#THIS ENTIRE STRETCH OF EPISODES I LOVE IT SO MUCH

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers : 2x06 The Choice (Part 1)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Time for an entire episode centered around the Anthony/Kate/Edwina triangle. Yay? You know what really is the most fascinating, though? There's a lot of Pen and Colin in this episode and yet it feels so disconnected from the main story.

Which. Look, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't be sitting here doing this if I hadn't been having fun dissecting this show. But one of it's faults is the fact that it doesn't seamlessly blend its story lines together. Season 1 tried when they had Daphne and Marina's stories merge a bit at the end. But all of the Lady Whistledown stuff, Colin's arc, Pen and Eloise, Eloise and her publisher boy, it's just on another show as the Kanthany stuff. And yes, I realize the Queen is something that does tie all of it together. And sometimes the family scenes do get things right. But for an ensemble show, sometimes these plot lines feel just a little too disconnected that it makes it jarring when they intersect. (And yes - I have had this issue with all three seasons now.) Anyway... enough of my diatribe.

Bachelor Party

Oh, this scene. I love a good ABC Brothers scene - I hope they still manage to have them post-Season 4. Anyway, while Kate and Edwina are reflecting on love and their changing lives while they have their girl night, the boys are having a drink and playing pool. And I just think the presence of the pool table in Bridgerton house (I mean, I assume that's where they are? it looks like Anthony's study, and it doesn't look like it's at a bar, so...) is really funny. Like, they hauled that thing in for this one scene and is never to be seen again. I wonder which of them is the best pool player. Hmmm.

Also - Season 2 is just full of a lot of games isn't it? Fencing, pall mall, pool. Is it a metaphor of all the games Kate and Anthony play??? Okay, I'm probably stretching there, but it is kind of fun to pick out threads like this.

Anyway, back to Colin. Anthony's being moody. Benedict is being snippy. And Colin is just hanging back being the little sass master he usually is -- teasing Benedict for drinking too much and sniding at Anthony for being a sourpuss. It's amusingly endearing. I love their dynamics so much.

Obviously, Anthony really isn't happy about who he is marrying, but there's an interesting kind of rift between him and his brothers. Anthony's story is all about obligations and duties, and feeling the weight and burden of having those things spelled out for you at birth. While Colin's story is all about feeling adrift and feeling as if he has no purpose. Anthony envies Colin (and Benedict)'s freedom to do as they choose, while Colin is envious that Anthony has some kind of meaning in his life. The grass is always greener.

Though, not that Colin is really being all that philosophical in this scene, as he is too busy being tipsy and playing pool, giggling in the background as his brothers take potshots at each other.

(I love this scene so much.)

Also, a couple technical-ish things to point out. I kind of love the way this scene is shot. The camera is meandering around, shakey and always moving, and is on angles all the time -- not only to make a nod at the amount of alcohol being consumed, but also to visually represent that disorienting and dizzying predicament Anthony has found himself in.

I also really love their outfits in this scene, just because they mesh and complement each other -- Anthony, btw, is in a dark navy blue, that is almost black, and almost looks like he's in mourning. Benedict in his deep red and golds, I haven't noticed Benedict's color patterns, huh, while Colin is in his usual pewter blues. Idk, historically accurate or not (and usually not) the costuming is just fascinating to look at to see how it represents their characters.

Also, also - Colin through the mirror shot! It doesn't mean anything, I was just amused by it. Just wait until I don't shut up about mirror imagery in Season 3. ;)

Hard to tell in the screenshot (and may bit slightly the lighting) but there is some gold embroidery in his clothing, and I'm fascinated by how much creams and yellows end up in Colin's wardrobe. I'm also fascinated by the cravats because he's going to start ditching them in Season 3 and... I have a whole lot of thoughts about that. More on that later, stay tuned...

Anyway, the scene moves on to Benedict continuing to rib Anthony, and teasing him about having an heir who will just be a mini-Anthony. And Colin jokes that hypothetical mini-Anthony will be just as much of a tyrant as his father. (And I mean, I do think Colin will actually end up having a good relationship with his nieces and nephews... this comment is merely a reflection of how much a pain in the ass older brother Anthony can be.)

