your face. Not a single thought was running behind those eyes and if you weren’t trying to make sure things would run smoothing you’d have found it ridiculously cute.

“Ted? Any feedback?”

It took him a good second to regain awareness of his surroundings, but when he had, that lovesick smile returned to his face. “Not at all darlin’, it’s absolutely perfect.”

“You’re sure?” Ted’s mind was so filled with you that he couldn’t think of anything else, but judging by the wicked smile that was curled on your lips, you clearly had. “Not even the fact you were meant to be going for dinner with Trent Crimm Tuesday?”

He’d totally forgotten about dinner with Trent, but he was sure the journalist wouldn’t mind the fact he had to reschedule. “I wouldn’t know what I was doing without you sweetheart. Do you mind calling up Trent and rescheduling?”

“You got it coach.” With a salute, you left the coaches office, the three coaches waiting for the clack of your shoes against tile to stop before they spoke.

“You’re in love with them.” Beard immediately accused, pointing his finger at Ted. “And don’t try and deny it, you weren’t even paying attention to the conversation, you were just staring at them.”

Ted turned to Roy, hoping to find reassurance that he’d played it cool when you’d entered the office and not made a total fool of himself. “Looked like a fucking puppy, you did.”

One day Ted would be brave enough to do more then just admire you when you walked into a room. And although today had not been that day, with each time he saw you, he knew that day was getting closer and closer.

[lunar-years]

Sorry, another anon jumping in here- while I'd love to think that Roy would take Jamie's feelings in an R/K wedding into account, I think canonically hes still a bit inept at reading Jamie sometimes (ie: the bar date/ stay away from Keeley scene) so I can see him asking Jamie to be best man without considering the further implications. Which of course leads to the Richmond boys deciding to be an emotional support bubble for him through the whole thing and its only later in the evening when Roy steps outside for some air and sees Jamie with eyes shining, gritting his jaw determinedly trying not to cry while Sam tries to wordlessly comfort him, that Roy realises hes fucked up a bit there. Isaac coming up to him like "we know you didn't mean it like that, but bit cruel that bruv"

yeah 😭

I think it all very much depends on the timeline this is theoretically happening in, too. The thread I read about the alternative s3 roy-keeley wedding was kind of funny because they were using s3 dynamics with everyone else but those two. So when they said "Jamie would obviously be best man!" I found myself thinking...like...idk man, I don't even think Roy would even want or ask Jamie to be his best man in that scenario, because they would not actually be best friends the same way they are in the actual s3.

This might be very cynical...but in a s3 where the Roy & Keeley we see on the verge of breakup in the s2 finale are suddenly getting MARRIED... i do not think Roy and Jamie would become nearly as close in that timeframe as what we see play out in canon. Because so much of their dynamic in s3 is built upon Roy being in a very bad place post-breakup, then volunteering to train Jamie (imo, at least in part as a distraction/way to bury himself in work to stop thinking about how miserable he is in the personal aspects of his life) and then ending up genuinely loving spending time with Jamie and spending ALL of his time with Jamie, slowly pulling him further out from his slump because Jamie's given him something and (someone) to care about again.

Whereas, if Roy is busy and stressed out over wedding planning all the time, whilst also consumed by the same unaddressed insecurities that plagued his relationships with both Keeley and Jamie in the s2 finale (which he only would've pushed further down after a successful proposal) I 1) think it's quite possible he wouldn't have even volunteered to do extra training with Jamie in the first place and 2) even if he did, wouldn't have had the same time to spend with or focus on him, resulting in them...not becoming close! certainly not best man close. Also, Keeley has ALWAYS been a point of strife between them. it's why Roy's head butting Jamie in the s2 finale, it's one layer of why the bar date goes so poorly, etc.

Roy "when I look at her I only think about Jamie fucking Tartt" Kent who has not gone through the breakup nor any of the growth said breakup facilitated is a man deeply insecure in his own relationship (and in this case, engagement) who sees Jamie on some level as still a threat to his peace. I do not think he'd want Jamie to be involved in the wedding at all, tbh, even if their relationship was getting slowly better and they were at the place of tentative friendship we see in the s2 finale.

Now, of course all that changes if we're talking about a scenario where roy-keeley have gotten back together post-series and are then getting married somewhere down the line. That's the version of events where I think 1) Jamie would do anything Roy asked him to, up to and including being his best man, even if it hurt him in the process and 2) Roy would be perceptive enough and care enough about Jamie not to ask. You're totally right that Roy struggles to read Jamie sometimes, but I also think there were sooo many factors at play in the bar date and so many of them would be eliminated in a scenario where Roy and Keeley are getting married post-series. Like, so much of Roy's obliviousness there stemmed (imo) from jealousy and insecurity and his own desire to win Keeley back regardless of Jamie's feelings, so part of it was him being inept on purpose as a form of avoidance, lol.

Whereas, if he's proposed to Keeley and said yes and they're both in a significantly more secure place in their relationship, Jamie isn't really any "threat", so I would like to think Roy would at least pick up on his discomfort surrounding the wedding before hitting him with "will you be my best man" (or like, Keeley would say something when Roy brought up the idea, because it really is deeply ludicrous).

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

⭐star⭐ hiiiiiii. I just read the latest chapter (ch 2) of Flightless Birds and my soul has still not reattached. I would love to know your director’s cut thoughts on either:

1) the scene of Jamie going back to get his car and seeing the blood

2) Keeley’s overall struggles with seeing how Roy and Jamie have grown closer without her

If neither of those are striking the iron for you, anything from The Hedgehog’s Dilemma regarding Jamie’s dad’s visit would also be most excellent!

I hope this missive finds you well <3

The scene of Jamie going back to get his car and seeing the blood

This scene just sort of... came upon me as I was writing as a two birds/one stone type of situation. Bird #1 was that I remembered partway through the chapter that Jamie hadn't retrieved his car yet. Bird #2 was that Jamie spends most of the chapter working up to his big breakdown at the end, and that Roy and Keeley aren't fully aware of how badly he's doing — which meant that I needed a) something to trigger the panic attack, and b) for it to happen somewhere neither of them would know that it had happened. And then when I got this ask I realized that I had completely accidentally built in a recurring motif of like. cars as a representation of Jamie's relationship with his dad and how it's inextricably tied up not just with his career as a player but with the wealth that comes with it; how Jamie's constantly trying to buy James' affection or at least stave off his violence with gifts, his entitlement over Jamie's wealth and belongings and indignation when Jamie has something nicer than what James does, how escaping his father means leaving behind things that he loves — Man City and Georgie when he's a teenager and his car, but also that he can get them back, even if it involves confronting some trauma first.

Keeley's overall struggle with seeing how Roy and Jamie have grown closer without her

This was one of the main parts of the fic that I thought about during the planning phase. Keeley and Roy's relationship progresses a little slower in THD than it does in canon just because Roy's not relying on her quite as much for like. all his non-work and non-family social interaction and later is busy taking care of Jamie in the lead-up to his father's visit. At that stage, she's pretty content with how things are going: she has fun hanging out with them separately and together, she doesn't have to listen to them complain about each other quite as much (they still do, but now it's affectionate so it's much less annoying), and Jamie has someone looking out for him in a way she doesn't really feel equipped to do.

And then their fledgling little QPR experiences trial by fire via moving in together at a point where she's both the only one who's able-bodied and not freshly traumatized and working full time, and on top of that already overwhelming situation, being around each other all the time makes it clear that there are ways that Jamie and Roy are close to each other that they aren't with her. I think with Jamie's recovery especially, she's trying really hard not to feel hurt by the fact that Roy is the one he's opened up to about his dad and that he's the one he turns to when he's upset because she does understand, rationally, that it's not a case of Jamie trusting Roy over her but of Roy being the one to discover the abuse and establishing himself as like. The Person Who Looks After Jamie, and also that when Jamie's really upset, he usually wants to be held for a much longer time than she tends to prefer for her cuddle sessions and also isn't especially compatible with her work schedule.

But at the same time, it does make her feel guilty and hurt that she not only can't seem to give him that kind of support while Roy's recovering but that Roy doesn't seem to trust her to do it properly (this, of course, has much more to do with his own hangups that it does with not trusting Keeley, but she doesn't know that), and so there's a part of her that worries she won't have a place in the relationship once they're both doing better, but is also kind of resentful of the fact that she's ended up in this role as the caretaker and the one that has everything together because she likes doing things for her friends and cheering them up when they're having a hard time but she's never been the biggest fan of looking after people, per se. Anyway the solution is communication and they will get there eventually.

James' visit from THD

James' visit in chapters 5 and 6 was the hardest part of the fic to write, not because of the character voice but because he's just such a relentlessly unpleasant to write. From his perspective, the visit is about reasserting control: he deliberately keeps Jamie guessing about their plans, inserts himself into any part of Jamie's life where he can tell Jamie doesn't want him just to show that he can — he doesn't necessarily care about what Richmond training looks like or where he lives, but he wants to show Jamie that he doesn't have anything that isn't also James'. But at the same time, I did want him to feel like a fully-fledged person operating according to his own complex and deeply dysfunctional internal logic. He's petty and malicious and violent but that's probably not how he'd think of himself, you know?

[mayisgoingnuts]

ILL START NOW—

TWS HALLUCINATIONS, DISEASE, PARANOIA.

Okay. So I will begin with something that will be important later in the story.

Basically, there is this thing that I will only be dubbing The Illness until its actual name is revealed. The Illness is basically a disease that is caused by a lot of things—doubt, fear, paranoia. Anyone can easily catch it if they give in to either of those things. Victims of the disease often hallucinate, and become delusional. And it gets worse and worse with each stage until the end stage, where they usually err.. kinda claw at their own throat until they die?

This is important—trust me. /lh

So the beginning of the story

Kevin wakes up in an ordinary day like any other. He is staying over at Ethan and Strebers house, with none of Strebers other friends being there since they have something they're busy with. He has to get ready for work though, so he does, and heads into the kitchen. Streber, Ethan and Kevin converse when he gets to the kitchen. But before he leaves, Streber gives him a piece of toast. Kevin is grateful for this.