Bottoms up, Colin! (This is the clearest shot I could get.)

They're toasting to the 'disagreeable sister' and, interestingly, Colin's toast is to besting her. I don't know that I even know what to do with that - other than reiterate that Colin does, indeed, have a competitive streak. And also he likes sticking it to Anthony almost as much as Benedict does.

Oh, also, there's a really tiny detail in here that I'm sure no one notices but me since I've now watched this scene like ten times in a row. At the beginning of the scene, Colin makes it a point to mention that the alcohol they're consuming is meant to be sipped. And then at the end, he downs it like a frat boy on a mission to get drunk, and chokes on it. Idk, I was amused. But considering how the rest of the episode goes, while I do think Colin very much appreciates a good drink, I don't think he spends a whole lot of time downing as much alcohol as Anthony does.

Whispers

I'll have to look up this director, because they very much are into all the camera movements this episode. Genevieve shows up for a house call, but it's really because Penelope has summoned her? The writing is slightly fuzzy. But the point is that Genevieve and Penelope need a moment to talk. And the camera swirls around them. The camera movement adds tension to the scene, as it's never settled and always suspicious.

(I went and looked, it's Tom Verica - who has worked a lot with Shonda Rimes. Interesting. Also -- the way they do directing for this show is also interesting, in that there's one director for two episodes a season. I'm going to watch for stylistic changes.)

Anyway... Penelope is seeking out info about Theo -- asking if Genevieve if she knows anything about him. Genevieve doesn't, but she picks up on the fact that Penelope is panicking slightly, and does a little herself. She tells Pen that her business is too important to let little things slide, and Penelope reassures her that her business is also important, and she'd definitely let Genevieve know if something is up.

The camera lands on Penelope and pushes in when Penelope lets it be known firmly that Lady Whistledown is not a joking matter, though she doesn't really see a problem yet.

Btw, the scoring is tense and ominous here, but comes to a point when Portia enters the scene. I love these technical details so much! It just adds so much to the drama of it.

Portia doesn't understand why Genevieve is there, but Genevieve is quick to cover saying she meant to deliver something to the Bridgerton house instead.

I love Penelope's abrupt change of demeanor. Two seconds earlier, she was hardened business woman trying to protect her interests, and while still very young, able to be an equal peer with Genevieve. And then her mother appears, and she is youthful, dutiful, childlike Penelope again, all smiles and innocence. I'm just so fascinated by performances today, apparently.

As Genevieve leaves, Penelope faces away from her mother to watch the modiste leave, her face falling, a look of worry on it. Meanwhile, Portia walks by scoffing at the fact that a woman runs her own business -- stating it's no wonder her mind is scattered. An obvious judgment, and an ironic statement since Pen, too, is a woman running her own business.

Btw, despite the fact that the previous episode made it a point that the Featheringtons are no longer getting invitations to things, they're on their way to the Bridgerton wedding. Did the Queen decide to just invite everyone then? Huh.

Pre-Wedding

What being in fandom feels like sometimes...

Ah, Bridgerton memes, you will never not be funny.

Violet is trying her best to get a move on of things -- they have Anthony's wedding to attend! I love the family chaos of it all.

Colin is hung. over. The light bothering him. His family being too loud. The stinging headache. (Ngl, it's kinda funny) I LOVE Violet's remark to Benedict -- 'Whatever you've done to your brother, undo it.' It is such a mom line and I love it so much.

Colin comments that he doesn't have the same capacity for alcohol as his brothers. And I mean, this checks. Anthony was downing bottles of alcohol last season, and Benedict gives off more fratboy energy. Unlike his brothers, Colin is usually more in tune with living with his feelings, and doesn't usually use narcotics to suppress them. It's really only when they get extreme does he reach out for something external (such as getting high in Greece or getting incredibly trashed in season 3).

Casual drunkeness isn't Colin's style.

Benedict's suggestion for the hangover, however, is more alcohol! Is this payback for Colin getting Benedict high? Or just amusement on his half? Idk, it's interesting. But Colin is going to take it. I want to point out, now, that Colin is drinking in nearly every scene of this episode, and I do think there's more to it than just an attempt at nursing a hangover.

We'll get there. For now, we have a wedding to get to!! :)

[dizzybevvie]

If I die within the next week know it wasnt an accident

[star-girl69]

In A Good Way

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: basically episode two but if clarisse had a gf (so what should have been canon pretty much)

a/n: sorry dior is so fine i had to get the thoughts out this is kinda shitty also but anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

In A Good Way - Faye Webster

warnings: some violence, swearing, soft and ooc clarisse but only bc i wholeheartedly believe she is soft only for her gf and i love soft clarisse, also protective!clarisse my weakness, i’m insane, cringe, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

You watch Clarisse bump into the poor boy.

You’re sitting with your siblings, Tyla and Jackie, but your eyes were drawn to her even across the courtyard. Your eyes are always drawn to her.

She shoulders him hard, then immediately turns around and pushes him straight to the ground. Tyla gasps next to you as he crashes sharply into the dirt.

“Your girlfriend is a literal menace, Y/N,” Jackie scoffs.

“How do you think I feel having to deal with her?”

You really do feel bad for the boy, Percy, you think. Regardless of whether or not he really killed the Minotaur (Clar spent the entire night talking your ear off about how it simply can’t be true) it’s his first day at camp. He’s helpless, to say the least.

Feeling less than your whole life and then finally coming to a place where everyone else is like you, finally getting answers- it’s a shock.

You always feel bad for every new camper. Especially the young and tiny ones like him. Besides, you like his cute blonde hair.

“Oh, haha,” Jackie rolls her eyes. “You love her.”

You start to get up, faking a dramatic sigh, “I do.”

Tyla giggles as you walk away and come into earshot.

“Hey. Knock it off, Clarisse. It’s like his first day, come on.” Luke seems as unimpressed as he always does, slightly apathetic, as another Hermes cabin member tugs Percy up.

“Wait, so, this is the kid who killed the Minotaur. Is that right?” she takes a step forward, a misleading smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Percy says, awkwardly looking around.

“I’ll bet,” she smiles, her eyes lighting up in prospect of someone new to torture. “Look, you want attention around here, dummy? You better be ready for it when it comes.”

Her eyes meet yours.

“Clarisse!” you say in a sing-song voice, walking up to her and placing your hand on her shoulder. “He’s, like, twelve.”

“Oh, but he’s strong enough to kill a Minotaur?”

Your eyes lock, her hand brushes your hip, and you get those same cliche butterflies in your stomach you always do when you look at her.

You smile.

You see her eyes soften.

She turns back to Percy after a moment, faking forward, and he flinches so hard he almost falls back.

Her and her Ares siblings laugh, you roll your eyes, and push her away. She walks away, her siblings in tow, and you turn back to Luke.

On Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth’s last stretch to camp, they came across you. Your satyr protector had been killed by a monster protecting you, and Luke had held your hand and promised that all of you were going to make it to camp.

You’ll always have that bond with Luke, even though Clar hates his guts and his best swordsman in camp title.

You place your arm on his shoulder, he slings a loose arm around your waist.

Luke is pretty much the only person who can get away with touching you like this, or else they’ll receive a nice message from Clarisse in the form of a dagger barely missing their face.

“Ares kids,” Luke explains to Percy. “They come by it honestly. You got lucky today. If Y/N hadn’t come around, you probably would have gotten knocked over again.”

“Hi,” you say, sticking out your hand. “I’m Y/N.” Percy shakes your hand, smiling awkwardly.

“She’s Clarisse’s girlfriend and the only thing that stands between the camp and total destruction.”

“Oh,” Percy says, not quite able to hide his surprise and slight disgust. “She seems… nice.”

“Well, if you look like me, she’ll love you. But… I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Percy chuckles a bit.

“Why don’t they bother you?” he asks Luke.

“Ah, they know better,” he says, squeezing you closer to him.

“Yeah, Luke’s the best swordsman in camp,” one of Luke’s siblings says. You can see something in Percy’s eyes, a light that reminds you a bit of Clar.

“So, they stay away from you because, glory? So, if I get glory, Clarisse wouldn’t mess with me either?”

“Exactly,” Luke affirms. You look at him out of the corner of your eye. What the Hades is he teaching him?

“And people think I’m a big deal?”