Kevin then later goes to work, and toward the end of his shift, he starts cleaning. But he's then pranked by the hatzgang, because they end up pouring water all over him. He tries to chase them out, but they leave before he can scold them. He tries to head back in, but he slips on the water that poured from the bucket and falls face first onto the ground. He only mutters out of defeat that he hates his job.

Later, Kevin goes back to Ethan and Strebers house. The two manage to soothe him, and they get to their backyard night picnic which they were planning to have with him that night anyway. They of course make sure that he wants to do it, and when he makes it clear that he does, they do it.

They have the picnic in the backyard, but as they converse, Streber mentions a festival/upcoming celebration by the name of Fiesta de las estrellas.

The celebration is pretty simple. It is themed around the stars, and toward the end of the celebration, everyone who attends goes to a certain area and makes a wish and then blows on a dandelion flower. Metaphorically, this is a way of letting their wish be sent to any gods that may be listening to their wishes. And then afterwards, everyone who is attending then proceeds to stargaze in that said area.

Streber seems pretty eager and excited about it, which makes Kevin decide "Hey why not", so he decides that when it comes around, he'll go to the celebration with both him and Ethan. Streber becomes more excited, which causes Ethan to start teasing him a little.

Then, after the picnic, Kevin is ready to go back to his house. But then Kevin catches Streber muttering something to himself in a frustrated manner. Streber explains that he forgot to go look for something he lost near a construction site the other day, and that he can't possibly just go out now to go look for it, even though he was planning on finding it today.

Out of pity, Kevin decides that he can at least try to help him find it before he heads back home. Streber is a little hesitant about this, but he excitedly accepts his help, very grateful.

After telling Ethan about it, Streber drives Kevin over to said construction site. Once they get there, Streber immediately heads in. Kevin decides that he'll let Streber take a look around to see if he can find what he lost. So he sits in a nearby area as he watches Streber search around. But then, he is startled by the arrival of someone. It's Richard, Roy's dad.

Richard and Kevin have a bit of a tense argument/conversation with one another since Kevin doesn't like Richard due to his snobbish attitude. In a small attempt to lighten up the mood at least a little though, he jokingly says that Strebers probably searching for a corpse.

Richard looks at him in a rather tense manner. Kevin tries to say that he was joking, but then Richard suddenly says, "...**you shouldn't joke about it. They still haven't found one of the arms, you know?**". This catches Kevin off guard, obviously.

Before Kevin can even reply though, Streber comes back. Streber seems to be done searching around, saying he can't really find it in the dark and that they might need to come back some other time. Richard decides to leave there, how convenient!

Streber and Kevin decide to drive back so Kevin can get back to his house, but Kevin tries to hesitantly ask if there were any murder cases around the area that he didn't know about since he didn't hear about there being one in a construction site like the one they were in.

Then, Streber suddenly says in a very cold tone as if he is supressing some sort of anger, "I don't know."

IS KEVIN BEING PULLED TO A TRAP OR SMTH... MA'AM FON'T DO THIS TO ME /J

[jamiesfootball]

absolutely no pressure if you don't want to spoil it, but. . .since it sounds like the "jamie gets niceness points" fic probably wont ever be written-written, how do you see it ending?

In a word? Fun.

So the back half plan is essentially to speedrun the events of the next two seasons. This is the ‘sports anime’ vibe I was talking about. Is it realistic? Nope, but it’s very fun.

Nate’s villain arc, unintentionally spurred on by Jamie’s talking him up, blows up at Ted around episode 7.

Keeley, who’s been watching Jamie improve, blows up at Rebecca about sending him back and Rebecca ends up coming clean about her scheme early.

Colin comes out to Isaac so he will finally shut up about Jamie being gay for Nate for the love of Wales stop!

While Jamie was gamifying being nice, some of his ‘nice points’ were coming up with ways to compensate for Roy’s decreased speed on the field. This has a gummy effect of him getting pulled further into the midfield. The other players becoming more lax in their positions as a result.

So Total football. They start dipping their toes into total football. In episode five.

Then Jamie leaves but by then the seeds are set.

They still don’t beat City in the final match, and City is still way ahead of them in terms of total football, but the final match is fun. It’s one of those electrifying matches that’s fascinating to watch and gets both sides cheering nonstop. It doesn’t help that at this point, via Jamie, both sides sort of know each other. Oh they’re still fighting to the death but it’s a satisfying fight to the death.

Roy still tackles Jamie and fucks his knee, but this time Jamie gets to help him off the field.

There is shirt swapping.

Jamie doesn’t end up in a treatment room with his dad.

Instead his relationship with his dad has also undergone a speedrun, and a version of Wembley happens in the Richmond visiting locker room.

City does not freeze. City is not caught off guard. City has had a few months now of watching Jamie spiral after getting transferred back.

After the Sr situation has been dealt with, a few of the City players go running and Richmond so they can come help their boy.

Then the fic ends with Jamie, Keeley, and Roy taking a trip to Marbella while Roy recovers from knee surgery and Jamie recovers from life and Keeley starts drafting a business plan, because why the fuck not?

[ezlebe]

thank you for all the work you do, if you don’t mind, something where the regency sexual tension is resolved at least a little bit, please

Anonymous asked:

More regency era please 🥺

(first fill can be read here)

“It is, uh – quite magnificent,” Gregory says, lifting his hand, as he seems to trace the arc of the staysail with his hand. His other stays gripped on the wheel, though he’s plainly quite distracted, so not exactly a perfect helmsman. “You can do all the sails on your own?”

“It’s a good measure more difficult, but you are certainly watching it happen,” Tom says, tugging on the line with a heave, watching the sail with one eye as it raises above his head. He looks behind himself, tying them off, then grabs one line to yank with all his strength, then the other, and looks to Greg from few yards down to see him still watching with rapt attention from down the deck. “Only need to alternate the ropes, you see, at some point. Of course, if you’re uncomfortable, we can limp back to call upon the usual crew – ”

“No, no,” Gregory interrupts, shaking his head with a drop of his head to glance at Tom, then away, reaching up to scratch along the side of his neck. “I-I meant, should you need any help?”

“I see, perhaps,” Tom says, setting the knots with a click of his tongue, a smirk curving the edge of his mouth over toward the keel. “You are such a big lad, I’m sure there’s something I can find you to do.”

Gregory turns his face down and away, perhaps playing at some coyness.

“But I think you’re doing quite well at the wheel.”

Gregory leans back with a look down at it, as if there’s something to study. “Do you?”

“Of course, you haven’t capsized us at all,” Tom says, though he’s a bit more relieved they managed to get out of port without incident, but it sounds less impressive. “I do wish sometimes I had gotten something simpler to take out and escape – ” He spreads his arms, once he’s tied off the rope for the final lift of the sail. “But she’s so grand! I couldn’t resist my own pilot schooner. And I’ve had to raise far larger sails on my own.”

“Oh?” Gregory intones, in that somewhat insulting, politely dubious note.

“The trouble with being a large man and an able seaman is you’re expected to do all sorts of things that a captain should really put two to do.”

Greg traces along the wheel with a small shrug and a well-familiar avoidant sort of tease. “Are you saying you don’t contain the strength of two men?”

“And more, Gregory,” Tom says, leaning on his elbow to get a few scant inches closer, as he lifts his voice with a boisterous hum. “But it is simply impudent to demand it without proper remuneration.”

Gregory huffs in a breath and looks back up with a neat sweep of his lashes. He seems to stare into Tom for a few beats, then those stormy eyes flick past him toward the sea, scanning along the horizon with an reverential sort of interest.

“I think we shall only sail a few miles out, today,” Tom says, looking back to the foresail and spilling it a bit to keep the ship simply ghosting gentle across the now open water. He wanders in closer to the wheel and Greg, keeping an eye up, but she seems steady in the mild breeze. “Enough to escape the noise.”

“We haven’t gotten to, um… to speak alone in a long while,” Gregory says, reaching up, toying with a button on his vest, as he moves to make Tom some space at the wheel. “My mother has had me… quite occupied.”

Tom suspects heavily that the Lady Roy more accurately noticed that much of Gregory’s precious wooing time was being spent whiled away with Tom, to some similar effect, rather than eligible matches. It has been to some relief that she hasn’t seemed scandalized, more irked at threats to lofty plans. The same result has occurred, either way, of Gregory and Tom rarely having a similar schedule of attendance to events for these past months. It’s a bit of a shock that Gregory ever got Tom’s letters, not to mention that he managed to escape to come out today, but perhaps she’s busy working at some other opportunity of establishing them in the ton.

“And?” Tom prompts, against the relative quiet of water and wind around them. “Any happy developments I’ve missed?”

“Uh, I…” Greg exhales a shallow breath, sweeping some fingers to straighten hair behind an ear. He offers a narrow, suspicious look, as he quietly begins to speak. “Some? I-I have spent time speaking to and dancing with the Contessa of Luxembourg, who Cousin Roman has attempted some courting of, as well.”

“I haven’t spoken to Miss Joëlle much,” Tom says, managing a smile while turning to look upon Gregory with a lift of his brows in strained interest. He cannot imagine what Gregory might have found in common with that Contessa, aside for mutually pretending not to be somewhat French. “Is she quite intelligent company?”

Gregory opens his mouth and tilts his head with a slight furrow of his brows. He clears his throat, shallowly, “Miss Joëlle?”

“The Contessa of Luxembourg, Gregory,” Tom says, as some considerable amount of the tightness eases just beneath his sternum. He badly swallows a laugh, leaning against the wood rail of the boat. “Who is, I thought, an eligible woman you’ve found interest in?”

“Oh,” Gregory says, eyes briefly widening, then his head drops, lifting a hand to trace across his mouth. “Of-of course, yes… Miss Joëlle.”