“Well, sorta-”

“And my dad’s got no choice but to claim me.”

Oh. Your heart squeezes for him.

“You… you can’t force the Gods to do anything,” Luke says, trying not to hurt Percy too much.

“Well, yeah, but… it would make it a lot harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?”

“Maybe,” Luke concedes.

“Great. Where do we start?”

You laugh. “Ooh, I like the way you think.” You slip away from Luke, smiling at Percy. “Come find me if you wanna try your hand at some Aphrodite skills.”

—-

You find Clarisse sitting outside her cabin at a picnic table, polishing her spear, her favorite activity.

You sit down next to her.

“Hey, baby,” she murmurs, a bit too entranced with the gift from her father.

“I only have a few minutes before I go to archery, but… I think you’ll enjoy this.” She looks over at you for a second, then right back to the spear. “Don’t make me charmspeak you, La Rue.”

“Okay. Okay, sorry, what?” she sets the spear down in her lap, staring up at you with a smile as if she hadn’t been ignoring you a second ago.

“Percy Jackson wants to find glory so you’ll stop bothering him,” she snorts, “and so his father will have to claim him.”

She hums.

“Well, I like him. I think he’s cute.”

She shoots you a bored look.

“Don’t say horrible things like that.”

You play with a curl hanging over her shoulder. “We both know I’ll say whatever I want.”

“Oh, I know.”

—-

“What happened to you?”

You turn to look at Clarisse’s smirking face.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “C’mere,”

You lean forward, across the space between the Aphrodite cabin and the Ares cabin tables. Clarisse puts her hand to your face, thumb tracing along your cheekbone. She pulls back, and you stare at her dirt covered thumb.

“You’re covered in dirt, gorgeous.”

You hurriedly raise your hand up to your face, groaning when your palm does in fact come away covered in dirt.

“Percy is definitely not a child of Apollo,” you mutter.

“What d���you mean?” Clarisse asks, handing you a few extra napkins as you begin to wipe off your face, a spot on your shirt you had noticed.

“Luke’s taking him around, trying to figure out what he’s got a talent for. It was funny, actually, he shot the arrow over all of us on the side and we all went crashing into the ground.”

She doesn’t seem to find it as funny as you do.

“It was an accident, Clar!” you say, all sing-song again.

“Oh, I’m sure it was. Exactly why I don’t believe he killed that Minotaur.”

“Adrenaline makes even mortals do crazy things.”

“You don’t kill a Minotaur with adrenaline,” she hisses.

—-

Capture the Flag is held the next day. Clarisse and two of her siblings have been particularly pissed off all morning, and no matter how much you bug her, she only says “you’ll see” in this horribly nerve-wracking tone.

You have the same job you do every game. Sit in front of the flag, and charmspeak anyone who tries to come near it.

You’re decent with a bow, okay with a sword, but this is one area where you really shine, where you can really help.

After the first game, the blue team has learned to wear ear plugs when they come near you. But you’re like a siren, you come around and take out their ear plugs anyways. They’re scared to touch you, because one of the Ares kids will run right off to Clarisse, and she tells you all the time that she’d rather lose dessert privileges for a month then see you with one scratch.

Chiron stands imposingly on the large rock at the start of the small river that divides the two halves of the woods.

“The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor.”

You know these rules by heart.

Ever since your first Game, the day you met Clarisse, you’ve loved them. You’re not the most violent person, nothing near Clar and her insatiable thirst for competition, but there’s just something about the game.

She walks forward through the sea of red-marked armor, digging her spear into the ground and glaring at what you can only assume to be Percy Jackson.

“Any magical items you may possess are permitted as well. Every camper who is not injured has to play. Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged.”

You suppress a laugh at that rule. That one was only implemented a few games ago, right after the one where you had been taken prisoner and tied with vines to a tree. When Clar had heard, she actually almost murdered a few kids and maimed some more.

Although it made keeping prisoners a little awkward, Chiron had proclaimed it was in everyone’s best interests.

“Let the games begin!” he shouts, the conch blows, and the entire team screams in a terrifying war cry.

The blue team bangs their shields and weapons together, and now you have 20 minutes before game on.

Clarisse is the captain of your team, of course. She marches around barking orders to everyone, as if their positions aren’t already drilled into their heads.