“Hm,” Tom intones, a smirk threatening to curve his lip, and he lifts a hand to edge it away with his thumb. He looks up at the sails, then down the hull cutting water, as they sail pleasantly along a calm sea with the coast fading behind them.

“It is, ah – ” Gregory says, his voice lifting, then weakening, as his brow just slightly furrows over his eyes. “…Serene?”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Tom says, looking over his shoulder across the water and along the faint line of the town. He looks up and gently reaches out to turn the wheel, directing the bow against the breeze to further slow the boat. “Hm… certainly, no rumble of polite society anywhere in the vicinity.”

“Polite society an-and terrible company,” Gregory says, lifting a hand and sweeping it across his forehead to straighten his windswept hair. He walks toward the center of the boat, fingers gently toying along a rope, as he follows it. “Unbearable, one might even, uh – even say, without you… around to distract.”

Tom is thankful for the stillness of the day, as he cannot help but to follow, leaving the wheel to creak but not spin nor divert behind him.

Gregory leans against a mast, face turned up toward the sun with line casting shadows across it. He looks like a portrait of a bonny seafarer that Tom would pay a month’s salary to hang in his office simply to stare at; a sight enough to divert from any boredom.

“I could say the same,” Tom says, hesitantly lifting a hand to set against the mast, fingers spread wide along the wood only hairsbreadth away from Greg’s face. “A terrible soreness has been sitting beneath my ribs like a sickness.”

Gregory turns his head, cheek settling warm against the edge of Tom’s thumb. His eyes peek open, a smile smally turning up across his face.

“Yet upon seeing you towering in your way on the dock, it disappeared entirely,” Tom says, leaning in a bit closer, tutting under his breath while tilting his head up. He uses his other hand to mime yanking something from his neck. “The leeches will have to be put away for the next bout.”

Gregory now grins outright, a quiet huff escaping him. His eyes sweep across the deck, tongue wetting his lip. “You said earlier… you typically have crew?”

“I did say,” Tom agrees, feeling a touch of heat in his ears at the implication; that he’d brought out Gregory alone and that Gregory is quite aware. “A man for each mast.”

Gregory briefly looks upward at the mast above him, then drops his eyes back down to Tom with a thoughtful hum. “If you’re two men, then I am as well – and that is one more than you usually have.”

“Oh?” Tom says, lifting a brow while barely quieting a snort at the idea of Greg, who is, while certainly large, a bit of a studious dandy, as any sort of able seaman. “Is that so?”

“It is, uh – you know, quite simple math,” Greg says, his accent briefly thickening, as he visibly swallows, as well as slipping a pair of fingers beneath his cravat. “That the two of us alone… may get more accomplished than you with such a crew.”

Tom uses a rock of the boat to lean closer, lifting his chin, as a smirk curls at the edge of his mouth. “Mister Hirsch, you are threatening to be very forward.”

“I – I only…” Gregory tilts his head, as his fingers bow scratch along his upper lip. “I certainly believe that we could be productive.”

Tom has only had the bravery enough to stretch boundaries while among the ton, cornering Gregory into eaves and dark halls, hooking an arm around him and taunting often into his ear about how improper they could be… Perhaps, they may have gotten further had Gregory’s enterprising mother not caught on, but as it is, he hasn’t seen Gregory in some many weeks, exchanged only few letters and fewer promises, so he presently could about burn from the heels up at this turnabout.

He manages to calmly turn his hand, to crook his fingers against Gregory’s jaw, to hold his face there to look up into, as he lifts his own chin to better peer mildly at Gregory from his lashes. He slowly smirks, watching color rise in Gregory’s face while that heart shaped mouth presses into a lovely, pouting moue.

“Thomas, ar-are you taunting me?”

“Would I?” Tom asks, furrowing his brow in a slight, somewhat intentionally condescending impression of curiosity.

Gregory becomes even more pinched and threatens sullen. “You would.”

Tom scoffs through his nose and digs his thumb harder into Greg’s chin, prompting him to tuck it, then leans up, as nervous heat bursts across his neck and jaw. He hasn’t kissed or been kissed in a particularly long time, and never with anyone taller than him, but as lips part against his own, it is easy to only perceive their resulting clacking teeth and nose bumping as simply charm.

Gregory hums a few pitching notes, scrambling cool fingers against Tom’s jaw and under his shirt collar. He seems about as practiced as Tom, mouth clumsily smacking, as if somehow surprised, and so eager that he might truly be trying to inhale again Tom’s gasping breaths.

The kiss pauses at a particularly loud creak of the boat, a brief wake off a larger ship in the distance turning to spray misting against the hull. Tom feels exposed all of a sudden, a bit caught, but manages to ignore an instinct to look around; he’s comforted, in an odd way, when Gregory doesn’t manage the same, large eyes sweeping to the side around them.

“I haven’t taken you down to see below deck, have I?” Tom says, managing to sound thoughtful, he hopes, rather than strained and desperate. His breeches are tight at the clasps, his skin feels prickling with heat that has little to do with the sun, and his cravat is gone to the breeze, all blame falling to the man in front of him. “It’s cramped even to a dog, but I’m sure… very sure you’ll fit somewhere.”

Gregory wets his lips with a glance down at the conspicuous set of small doors to Tom’s right. He looks about stretched thin as Tom feels, his fingers clutched in the back of Tom’s now-rumpled vest, and exhales a weak puff of air. “Ye-yes, I – I should think so.”

Tom laughs under his breath, all he can really manage, and cannot help but steal another kiss. He does not often go below deck himself for a typical day sail, quite cramped, but he’s certain it’s as tidy as when he checked it before bringing them out. He has wine and fresh bread for a snack tucked down there, as well, and has an idle thought that he hopes Gregory doesn’t notice it, as he has a tendency to be distracted like a hound.

“Oh,” Gregory says, once the doors open, his eyes somewhat like saucers down at the shadowed entrance down into the cabin. “I… I see.”

“It’s much better than it appears,” Tom promises, setting a knee against the top of the lip with a tut, then glancing up with a jerk of his chin. “But if you’d prefer, I could spread you out against mast and post as a burlesque of the Savior.”

Gregory makes a wheezy, choked noise – one part amused, two parts scandalized – and rather one of Tom’s favorites to elicit. “Non, no – ” he bends and presses a dry, clumsy kiss to Tom’s mouth, leaning hard with a palm heavy on his shoulder. “That is silly.”

Tom catches Gregory’s wrist with a squeeze, drawing him back down with a palm wide along his cheek. He could happily lay Gregory down on the deck, uncomfortable but warm, smelling of salty sea, and expose inch by inch of him to the warm sun. The trouble, most truly, is they’re just enough close to the coast that some other pair of eyes might see him while sailing by, and Tom would then have to kill them.

“Or you could have silks and feather pillows,” Tom says, pulling back, but not letting go, running a thumb along the jut of bone on Gregory’s wide wrist. “I’ve had it well appointed for myself, and now for you.”

Gregory briefly rolls his eyes, but he seems taken, as well, palm squeezing into Tom’s shoulder, and his eyes eventually settle onto the doors. He murmurs something under his breath, then exhales a huffy sigh. “You should then descend first.”

Tom throws a hand up and angles to stand with a push of his knee, feeling Gregory’s hand slide off his shoulder. He slips with practices ease down the ladder to the cabin, blinking to force his eyes to adjust, then lifts a hand to offer it in what is meant to be a taunt, but… well, Gregory does take it in evident earnest.

Gregory hesitates down the ladder, then ducks and visibly peers around the dim cabin once his feet have hit the bottom. His arm has drifts up Tom’s elbow, fingers softly gripped against the fabric, and he turns, lips parting, only to hastily, somewhat clumsily lean further down for a kiss rather than to offer an opinion.

Tom has never been more thankful for how much dirty British money he’s pumped into this ship than he is right now, carefully directing Greg down onto a wide silk-lined bench that had once been a space for powder kegs. He groans, somewhat startled, as long fingers eagerly tear at his vest and under his shirt, slipping along his waistband.

He groans low, as Gregory’s hand squeezes at him through his breeches. “Aren’t you a… a stallion out here quite hot to trot –”

“Not only me,” Gregory murmurs, breath hot, lashes fluttering closed, as Tom takes advantage of the angle to nip at the thin skin where his collarbones meet. “Yo-you were teasing, surely… pulling at the sails in your shirt sleeves.”

“No.” Tom exhales a rasping huff between kisses. “Honestly, no.”

Tom manages to get into the flap of Greg’s breeches with only some difficulty against the buttons, entirely the fault of his rushing pulse. He swallows harshly when he feels Gregory’s bare dick twitch against his palm, suffers the fine, bony fingers grasping at his shoulder, and hears the groan against his ear, and is certain he must have fallen into a dream. He shoos Gregory’s actually teasing hand from his own breeches and shifts onto a knee between lanky, splayed thighs, drawing his own hard, aching cock from the flap.

It is to some inconsequential discomfort that they rut like animals against each other on the sofa, mouths wetly smacking and urging each other to completion with shifting hands and tightly flexing thighs. It is a step above any dark room in a snooty society townhouse and twice as could be satisfying, certainly; the gentle rock of his own prize ship to accompany the sparking, throbbing shock of his cock emptying onto Gregory’s soft, pale stomach.

Tom laps at Gregory’s mouth to capture all the whiny, whimpering pants of his soon coming underneath him. It is music, truly, far better than any seasoned performer, though he’d certainly agree to hold practice as often as possible in this particular case.

The activity would’ve been far better held in the roughly classified captain’s quarters, appointed with a rather nice full cot, but there is something to be understood for the desperation between them. The wine is closer at hand, as well, for when Tom might regain the energy to reach for it. He sweeps a hand along Gregory’s dark, soft hair, smiling absently at the planked ceiling, then smacks his lips, as a thought occurs he should probably care a bit more about than almost not at all.

“Should I be looking for a bayonet in my back courtesy the Lady Roy?”

“No, I did tell her I… was off to visit with the Contess-ah, Joëlle,” Gregory says, shifting awkwardly against the hull wall along the width of the sofa. “But… she may well know. She, uh – she is aware I-I have little interest in… pursuits of maidenly company.”

Tom quirks a brow, tracing a knuckle down Gregory’s jaw. It certainly explains the… noticeable lack of dithering about putting that overlarge hand on Tom’s breeches. “Oh?”

“She used to say it was a relief,” Gregory mutters, sounding somewhat wistful, as his head turns against the cushion. His mouth twitches downward, plainly frustrated, “But it is now…” He sighs, eyes closing, “C’est n’importe quoi.”

“Ah, well...” Tom tuts shortly, as he tucks Gregory’s head further into the crook of his arm. He gestures out with the other, toward the dim impression of the rest of the cabin. “As you’ve decided already, we’re more than enough crew to sail this beauty ourselves.”

Gregory hums a pitch while his eyes peek open. “As a – a what; a fishing vessel?”

“So little imagination, you have,” Tom scoffs, rolling his eyes, and he feels a grin curve sharply at his lips. “Pirates, clearly, as if there’s anything else to be escaping marriage matches by way of the sea.”

Gregory visibly chews at his lip. “…There are no more pirates, Thomas.”

“I couldn’t care,” Tom says, curving his arm tighter and hearing a slight choke, quite deserved, while shifting his head to set his chin against the crown of Gregory’s mussed hair. “I will call myself what I like.”

[allsassnoclass]

happy 500 followers Hazel!!

may i request cake + "the things you said at the kitchen table" please?<3

hi ana! hope you enjoy!

cake: the things you said at the kitchen table

When Luke finally pulls himself out of bed and into the drafty, barren hallway of the apartment, the first thing he notices is the faint twang of guitar strings, drifting slowly from the kitchen.  He rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn, but the music pulls him the few steps forward until the table comes into view.

Calum sits perched on a chair, the old, battered guitar that Luke hasn't seen in months propped on his lap, fingers moving gently over the fretboard as he plucks out a melody, missing a note with a furrow in his brow before he adjusts and continues.  It's a familiar tune, one that Luke can recognize like his own heartbeat, but it's been a while since Calum has brought it out.

"Morning," he greets quietly, moving towards the corner where they kept the coffee maker before he realizes that it's not longer there, packed up in one of the many boxes stacked in the living room.

"I got you McDonald's," Calum says, nodding at the table as he continues his song.  Luke sighs in relief at the sight of a cardboard cup and yellow paper bag, no doubt containing a breakfast sandwich and something sweet.  Luke sinks into the chair that's been left open for him, thankful that whoever was working gave Calum napkins since they've already packed their away.  The apartment is barren except for some furniture pieces and the boxes, and Luke closes his eyes as he sips his coffee so he doesn't have to see it.

It feels... strange, mostly.  This place has been home for two years, and after today he'll never set foot in it again.

"How long until Ashton gets here?" he asks eventually, blinking his eyes open so he can see Calum's messy curls and faded hoodie.  Calum's fingers fumble on the guitar strings, but he picks the melody back up a few seconds later.

"About an hour.  Michael will be here around eleven, your parents are meeting us at the house to help put things away.  Roy and Ryan said they'd be here early afternoon."

Luke nods.

Tonight, he'll sleep in a different bedroom, on a different street, in a different neighborhood.  But Calum will be there, and that's what matters.

"You brought out the guitar?" he asks, thoughts still slow and sluggish in the early-morning light.  Calum smiles.

"It felt fitting."

Luke hums.  They both used to play all the time, but it's been a month or two since either of them touched the instrument, too busy between work and touring houses and making arrangements for the move and all of those general life tasks that keep sneaking up on them the older they get.  It makes him sad, sometimes, that they both have had to put music on hold in favor of growing up, working long hours at reliable jobs to save spare change here and there so they can afford some semblance of the American Dream.  Still, it's nice to see the instrument out again.  Maybe they'll have more time for it after they move into their new place.

Luke traces his finger against one of the scratches in their small kitchen table, remembering when he did so two years ago, Calum plucking the same melody on the guitar across from him.

"You played that song for me for the first time at this table," he says.  Calum smiles.

"I know, love.  I remember."

Luke smiles and shakes his head.  Calum's hair was shorter then, a bit more nervousness in finally sharing a song he'd written for Luke, but not much has changed, in the grand scheme of things.  Luke is still in love with him.  Calum is still making plans for them to spend the rest of their lives together.  They've still spent mornings and evenings taking their meals here, even the ones that Luke burned when he was still learning how best to navigate a kitchen.  When Luke was out late at job number two, Calum would wait up for him at this table, talking while Luke got a late-night snack so they could still go to bed together.

"Is it weird that I'm going to miss this table?" he asks, feeling his brow furrow.  It's not an impressive table, with scratches sunk deep into the wood and an uneven stain job.  One of the legs is too short, so it rocked back and forth for days when they first got it before Luke finally got sick of it and put a pile of junk mail under it to even it out.  Calum got it second hand and neither of them have ever loved it, but Luke feels a shockingly strong rush of affection for it now.

Calum hums.

"We have a lot of good memories here," he says, eyes soft.  Luke knew that he would understand.

"It's a shit table," he says bluntly.  Calum snorts.

"The one your parents bought us is so much better," he agrees.  It's the Hemmings housewarming gift for them: a new, bigger, sturdy table to go in the dining room instead of being tucked into the corner of the kitchen, one with space for their friends when they host them and any future family members they may eventually add.

Luke wonders if Calum will still play guitar at that table, waiting for Luke to get up in the morning and join him for breakfast.  He wonders what sorts of other conversations they'll have there.

He looks around the apartment, now devoid of their photo collection on the walls and filled with generic cardboard boxes instead.  In an hour, Ashton will come to load the furniture that they're getting rid of into a trailer, off to be delivered to friends who have claimed it or the thrift store they called who said they'd take it.  A little after that, more friends will arrive to help them cart boxes and other belongings a few miles west, to a modest house in a safe neighborhood with a big backyard and yellow siding.

It's not a new start, but it is a new chapter, like the map of their journey together has unfolded again to reveal an entirely new page to be explored.  Luke looks around their apartment and knows he will miss all of the memories they created here together, but it's a dull ache, not a stabbing pain.  There are better memories to come.

"You should eat your breakfast," Calum says, nodding at the McDonald's bag.  "We have a long day ahead."

Luke finally reaches for the sandwich, grateful for one more way that Calum is looking out for him.  He clumsily leans over the table to kiss his cheek, nearly losing his balance in the process, and is rewarded by Calum's beaming smile.

The soft guitar melody restarts when Luke takes his first bite, a comforting soundtrack while Luke enjoys his last meal at this table.  He can't wait to discover what this song sounds like at a different table.   Calum smiles as his fingers move across the fretboard, and Luke can't wait to see the light from the window of their new kitchen play across his face. He can't wait to discover what memories they will make in a house that is fully their own.  

[someheroescarryfloss]

The Santa Clauses

So, the first two episodes are out...and I have some thoughts.  They’ll be in no particular order, and I’m sure I’ll miss a few things.

1.  Okay, so!  First off, the Elves are pretty much what I’ve come to expect from the series, and I was mostly happy with them.  Betty and Noel are, without a doubt, the absolute cutest!  She’s 100% the boss in the relationship, but she isn’t mean about it (unlike Karen Charlie’s wife, but I’ll get to that!) and I adored their little back-and-forth exchanges.  That little exasperated-but-lovesick sigh she made when he left with the Orb to talk to Santa just said it all.  “Oh, you’re a doofus, but I can’t help but love you!”

I coulda done without Crouton barfing sparkles, though.  I can suspend my disbelief pretty darn far, but...you know what, it’s fine.  It’s for kids, and it was kind of funny.

I saw a theory on Reddit about Betty and Noel being the true villains, but I just can’t see it.  Their private conversations didn’t involve any kind of plotting against anyone, least of all Santa, so...nah, I’m not buying that one.  Edie, though?  I’m not saying that I think she’s a villain, because I don’t, but I can see her having some sort of well-meaning plan and having it go awry...much like a certain Elf from the second movie.  All in all, I loved the elves!

2.  No Bernard yet...but he’s in it!  He is in it!  So, we’ll probably get a ‘canon’ explanation of where he was, and maybe why he’s aged again.  Real world answer, the actor got older.  Will the show address it?  Time will tell!

3.  Speaking of ‘time’, Father Time and the other Legendaries aren’t in the show at all, which I’m actually happy about.  A few of the actors have passed away, and I have a soft spot for the characters they played, so I’m not sorry that they’re being excluded.  I prefer to think of them as being busy with their own affairs/unaware of the current sitch.

4.  Okay...*sigh* Why is Carol unable to remember her name, and why is she suddenly chained to a velvet cape and a huge granny bun?  I can buy that some changes would have happened to her like they did with Santa, but they just...didn’t.  At least until now.  The gag with the hairpins was a little funny, but Santa is still Scott, he didn’t completely lose his other identity.  He was still him.  So, why is Carol seemingly being erased in favor of Mrs. Claus? 

5.  Also, why is Scott suddenly having brain farts and acting senile on and off?  I’ll withhold judgment for now, we’re only 2 episodes in.  

6.  Santa/Scott bashed Jack Frost...Hoo boy. ._.  I know a certain Frost fan who most likely took that personally!  Jack’s good now, okay?  Okay!

7.  The kids, Buddy (Sorry, still wrapping my head around ‘Cal’) and Sandra, well, I don’t really have anything bad to say about them.  I don’t buy that Santa and Carol wouldn’t have socialized them at all outside of the North Pole, but for all intents and purposes they didn’t, so those kids grew up in an almost literal bubble.  So, they’re completely believable, I think.  