“Hey Clar,” you say. You’re surrounded by a few Ares kids, a few other good fighters, ready to protect the flag and by extension you- with their lives.

Capture the flag games are taken seriously.

She looks at the red flag in your hands, smiling in that smug way she always does. She doesn’t smile this way when it’s just you and her, but you can still see the softness in her eyes even now. With Clarisse, her emotions are all about the eyes.

“You all know what you’re doing?” she asks. All the kids behind you nod. “Good,” she smirks, starting to walk away.

“Are you hunting in your usual woods today?” you ask, heading in the same direction as her.

She smiles, a full toothy grin.

“Oh, baby, I have something even better planned.”

Clarisse is not one to change the strategy.

You can’t get it out of your head what she’s been saying about Percy.

“If you kill someone, I’m killing you.”

She just smiles.

—-

One of the kids holds the flag from up on a rock, acting like a lookout. You lean against that rock, your armor digging into your thighs at the awkward angle, waiting for someone to come. Everyone else surrounds you in the flag, in battle stances.

The conch blew about 20 minutes ago, and you should be seeing someone soon.

“I think Luke’s coming,” Corey, the Apollo kid lookout says.

“Of course he is,” you mutter. He’s always in charge of getting the flag, because he’s not afraid to touch you. Clarisse knows he’s just your friend, or else he probably would have been dead by now. They emerge from the woods, not bothering to try for stealth, all in defensive positions.

Everyone lets you take the lead. You understand why Clarisse loves power. It’s addicting, it’s like lightening in your veins.

“Hi, Luke,” you smile.

He can’t hear you, but he returns the smile.

“You’re all going to turn around and walk 300 feet in the other direction.”

Luke sighs as one of the kids actually turns and walks away, heeding your command. Everyone else has their earplugs in tight, but it always gets one or two of them.

You roll your eyes. “You always make this so difficult, Luke.”

You walk towards him, maybe you can surprise him and rip the ear plugs out of your ear, but he suddenly springs his leg out so you trip, slamming into the ground and getting a face full of dirt.

“Bitch,” you mumble, ready to get up. Suddenly, a Hermes girl throws herself on top of you, slapping a hand over your mouth.

As soon as you hit the ground, the fight erupts around you.

“You can’t do this, Luke, it’s against the rules!” you screech, but it’s muffled through the girls thick leather gloves.

Matty, one of Clar’s siblings sighs heavily. “Fuckin’ hate this dude,” he mumbles. “Marjorie, go get Clarisse.”

The girl runs off, and Matty adjusts his helmet.

“Don’t know why you do this to yourself, man.”

Luke kneels down in front of you while you scream obscenities next to his name. He makes a big show of taking out his earplugs before ruffling your hair.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

He whips around and his sword immediately clashes with Matty’s, and they’re locked in a flurry of metal clashing and glinting in the sunlight. Matty is really good, probably bested only by Clarisse, but Luke is still the best swordsman in camp.

He puts up a valiant fight, but Luke disarms him.

Your back is really, really starting to hurt like this.

It’s whirlwind, but there were more blue team then red team, and sometimes sheer number beats out even the best of the Ares cabin.

They grab the flag and run for the beach.

The girl waits for another moment until one of the Ares kids points his sword at her.

“You’re really gonna want to let her go,” Matty says. She stands up and books it, following her team.

“Eat dirt!” you scream as she runs away, but she still has her earplugs in.

Matty helps you up.

“Clarisse’s gonna kill us all.”

“I hate Luke Castellan. I hate him, I hate him, I wish him nothing but pain and suffering.”

Matty claps your shoulder.

“Hey, at least we all get to watch Clarisse beat up the Hermes cabin at sword practice tomorrow.”

And you do like seeing Clar fight, the way she’s so focused and truly in her element, sweat making her skin glisten in the sunlight…

“That will be fun,” you concede. Matty laughs, and you all make your way down to the beach.

—-

The scream scares you.

All the kids around you jump up with their swords, thinking a monster had somehow made its way near camp, but you recognize that voice.

“Clarisse,” you mumble, feeling frozen.

“What?” Matty asks, his eyes scanning the forest. “What’d you say?”

“Clarisse,” you repeat, breaking off into a run towards the sound of it, towards the beach.

“Clar- wait, Y/N!”

But you’re already long gone.

—-

You make it to the beach a minute after the conch sounded, the blue team having won, making it just in time to see the blue trident appear over Percy’s head. You can barely even register the fact that he’s a forbidden child, your eyes immediately finding Clar’s siblings, the ones she was supposed to be hunting with today.

“Hey, hey,” you breathe out, almost slamming into one of them. “W-where’s Clarisse? I heard her scream-”

You love her so much it’s like your heart will break if you even think about her being hurt. It always seems like Clar is the one who loves you more, only because of her proud and overprotective nature, but really you love her just as much.

You just never have the opportunity to threaten to kill someone like she does for you. She does that all on her own.

“Oh, uh, she went that way,” he points in the direction of a barely there path, heading into the woods and back to camp.

“Great, thanks!” you shout, already running after her.

You catch up with her after a minute, your gaze landing on her practically stomping through the woods. She’s angry. She’s angry, why?

“Clar!” you shout, and she whips around, standing still while you sprint over to her. “Clarisse, Clarisse, are you hurt? I-I heard you scream-”

You run your hands up and down her arms, and after a tense second of her staring at the ground, she puts her hands on your hips.

“I’m not hurt, I’m fine.”

She looks like she’s about to cry. But you know she won’t ever let herself cry, won’t ever let herself be perceived as weak.

You wrap your arms and let her put her face in your neck. She’s almost shaking with how angry she is, her fingers digging into your hips, and she stops herself and lets go before she can hurt you.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur. You’re not sure what happened. But she screamed like that, not like she was scared, but like she had just lost something. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She says into your neck, simple, and you respect it.

“Okay, well, let’s go back to your cabin. You’re not gonna believe the day I had. Will it make you happy to know I give you permission to beat up Luke?”

She looks up at you with skeptical eyes. You both ignore the tears staining her cheeks. “Really?” she asks, slightly hopeful, even through all her anger and sadness.

“Come on,” you smile, letting go of her and sliding you hand into hers. She meets your pace and wraps her arm around your waist. She doesn’t tell you she loves you, but you know.

—-

You flop down onto Clar’s bed. As the head counselor, she gets the best bunk. On the second floor loft, where there’s only enough space for single beds, meaning she doesn’t have to deal with bunk beds, all the way in the corner for a little privacy.

She stands in front of you, slipping off her shoes, and your reach forward to work at the knots of her breastplate.

She stares at you until the armor is lose around her, and she lifts it up over her head and leaves it haphazardly on the ground.

You lay flat, stretching your aching back, and Clar leans over you to help you take off your armor. You probably don’t even need armor, but Clarisse is overprotective by nature, by blood. It makes her feel better, and it really doesn’t bother you much. She lifts it over your head, letting the metal crash into the floor before laying down next to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m supposed to be here for you but I’m so tired, and my back hurts so bad…”

She laughs. You smile, and it falls into comfortable silence.

“Can I really beat up Luke?” she says after a second.

You open your eyes and she’s laying on her side, propped up her arm and staring at you.

“Oh, you can.”

“Why?” she asks, still not quite believing you.

“Okay, so, Luke comes over, right. And you know, I try to charmspeak them but only one of them goes. I walk over to Luke and he fucking trips me! It was so embarrassing, baby, I literally ate shit.”

She smiles and puts her arm around your waist, tugging you closer to her.

“Then, some girl tackles me before I can get up, and puts her hand over my mouth so I can’t do anything. Which first of all, is completely against the rules, and second of all, it really hurt my back! Then, then, Luke has the audacity to say ‘Oh, thanks Y/N!’ and ruffles my hair, like? I swear to Gods, I just want him to… well, I don’t know. Suffer.”

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” she mutters into the top of your head. “I’ll make sure he’s unrecognizable.”

You smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Clarisse. Who would defend my honor and fight my battles?”

She seems sort of placid, tired, like she’s just a still lake reacting to your body wading in deeper. It’s almost like she’s gonna fall asleep, and she’s always tired after capture the flag, so it’s not unusual.

“I’d be there,” she mutters, her eyes closed.