Buddy/Cal is too sweet and innocent for this world, and I love him!  Sandra seems to be the smarter of the two, but what the heck is that little animal that follows her around?  Is that supposed to be a mutated ferret, or some kind of magical creature?  

And braces made of sugar???

Roy:  No.  Nope!  Nope, nope, no!  Absolutely not, I want the name of the quack who went near that child’s teeth!  I want his name, I wanna know where he went to dental school, (ticking these off on his fingers) and I wanna know where Santa left his brain, because I think someone flossing sat on it! *panting* Where’s the Tylenol?

Chet: Oh no, he angy...

8.  And finally...can we talk about Charlie’s wife?  I don’t like her.  I do not like her at all.  Charlie’s points were valid, and in a way, hers were as well, but her actual response was horrible.  No private conversation between the spouses, followed by a polite refusal?  Apparently Her Royal Highness is exempt from social niceties, and I’ll just stop here.

All in all...I’m somewhat relieved in some ways, disappointed in others, and excited to see what they’ll reveal in future episodes!

[fantomcomics]

What’s Out This Week? 11/9

MARIAH CAREY HAS DEFROSTED. WE REPEAT, MARIAH CAREY HAS DEFROSTED. MAY GOD HELP US ALL. 

Two Graves #1 -  Genevieve Valentine, Ming Doyle, & Annie Wu 

Emilia and the man with the veil of smoke have set out for the ocean in a stolen truck. There's a bloody handprint on his neck. She's beginning to worry it's hers. Death and the Maiden go on a road trip. Nobody gets out alive.

Killchella #1 -  Mario Candelaria & Serg Acuna

A group of friends drive up from Los Angeles to attend an ultra-trendy music festival in the Coachella Valley desert. They soon face a bloody night of terror when a reclusive pop star making her big return after five years recruits her most fanatical devotees to assist in a massive human sacrifice ritual.

Mr. Easta #1 -  Kit Wallis

The gloriously demented mind of Kit Wallis brings the galactic adventures of the third best assassin in the universe to Scout Comics! Incredible, kinetically charged artwork blasts the blood, mayhem and quirky humor directly through your brain like a high-caliber bullet. In this issue, it's Elvis night at an interstellar backwater bar, but with all due respect to the King, that doesn't stop Mr. Easta. With the help of Frank, his teleportation parasite, who can also transform into any handheld weapon imaginable, it's business as usual.

It’s Lonely At The Centre Of The Earth GN -  Zoe Thorogood

Cartoonist ZOE THOROGOOD records six months of her own life as it falls apart in a desperate attempt to put it back together again in the only way she knows how. IT'S LONELY AT THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH is an intimate metanarrative that looks into the life of a selfish artist who must create for her own survival.

A poignant, slice-of-life-style story perfect for fans of Adrian Tomine's The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Cartoonist.

Gospel #1 (of 5) - Will Morris & Ver

When opportunity refuses to knock for restless hero Matilde, the devil comes knocking instead. Thrust into action by the hellish arrival, Matilde and storyteller Pitt will quest for answers - answers that threaten to tear them apart and trigger the toughest question of all: "Who am I?" Inspired by the work of Hayao Miyazaki and set in the chaos of King Henry VIII's reign, GOSPEL is a thrilling fantasy adventure that questions the truth behind the stories we tell.

Heavenly Demon Reborn! GN Vol 1 -  O'Emperor & Gom-Guk

In an ancient world where martial artists reign supreme, Unseong can only watch as his master is brutally beaten to death after a false accusation of practicing forbidden demonic arts. Even after a valiant fight, he fails to kill those responsible and faces his own end. But fate has other plans... Instead of taking his last breath, he awakens as a child, training to be an elite soldier of a demonic sect. Now Unseong must embrace the demonic arts and harness power in his ultimate quest for revenge.

Go! Go! Loser Ranger! GN Vol 1 -  Negi Haruba

Attention kaiju and sentai fans! From the creator of The Quintessential Quintuplets comes a new "anti-ranger" action-comedy that'll make you root for the alien invaders! Thirteen years ago, an evil army of mysterious alien monsters invaded the Earth, but the great protectors of mankind-the Divine Dragon Rangers-show up to stop them! To this day, the fate of the Earth hangs in the balance as the fierce struggle continues to unfold! ...Or does it? In truth, the evil aliens were subjugated within the first year, and they've now become nothing more than clowns forced to act out their continuous defeat every week for the entertainment of the masses. They're not real villains, being forced to crank out a monster a week for the Rangers to crush. But one of the aliens has had enough. Something has to change! He'll rebel against the strongest might of the Dragon Rangers and destroy them all from the inside!

Traveling To Mars #1 -  Mark Russell & Roberto Meli

Traveling to Mars tells the story of former pet store manager Roy Livingston, the first human to ever set foot on Mars. Roy was chosen for this unlikely mission for one simple reason: he is terminally ill and therefore has no expectation of returning. Roy is joined on his mission to Mars by Leopold and Albert, two Mars rovers equipped with artificial intelligence, who look upon the dying pet store manager as a sort of god. Against the backdrop of not only his waning days but those of human civilization as well, Roy has ample time to think about where things went wrong for both of them and what it means to be a dying god.

Specs #1 (of 4) -  David M. Booher, Chris Shehan & Skylar Patridge

In this mysterious new series from writer David M. Booher (Canto, All-New Firefly) and artist Chris Shehan (House of Slaughter), what happens when a couple of misfit teens mail-order a pair of X-ray glasses, and realize they've received much more than they bargained for? But all Kenny and Ted want is to not feel like outcasts in their small Ohio town. Their world is turned upside down when the Magic Specs they receive unlock a world of possibilities. Their wishes start out innocent enough, but when they wish that their bully would disappear... things take a cursed turn, with far darker consequences than they thought possible...

Avante Guard Yumeko GN -  Shuzo Oshimi

From Shuzo Oshimi, the creator of Blood on the Tracks, The Flowers of Evil, and Happiness. I just want to see it! High schooler Yumeko is your ordinary high school girl except she's obsessed with seeing the male body part in real life. Determined, Yumeko decides to join the art club at school.

All Your Racial Problems Will Soon End HC -  Dr. Charles Johnson

Before Charles Johnson found fame as a novelist and won the National Book Award for Middle Passage in 1991, he was a cartoonist, and a very good one. Taught via mail correspondence course by the comics editor Lawrence Lariar, mentored by the New Yorker cartoonist Charles Barsotti, and inspired by the call of poet Amiri Baraka to celebrate and depict Black life in America, Johnson crafted some of the fiercest and funniest cartoons of the twentieth century. This collection brings together work from across his career: college newspaper gags, selections from his books Black Humor and Half-Past Nation Time, his unpublished manuscript Lumps in the Melting Pot, and uncollected pieces.

Billionaire Island: Cult Of Dogs #1 (of 6) -  Mark Russell & Steve Pugh

The long-awaited return of the "series that's simultaneously infuriating and hysterically funny in its indictment of not just the 1%, but of the people-and the economic system-that enable them" (Comics Beat). The year is 2046, two years after Billionaire Island fell-taking the world's economy with it. Only one man-er, dog-can save us now. But where is Business Dog?

The Knight & The Lady Of Play One-Shot -  Jonathan Luna

JONATHAN LUNA (THE PHALANX, 20XX: TRANSPORT) returns with another one-shot, illustrated in graphite! After a war with demons, knight Signore Vincenzo is traveling home to his wife in Italy. In a swamp, he comes across a mysteriously hypnotic woman, Motta, who tempts him to stay with her.  

Tokyo Aliens GN Vol 1 -  Naoe

This thrilling sci-fi fantasy series welcomes you to Japan, a top ten destination for extraterrestrials looking for refuge, relaxation, a good time, or just to raise a little hell! Shiny new high school first-year Akira is as ordinary as they come. He's awkward, has terrible grades, and loves manga. In fact, the only thing that really sets him apart from his peers is his staunch determination to follow in his late father's footsteps as a police officer. But fate has its own plans for Akira. After witnessing a ferocious battle unfold between two strangers with unusual powers on the train-one of whom looks a lot like the tall, dark, and handsome kid in his grade-he finds himself kidnapped...by none other than an alien!

Lord Of The Jungle #1 -  Dan Jurgens, Benito Gallego & Gary Frank

At long last, the Lord of the Jungle returns to comics! One of the most famous and recognizable characters in the history of fiction is back, starting with an adventure that returns us to the days before his birth, as well as a time later in life, when a past wrong must be made right, no matter what manner of beast or obstacle stands in Tarzan's way. From acclaimed writer Dan Jurgens (Superman, Spider-Man, Thor, Booster Gold, Justice League and so many more) comes a tale that wraps the familiar with something brand new. With epic art by Tarzan newspaper artist Benito Gallego, this is sure to be a book that delivers for Tarzan fans both old and new!

Lastman Book 1 -  Balak, Michael Sanlaville, & Bastien Vives

Adrian Velba has trained all year to fight in the Valley of the Kings' legendary tournament. However, despite his ambition, he has no chance of winning. Not only is his partner unable to compete, but at 12 years old, Adrian is the longest of longshots. That is, until a mysterious, powerful stranger enters town, offering to join forces with Adrian. But who is Richard Aldana? And why in a world of magic does he rely solely on his fists?

[writingblock101]

Still Insufferable (Damian Wayne x Reader)

This is a part two to Insufferable! I had an anon request this a while back and found some prompts that gave some great inspiration! Hope y’all like it! You don’t need to read part one, but it does make the transition smoother. For reference, you and Damian are 17. 

Words: 2,800 

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish @mayahoelland2013

Warnings: None

“Do you ever follow directions?” A familiar, condescending voice asks you from the ground. 

You spot an annoyed Damian Wayne from your upside perch, staring up at you with crossed arms. You grin, a little too excited to see someone who looks so annoyed with you. 

“I’m creating an extensive target practice!” You claim, gesturing with your bow to the targets down range

“By hanging upside from the rafters?” Damian raises an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“You’re questioning my methods.” 