You’re both silent for a few more minutes, just the two of you together, her strong arm around you, the way it’s always meant to be.

“He’s a son of Poseidon. Did you see?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I saw.”

“It’s not fair,” she says, like the child she never got to be. “I spend so much time, so much time trying to make him proud- it took months for him to claim me and he gets claimed on, what, his third day?”

Her head lands on your chest, your hands smoothing down her hair.

She touches the necklace she gave you months ago, bringing it out from under your shirt, the simple chain with the pretty charm that looks like a spear. More so an arrow, but it’s supposed to be her spear.

“He broke it,” she whispers.

“Broke what?”

She sits up a little higher, her hands reaching behind you and undoing the clasp on your necklace. You haven’t even taken it off since she put it on you, so of course she would be the one to take it off.

“He broke my spear.”

“Oh, Clarisse…” she stares at the necklace before folding it up tightly in her palm. She breathes out as she lays back down on your chest, her legs entwining with yours, your hand back in her curls.

“The Hephaestus kids can fix it, but it won’t be electrical anymore.”

You don’t say anything. Most people would say “it’s better than nothing” but you’re demigods with absent divine parents.

Clarisse didn’t tell you it was better than nothing to at least be claimed by Aphrodite when one of your siblings got a magic item from her. She didn’t try and tell you “maybe someday” when you cried in her arms.

Because more often then not, you’ll die before your godly parent even claims you. More kids die on their way to Camp Half-Blood then Chiron would like to admit.

And what would the Gods do? Nothing. They would do nothing about it, because they don’t care.

Clarisse doesn’t cry, but you know she wants to, and you let her know that she can cry if she wants to. She can, if she has to. You’d never turn her away.

If she hasn’t realized already, you’re in this for the long run.

—-

Clarisse fell asleep in your arms, then pulled you back when you tried to go back to your own cabin, and you figured Chiron wouldn’t mind this once.

She finally let you go after you screamed that she couldn’t kiss you before you brushed your teeth, mumbling about how you’re depriving her.

When you meet up with her again, she has her sword in hand and her armor strapped tight to her body.

It was just a great big coincidence that the Hermes, Aphrodite, Ares and Demeter cabins all had sword practice at the same times. Clarisse looked all too happy at being able to get out some anger from yesterday, because sparring is the only way Clar has to work out the intense feelings she inherited from her father.

“So, who should I metaphorically kill?”

“Ooh, big word,” you tease. She grabs your chin, making you look at her, but she’s smiling too much for it to be a threat.

“C’mon, baby, who?”

“Luke. And…” you point, “That’s the girl who tackled me. Oh, and that’s the boy who fought Corey and got the flag. I don’t know his name.”

“‘Cause he’s irrelevant,” she says. You hum. “You just wait right here, gorgeous, enjoy the show.” She winks before sauntering off in the girls direction, smiling in that misleading way, asking her if she wants to spar.

You beckon Jackie and Tyla over to you, who both seem unimpressed.

“Please don’t tell me you put Clarisse up to attacking the Hermes cabin,” Tyla sighs.

“I didn’t put her up to anything. She did it all on her own.”

“Oh, sure she did,” Jackie rolls her eyes.

“Don’t act like you all aren’t gonna enjoy it.”

Tyla meets your eyes, then Jackie’s.

“Sorry, Jacks, it’s, like, really entertaining!”

You all laugh as Clar leads the girl into the circle, laughing even harder when she disarms her after a minute. The boy who took the flag barely lasts 45 seconds.

When Luke walks up to her, she throws her sword down and tackles him. You give her a minute before you pull her off.

—-

clarisse, about to beat up percy

y/n: oh no no no no you don’t

clarisse: ok i won’t kill him rn 😍😍😍😍

—-

y/n: yeah like idk what i would do without you who would protect me and fight my battles

clarisse “i would be there” la rue: bitch our love transcends the laws of physics I WOULD BE THERE

—-

y/n giggling and kicking her feet watching clarisse beat up luke

—-

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 1: "The one with the proposal" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”

You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.

“That Frankie?” 

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?” 

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.

He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.” 

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.

“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.  

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.  

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?” 

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought. 

You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.  

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.  

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong. 