“I’m not questioning it,” Damian corrects. “I’m saying it’s stupid.” 

You gasp in mock offense then unhook your legs and flip to the floor. 

“Your words wound me!” 

“You’ll recover,” Damian says dryly. 

“I thought you would approve of me making a more comprehensive training.”

“You were hanging upside down from the rafters. How is that more comprehensive?” Damian questions.

“Because I don’t always get the pretty shot with the perfect set up in the field!” You argue. “Sometimes, I’m making the shot while hanging upside down with a broken toe!” 

Damian pauses, his eyes flickering to your feet. 

“Is your toe broken?” He asks.

He almost sounds concerned. It’s kind of sweet. 

“No,” You admit. “But what if it was?” 

He blinks. The concern is gone. 

“You spend too much time with Roy and Jason.” 

“Well, Roy is basically raising me at this point, so yeah, kind of,” You point out. 

Damian rolls his eyes. 

“Mission briefing.” 

“Aw, you came all the way here to tell me yourself,” You tease Damian, aware of the various intercoms around the Tower.

He scowls at you, but doesn’t dampen your good mood. 

“I was the closest to the range. It made the most sense for me to come tell you.” 

“No need to make excuses,” You shrug. “I get it, I’m amazing and you can’t resist being around me.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“You know, that line didn’t fool me when we were 12 and it’s still not fooling me now.” 

Damian’s scowl deepens. 

“Mission briefing, now.” Then he walks off before you can make another smart ass comment. 

Sometimes, Damian makes it too easy. You hit the switch to pull the targets back in, figuring you’ll get your arrows later. 

You’ve been an official Teen Titan for a few months now. After Roy talked you into tagging along with the team for a mission, you were hooked. The rest of the team agreed to extend an invite to you, which you happily accepted. You love the team, including Damian. Despite your constant bickering, you and Damian work well together in the field, enhancing each other’s skills. 

In all honesty, you really enjoy being around Damian. While he’s a bit uptight, when he relaxes, he’s fun to be around. You’ve enjoyed getting to see the more relaxed side of Damian. Besides, it's fun to have someone who keeps up with every sarcastic remark you make, even if it includes him calling you insufferable. It’s a bit of a long shot, but you know Damian likes you more than he makes it seem he does. 

You head to the main conference room of the tower and settle in for a long presentation. While the briefings are long, and rather boring, they’re in depth. You have to give Damian credit, even when things go wrong on missions, his extensive briefings prepare your team for almost every possibility and help make adaptations to the plan on the fly. 

You fiddle with a pen, unscrewing it, laying out the pieces then put it back together as Damian talks. As you get more fidgety the longer the meeting goes on, Damian wordlessly slides a new pen over to you with a slightly different composition. You smile at him and busy your hands with taking part the new pen. Damian’s cheeks darken slightly, but before anyone can notice, he’s back in leader mode. 

Damian pulls up the blueprint, running through everyone’s role and position for the mission.

“And Black Falcon, you’re with me, handling guards on the roof and additional security measures.”

“The dream team,” You grin with a wink.

Damian rolls his eyes and ignores your remark. Instead, he fields any questions then dismisses the team. You glance down at the file briefing in front of you then remember one last question for Damian. As a few Titans clear out, you wander to the front of the room where Damian is studying the blueprint from the presentation. 

“Hey, boss man,” You wave your file at him. “This building is using the Kingsley Security system. What are your thoughts about debuting the new hacking arrows?” 

Damian frowns, flipping to the page with the schematics concerning the security system. 

“How effective is the firewall on the arrows?” 

“If you’re worried about them tracking back to us, the arrows’ firewall should be strong enough to erase our trail.” 

“Should be?” Damian raised an eyebrow. 

“They’ll be fine, but I don’t like to make guarantees.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because sometimes, shit happens.” 

“I don’t like variables.” 

“Well, Dames, I’ve got bad news for you about how life works.” 

You cross your arms, leaning your hip against the table. 

“I don’t like variables on my missions when lives are on the line,” Damian says, scanning over the Kingsley credentials. 

“We’re connected to a computer with the highest level of security to currently exist. Even if they manage to trace back the arrows, they won’t get far.” 

Jon and Colin watch you two bicker about arrows and security.

“He likes having someone to argue with way too much,” Colin mutters to Jon. 

Jon nods along. 

“You’re telling me. He’s not going to do anything about it though.” 

Colin cracks a grin. 

“He’s just gonna roll his eyes and tell her she’s insufferable.” 

Jon and Colin snicker, catching Damian’s attention. He narrows his eyes at the two who sit innocently. 

“Listen,” You bring Damian’s attention back to you. “It’s your mission and I’ll respect whatever you want to do, but the only way for me to improve the arrows design is to test them.” 

“I’ll consider it,” Damian says. 

His phone lights up with notification on the table. Your eyes dart toward the light and your eyebrows go up. Damian catches your eye and snatches his phone off the table with red cheeks.

“Am I your lock screen?” You ask with a small grin. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Damian shoves his phone in his back pocket. 

“Really?” Your grin grows as your eyebrows move higher. 

Jon and Colin watch with shit eating grins. 

“Grayson set it,” Damian growls. “I haven’t bothered to change it.” 

“Sure, he did,” You nod. “It’s a cute picture.” 

The picture is after Damian and Bruce got into a huge argument, bad enough that Damian called Dick to get him out of the Manor. Dick figured it would be a good day to give Damian a childhood experience he missed out on and decided to take Damian to a theme park. Knowing you were in town with Jason while Roy was handling some business in Gotham, he talked Jason into bringing you. While at the park, Dick insisted you and Damian needed to try a funnel cake since neither of you had ever had one. 

You and Damian decided to split one since Dick warned you they were pretty sweet. When you and Damian tried your first bites, Damian’s face instantly scrunched up which made you laugh and Dick managed to catch the moment on camera. 

Damian scowls at you while you just grin. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone and ruin your reputation,” You laugh, leaving the room. 

Damian scowls at you as you leave and returns his attention to collecting his files. 

“Ah Dames, get that look off your face, we all know how you feel,” Jon teases. 

Damian turns, scowling at Jon. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure you don’t,” Colin rolls his eyes. “We can all tell you like Y/N.” 

“She’s--”

“Insufferable,” Jon finishes. “Yeah, we know. You know, just because you keep saying it, doesn’t mean it’s actually true.” 

“And you know, we get it, you’re a condensing, uptight dick--” Colin starts to rattle off. 

“Why does everyone assume the worst of me?” Damian scowls at Colin. 

“It saves time,” He grins at his friend. “But, despite those things, you can be charming when you want to be. And if you actually acted on that charm, Y/N would agree to a date with you.” 

Jon stares at Colin for a minute, looking unimpressed then turns to Damian. 

“My advice is much more subtle. Stop being an ass.” 

“I didn’t ask for advice,” Damian growls. 

“We are aware and we also are aware that you never will,” Colin nods. 

“Why not let yourself be happy, Dames?” Jon asks. 

“I am happy,” Damian glares at the two of them then walks out of the room, tired of hearing their advice. 

“Think he’ll listen?” Colin asks. 

Jon shrugs. 

“Who knows.” 

. . . 

Your back hits the ground but you roll to the balls of your feet, breathing hard. You tighten your grip on your bo staff, ready to lunge for another hit when you notice Damian walk into the training room. As he walks toward you, you straighten up and grab your water, figuring it’s time for a break. Damian raises his eyebrows at your bo staff. 

“That’s not your normal choice in weapons,” He observes. 

You shrug, taking a swing of water and ignoring your cheeks heating up. While you wanted to expand your training, you’ve seen Damian using a bo staff a lot. He seems to like them so you figured you’d give them a shot. Besides, Tim has given you a few pointers. 

“Decided to try something new,” You say casually. 

Damian quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing else. 

“I’ve been thinking--” He starts. 

“A dangerous pastime,” You nod solemnly. 

Damian glares at you but continues, as if he didn’t hear your sarcastic comment. 

“We have a strong enough firewall on the computer in the Tower that if your arrows malfunctioned, we could detect and fight a security breach.” 

“So, I can bring them on the mission?” You finish. 

“Yes.” 

“Sweet!” You grin, pumping your fist. 

Damian rolls his eyes again at your celebration, but you can see him trying not to smile. He turns to leave, but you look back at the bo staff you were training with. 

“Wait! Damian!” You call. 

He turns, looking at you with raised eyebrows. 

“You’re better with a bo staff than I am,” You admit. “Wanna help me out?” 

Damian’s eyes flicker between you and the bo staff. You see a small smile fighting its way onto his face. 

“I’ll change into something more suiting for training.” 

You grin, spinning the staff around you then go into a mock solute. 

“Yes, commander.” 

Damian rolls his eyes again, but leaves to change. 

. . . 

You swing your staff up hard, but Damian blocks it and swipes at your legs with a low kick. Grinning as he falls into the expected move, you flip your staff around and hit Damian’s side. He grunts and moves again, this time, landing a hard blow to your arm. You grimace at the force, but swing your staff around again and manage to knock Damian’s legs out from under him with a move he showed you. 

Damian hits the ground hard with a grunt, but instead of rolling to his feet for another hit, he lays on the ground, looking a little dazed. 

“I got it!” You cheered as Damian sits up, watching you with a small smile. 

“Drive your hips more so the power doesn’t come from your arms as much,” He instructs. 

“You know, with all the archery I do,” You flex a muscular arm. “I’m pretty sure my arms are stronger than my hips at this point.” 

Damian rolls his eyes as he pushes himself to his feet. You swear you sees his eyes lingering on your flexed arm. 

“Basic anatomy,” He claims. 

“Right, your definition of “basic” and a normal person’s is pretty different.” 

Damian raises an eyebrow at you. 

“How do you mean?” 

You narrow your eyes. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t,” But the slow start of a shit eating grin on his face tells you Damian knows how you meant that statement. 

You groan, throwing your hands up. 

“Okay, fine, Wayne. I’ll give it to you, you’re pretty smart.” 

“Am I now?” Damian full on grins, making your heart flutter. 

You roll your eyes again, despite your raised heart rate. 

“I’m not going to say it again.” 

“I didn’t think you would. It doesn’t change the truth.” 

You sigh, shaking your head. 

“Why do I still like you, knowing you’re a total asshole?” You question as you walk toward your water. 

Damian freezes for a moment, your words slowly mulling over in his head. Before he can say anything else, his watch beeps. Damian looks down at it with a scowl.

“Duty calls?” You ask, handing Damian his water. 

He looks up from the notification and nods. 

“Get dressed, we leave in ten minutes.”

. . . 

Following your normal post mission tradition, you relax on the roof with a few boxes of take out. You dig into your box of fried rice, enjoying the view as your legs dangle over the edge of the huge tower. The roof access door opens and someone sits next to you but you don’t have to turn to see who. Wordlessly, you hold out Damian’s vegetarian Lo Mein which you took the courtesy to grab while he showered after the mission. 

“Your arrows worked,” Damian comments, accepting the box from you and digging in with his own chopsticks. 

“Mmhm,” You hum with a smirk. “Told you.” 

Damian rolls his eyes. 

“Of course you wouldn’t be able to resist making a childish remark.” 

You grin, nudging Damian’s shoulder. 

“You knew I already knew the arrows worked. You just wanted to hear me say it.” 

“I absolutely did not.” 

“Sure you didn’t. I’m irresistible.” 

“You’re insufferable,” Damian corrects. 

“I still don’t believe that line.” 

“Your belief does not change the truth.” 

You laugh, leaning against Damian as you both continue eating, enjoying the view and each other’s company. After the first time Damian joined you on the roof, it became both of your traditions to enjoy your post mission meals together. Later, you would rejoin the team for game night or movie night, but for now, you two enjoy your quiet meals and unwind peacefully. 

Once your meals are finished and the boxes are discarded to the side, you scoot closer to Damian, resting your head on his shoulder. He slowly places a hand on your knee, seeming a bit uncertain. You smile to yourself and squeeze his arm, scooting a little closer to encourage him. He leans into you, seeming more relaxed by the affection. 

“You know,” You finally say after a few minutes of silently watching the sun set. “I turned out liking you a lot more than I originally planned.” 

“How much did you intend to like me?” Damian asks.

You feel him starting to go stiff. 

“Well, given you insulted me when I first met you,” You point out with a shrug. “I didn’t expect to like you very much.” 

“And now?” Damian asks hesitantly. 

You lift your head from Damian’s shoulder to look at him, your noses inches away.

“Now, you’re pretty alright,” You tease, admiring his pretty green eyes. 

Damian rolls his eyes with a small laugh. 

“Just alright?” He asks, squeezing your knee lightly. 

“Well,” You shrug again, feeling your heart pound. “Maybe a little more than alright.” 

You stare at each other for a long moment until Damian’s eyes flicker to your lips. Here goes nothing. Before you can bring yourself to regret, you close the small distance between each other and press your lips to his. He’s hesitant for a moment, stiff against you. Before you can pull away, Damian’s fingers sink into your hair, pulling you closer as he kisses you back. 

You melt into the kiss and grip his shirt tightly. As he shifts his head to deepen the kiss, a voice yells from behind you: 

“It’s about time!” 

You and Damian jump apart, still holding a hand on each other to see Jon standing by the roof access door. Damian scowls at him while Jon grins like he’s just won the lottery. 

“You have no idea how annoying it was so watch you two pretend like you don’t like each other,” Jon rolls his eyes. “Come on, we’re starting game night.” 

He disappears back through the door as you look back at Damian. 

“Well, duty calls,” You joke, sliding off the ledge. 

Damian turns, catches your wrist, and tugs you back to him.

“They can wait,” He mutters to you, kissing you again. 

You happily melt into the kiss, your hands on Damian’s chest as his hands slide to your hips. 

“Am I still insufferable?” You tease against Damian’s lips. 

He smirks, standing to his feet and pulling you close by your waist. 

“Yes,” He kisses you again. 

I’ve been writing things as I get inspiration. I think I’ll be compiling a prompt lists soon because I have some request... They are really big ideas and I don’t think I can take on any projects that big right now. I hope you enjoyed! 

[no-stabbing-wednesdays]

The Conspiracy Job

I made a post about the “Eliot’s semi-famous identities” conspiracy here and @what---i-dated-a wanted a fic, which got my muse going. So, here it is, and also on AO3

An amazing version of the same concept by @copperbadge was linked in the notes and I recommend you all read that too! The Job Interview Job

The Conspiracy Job

“Oh, not again!”

The others, busy drawing up plans for their latest con, looked over at Hardison. 

“What is it?” Sophie asked.

He brought his display up on the large screen at the front of the room. 

“Someone’s just searched a bunch of Eliot’s old aliases, all at the same time.”

Parker frowned as she looked at the screen. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Eliot was on his feet immediately, concern clear on his face.

“Who is it? CIA? FBI? KGB? Mossad?”

“Give me a second,” Hardison said. “No, I don’t think so. They’re not being flagged on any databases. Someone’s just googling them.”

Eliot relaxed slightly and rolled his eyes. “It’s not those damn conspiracy forums, is it? I thought you got rid of those.”

“I did! They haven’t posted anything, they’re just looking. Oh, they’re here in Portland.”

Eliot tensed again at that, but Hardison shook his head.

“Relax, man. It’s a family house; a couple of dentists and a fifteen year old. If they post anything I’ll take it down, nothing to worry about.”

On the other side of Portland, Julia stepped into her friend Marcie’s bedroom and her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her. Marcie was connecting red threads between grainy, printed-out images on her corkboard and empty bottles of Gatorade littered the desk.

“You have to cool it with this, dude.”

Marcie turned to face her, her hair a mess and her eyes red from lack of sleep, and Julia sighed.

“You look like freaking Charlie Kelly!”

“There’s something here, Jules. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s a couple of athletes and a singer who happen to look similar. It’s hardly the scoop of the century.”

“Look similar? Look similar? Julia, they are completely identical! There are exactly three possibilities.” She held up three fingers in her friend’s face as she counted them off. “Triplets, clones or one ridiculously talented guy.”

“Okaaay, and which one do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” Marcie answered, turning back to her board. “Triplets? Why would they have different names and hide it? One guy? He’d have to be able to sing and play guitar, baseball and hockey. Why wouldn’t you own up to having that kind of talent? Why go to different places with different names? Clones? I’m leaning clones.”

“Clones? Come on, Marcie.” 

“It’s the most logical explanation.”

“You think someone cloned a human being just to create a one-hit-wonder country singer and some short lived athletes?”

Marcie shrugged. “It could be a trial run or an experiment or something. And you remember that anything I ever said on the forums would mysteriously vanish? I went to look after Jacques Labert turned up and every single forum post was gone! Every one! Doesn’t that sound like a government conspiracy to you?”

“It’s weird,” Julia admitted. “But I think you might be taking this a little too far. If the government were making clones, why would they let them get famous so people could discover it?”

“But they weren’t that famous. Think about it, what were the chances that someone would connect them? There were only ever a couple of us posting on the forums. If I hadn’t happened to be visiting my uncle in Palmerston when Roy Chappell was playing and then gone to Saddle and Spurs for my birthday, I’d never have known.” 

Her eyes widened as a horrifying thought occurred to her . “Then Jacques Labert turned up in my city! What if I’m the connection?”

She swung back to the board and began to write her own name. Julia grabbed her hand.

“Marcie! You’re not the center of a government conspiracy! Besides, who’s this fourth guy again?” She asked, tapping one of the photos in the corner. “You didn’t have anything to do with him, did you?”

“No,” Marcie conceded. “And I told you about him, remember? He’s an animal rights activist who was on the news in San Lorenzo a couple of years ago, talking about dog fights in the Presidential Palace. And he’s Canadian. That’s why it’s so exciting that, after almost two years of nothing new, Jacques Labert, Canadian hockey player, suddenly appears. Was the guy on the news Jacques Labert? If there really is more than one of them in the first place!”

Julia grimaced, increasingly worried about Marcie’s obsession with this wild conspiracy. “He was on the news where?”

“San Lorenzo. It’s this tiny European country. Here look.” Marcie sat at her desk, tapped the name into Google and turned her laptop towards Julia. 

Julia scrolled through a few pictures of the idyllic Mediterranean island, then stopped suddenly and pointed at one of them. 

“Wait, who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Rebecca Ibañez. It’s a tragic story,” Marcie explained, as she clicked on the link and showed her some clearer pictures. “A couple of years ago, the same time maybe-Jacques Labert was there, there was an election and her fiancé won. But, just as the results were announced, supporters of the former president tried to assassinate him and Rebecca stepped in front and took the bullet for him.”

“She was assassinated?”

“Yes, isn’t it awful?”

Julia shook her head. “She can’t have been.”

“What?”

“She’s my brother Zachary’s acting teacher.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I went to see his play last week and I met her. Her name’s Sophie Devereaux and she’s definitely not dead.”

Marcie looked at her in amazement, a grin breaking out across her face . “And she was in San Lorenzo at the same time as Jacques-Roy-Kenneth! There might be even more to this than I thought!”

Julia, almost as invested as Marcie now that her brother’s odd director was mixed up in this, pulled up a chair and looked on excitedly as her friend brought up another google search. 

Back at the Brewpub, the crew were working out the kinks in their plan while waiting for any sign of the internet sleuth trying to share their ideas about Eliot’s multiple identities.

When the computer pinged again, they all turned to see which of his aliases had been flagged this time, only for their eyes to widen in horror as the search term flashed on the screen.

“Rebecca Ibañez” “Sophie Devereaux”

Sophie gave a gasp that almost turned into a choke. “Wha- wha- what?”

Eliot turned to Hardison, furious. “Oh sure, just dentists and a teenager! Fix. This.”

“I’m trying!” Hardison said. “I can’t find any connections to anything. They look clean.”

“Then look harder!”

Wait, I have something. It’s the kid’s computer.”

“Who’s the kid?” Nate asked.

Hardison pulled up a Facebook page. “Marcie Taylor. She’s a sophomore. She used to post on those stupid Eliot forums that I had to take down every week after Memphis. It was pretty harmless, but I’ve no idea why she’s suddenly looking at Sophie’s aliases.”

He scrolled down the page looking for any kind of hint, when Sophie called out to him to stop.

“Who’s that with her? She looks familiar.”

A few more clicks and Hardison had a name.

“Julia Gutmann. She’s in the same class.”

Gutmann?” Sophie groaned. “I know why she’s familiar. That’s Zachary’s little sister.”

“Zachary? Your acting student Zachary?” Nate asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, she came to our play last week.”

Nate shook his head. “I told you to use an alias at that theater.”

“But I wanted to do this as me,” Sophie protested.

Eliot turned back to Hardison. “So, let me get this straight. The aliases and digital trail that you set up to be uncrackable by international governmental organizations are about to be blown apart by a couple of high schoolers?”

Hardison glowered at him. “They’re only looking at old aliases and they were all burnt when we had to leave Boston anyway. It’s not that bad.”

“Sophie’s still using Sophie,” Eliot argued, nearly yelling now. “And I was only just Jacques Labert and in this city. Now they’ve tied me and her together. How did they even do that? That’s way more than some fifteen year old girls should be able to accomplish on Google.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t panic. They were looking at photos of San Lorenzo. That’s how they found a picture of Sophie."

Sophie glared at him.

"Hey!" he protested. "You're the one who jumped in front of the cameras! I can't control the entire internet you know, and I think the people of San Lorenzo would have noticed if every image of their martyred heroine suddenly vanished.

“It’s just bad luck that Julia had met you. But why were they looking at…” Hardison groaned. “They found that video of Eliot and the puppy somehow.”

“Why didn’t you take that down?” Eliot snapped.

“It’s a thirty second feature on the news from two years ago in a country smaller than Iceland! It wasn’t my top priority!”

“Dammit, Hardison!”

“So, our cover’s going to get blown by kids?” Parker asked, incredulously. 

“No,” Nate insisted. “Well, maybe. But we can manage this. Hardison, don't let them post anything. Sophie, call Zachary. Let’s go steal ourselves some silence.”

[manybcdthings]

Felix could feel his father's gaze carving into him, even as the words fell in that measured, surgical way that was so infuriatingly typical of Olaf. Precision. Calculation. A game of chess consisting of numbers and percentages, safe moves and sturdy returns. But Felix wasn't playing chess. He was playing with higher stakes, where he wanted every hand to hold the potential of disrupting the status quo.

He kept his grin just long enough, watching as Olaf disassembled his plan, piece by piece. The room felt smaller, more confined. For a moment, Felix could almost hear the grind of metal and gears, like the walls themselves were closing in around him, trying to compress him into the very mold he'd spent his whole life trying to break out of. But if anyone was good at breaking molds, it was Felix Ranstrom.

When Olaf leaned back, delivering the final blow about stability, Felix resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Stability. The great myth, the ultimate crutch. The one thing his father would always return to. Felix took a slow breath, tapping his fingers lightly against the side of his chair. He didn’t need to rush. Rushing was what they expected from him, wasn't it? Brash, reckless Felix. But he could be patient. When he wanted to be.

"Well..." he began, his voice measured, controlled. No snark, no rebellion. That wasn't going to work on Olaf. He let the silence settle again, dragging just a bit longer than necessary before he continued. "I can't argue that the station's financial system relies on stability. And Vertex has built that stability." Felix's grin softened into something quieter, almost calculating. "But we rely on the station's growth." Felix paused, watching for his father's expression, trying to gauge what thoughts sat behind the stoic glance Olaf had perfected. "If the market is stagnant, that impacts us." he didn't need to clarify, but Felix simply wanted to. Just to drive his point home.

He could almost taste the skepticism curling off his father, but he had always admired Olaf's meticulous nature. His father had a gift for unraveling ideas, seeing the flaws before they could take root. But today, Felix had come prepared. Unhurried, he sent over another proposal. The one he had spent the most time on, long hours into the night where he thought he almost broke into insanity. The others were the filler, the bait. To get Olaf into the little corner that he predicted would be just as easy as it was. Although, he still took the time to enjoy the moment silently.

"You don't like the community investment bonds, that's fine. But the business investment bonds would work differently." he waved a casual yet confident hand for his father to look at the information. The sharp statistics, crunched right down. Not even a fraction out of place, Felix ensured of it. "There was a 15% growth in small enterprises on Equinox. The potential for early funding is ripe for the picking. I know you've seen enough statistics to know that clients are ready to engage with a solid plan."

Felix waited again, trying to read his father's thoughts and a grin slowly lifted against his lips. "We could provide strategic funding for small businesses with proven models, guaranteed returns, and low-risk profiles. Think about it. Vertex wouldn't just be a service provider; we'd be the catalyst for growth in our economy. We can ensure at least a 20% ROI, funded by a 30% allocation of our assets toward businesses that meet our criteria. Minimal overhead, structured repayments. Lower risks mean guaranteed returns."

He knew the figures would entice Olaf, but Felix was still slowly drawing his father out from the corner he placed him in. "By investing in...let's say 20 small businesses with an average success rate of 75%, we're looking at a conservative estimate of a 20% return over two years, perhaps even more as those businesses grow." and silently, just at the edge of the plans were the real true statistics. The ones that didn't make it to the page of the proposal. The sustainable businesses that emerged as the highest ranking, most profitable. The way the market was shifting just subtly but right in front of their eyes. And, if Olaf couldn't resist the idea, Vertex would be responsible for creating jobs, for helping ethical businesses expand even further.

With a deviant glint in his eye, Felix relaxed back. His voice low but with a hint of amusement. Mocking, almost. "Hopefully, my lack of experience isn't entirely off putting."

olaf listens to felix, eyes steady, unreadable. his son's words tumble out with the effortless precision of someone who's too used to thinking fast. quick, sharp, direct. but olaf? he's slower, calculating, though his silences are never empty. the room seems to breathe around them, the hum of the station just beyond the windows, muted yet present. it's almost comforting, the quiet tension between father and son, both of them holding onto their corners like opposing pieces on a chessboard. 

felix grins. olaf doesn't. 

as the numbers flash at him, 13%, 28%, olaf's brow shifts slightly, just a flicker of motion. not quite enough to betray the intrigue, but it's there. 13%. he knows the weight of that. 28% even heavier. felix has done his homework, as always. olaf almost smiles, catching the way felix glides through the figures, the raw intelligence beneath. the one he remembers seeing since felix was a child. the one he spent years wondering how long his son will waste it for.

and yet, he doesn't say a word. not yet.

instead, olaf lets felix finish, lets the silence stretch just long enough. he folds his arms, tapping the edge of his thumb against his chin. when he speaks, it's soft at first, like he's still considering. 'community investment bonds…' he pauses, tilting his head slightly, letting the concept linger. 'it's not terrible.' there's a brief pause where the air shifts.

olaf doesn't let it, not completely.

'but six percent gains from bonds? maybe, under perfect circumstances.' he leans forward, his gaze sharper now, slicing through the casual atmosphere his son's tried to cultivate. 'community bonds are unpredictable. government contracts, even more so.' his eyes narrow as he drills into the details, pulling them apart with a methodical precision felix knows all too well. 'look at equinox's development fund. promised returns of 8%. ended up with 4% by the end of the fiscal year. and that's with very stable backers.'

olaf scrolls through the figures again, highlighting each one. refreshing them in his memory. 'thirteen percent is generous. but realistically? maybe 7% at best, after fees, commissions, admin overheads.' he glances at felix. 'people don't want to invest in what they can't see immediate returns from.' his words settle like a hammer, quiet but resolute. 'in an ideal world, this would all be perfect.' a hint of belittlement, not from a place of unkindness. but there's a tension in him too, a silent, almost grudging respect. felix has always been sharp. too sharp, maybe. and as much as olaf dislikes to admit it, his son's idea isn't just clever, it's bold. it's… something.

'the micro-investments is good.' olaf mutters, almost to himself. 'i'll give you that.' he drags the concept through his mind, seeing the potential. people investing credits here and there, pooling into something bigger, managed by vertex. it has a familiar ring to it. something vertex would do.

but.

olaf straightens in his chair, his voice sharpening like a blade. 'a 28% return?' he shakes his head, letting out a quiet, breathy chuckle. 'three years? you're looking at high-risk territory there, felix. sure, untapped credits, micro-investments, it sounds good on paper. but-' olaf waves a weak, almost dismissive gesture. 'how many of those untapped credits are even available for investment? and let's not forget. a large chunk of those users default before the end of their term. the attrition rates alone would tear that 28% down to maybe...12%. if we're lucky.'

olaf watches felix carefully now, studying the lines of his son's face. the defiance that's always danced just beneath the surface. felix has always been like this. brilliant, reckless. and in some twisted way, olaf is proud of that. he recognizes it because he's seen that ambition in himself. they aren't so different. not really. but where felix sees the grand sweep of innovation, olaf sees the cracks. the weaknesses. and that's why he's here. that's why, even now, after all these years, he's still the one in control. 

'don't get me wrong.' olaf says, leaning back, arms folding once again. 'it's smart. but it's risky. too risky. and, felix, we're not in the business of risk. we can't be. we never have been. the station's financial system relies on stability, not…experimentation.' he waits to see how felix will respond, wondering if his son will throw something else back at him. another sharp idea, another wild plan. part of him almost wants it. 'it won't work. not like this.' he says finally, shrugging as if it's all beyond his control. 'you know what you're talking about, felix. but you lack the years of experience that you should have by now.'