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you. 

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.

“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t. 

“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.

Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening. 

For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off  and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter. 

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage. 

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently. 

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside. 

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.  

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.  

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.  

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.  

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more. 

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.

“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 6th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—” 

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.  

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.  

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.  

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it. 

Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral. 

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?” 

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak. 

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—” 

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.

"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view. 

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.

“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.

“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.  

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.  

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.  

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.  

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.  

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.  

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.  

“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.  

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”  

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”  

“I know.” 

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”  

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.  

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”  

You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”  

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”  

“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”  

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.  

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”  

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.

“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”  

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.  

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.  

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.  

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”  

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”  

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”  

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.  

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.  

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.  

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.  

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.  

Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.  

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.  

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.  

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.  

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.  

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee. 

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.  

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”  

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.  

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”  

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”  

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”  

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”  

“Next Saturday.”  

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”  

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.  

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”  

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”  

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.  

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”  

“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.  

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”  

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.  

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.  

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”  

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”  

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”  

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”  

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”  

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.  

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”  

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”  

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”  

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.  

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.  

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.  

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.  

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”  

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.  

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”  

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.  

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”  

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.  

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.  

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

[thankskenpenders]

The Knuckles show

The announcement of a live action Knuckles streaming miniseries was surprising, to say the least. I mean, what would such a show even be about in a version of the Sonic universe with no Angel Island and barely any characters from the games around? Is he gonna go treasure hunting with the gang from Montana or something? Would a streaming miniseries have the CGI budget to squeeze in any new game characters, even briefly? Rouge? Amy? At least one member of Team Chaotix? Anyone?

Now the show is finally out, and it turns out what they actually made was a comedy show about bumbling deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, the minor comic relief character played by Adam Pally who you might not even remember all that well from the first two movies, with Knuckles as his sidekick. While, yes, Knuckles does get a decent amount of screentime and opportunities to punch bad guys and do cool moves from the games, large stretches of this show focus on Wade's personal life, to the point that a couple times I almost forgot I was watching a Sonic-related show. If you're judging it purely by the metric of how well it adapts and engages with its source material, this surely must be one of the worst adaptations the Sonic franchise has ever seen.

So then, despite some huge complaints... why do I kinda like it?

(This will contain full spoilers for the Knuckles show.)

A brief summary of what the show is actually about because I know half of you aren't going to watch it

The show picks up not too long after the end of the second movie. Knuckles is now living in Montana with Sonic, Tails, and the Wachowskis out of a sense of debt to them, though he doesn't really see it as his home. He doesn't feel like he belongs on Earth, and his life currently lacks direction. After communing with the ghost of Pachacamac, though, Knuckles is instructed to keep his culture alive by teaching "the ways of the echidna warrior" to a new apprentice: deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, who's currently more concerned about winning a bowling tournament in Reno than anything else.

Things are complicated by the interference of two rogue GUN agents - Agent Willoughby, played by Ellie Taylor in a bad wig, and Agent Mason, played by Kid Cudi. (Yes, the artist behind the second movie's credits song is one of the bad guys in this.) They want to steal Knuckles' power and sell it to a former associate of Robotnik's played by Rory McCann (The Hound from Game of Thrones), who now works as a black market arms dealer. Yes, they're still doing the thing where Sonic and friends' quills radiate some kind of super-energy that the bad guys all want. No, I don't particularly love this element of the Paramount Sonic continuity. Anyway, they go after Knuckles and Wade, complicating their straightforward road trip to Reno. Antics ensue.

The Wade show

So here's the thing. While the first episode focuses largely on Knuckles, the entire rest of the show is very much the story of Wade, and by extension the other original human characters invented for this miniseries.

Episode 2 is about Wade having to rescue Knuckles from captivity after the GUN agents get him. Knuckles spends most of the episode in a cage.

Episode 3 is about introducing Wade's Jewish family, including his slightly overbearing mother and weird sister, so that Knuckles can learn about their family traditions and have Shabbat dinner with them (and then save them from bounty hunters that the GUN agents hired).

Episode 4 only features Knuckles at the very beginning and very end of the episode, probably for less than a minute total. Wade is captured by a bounty hunter he personally knows, and Knuckles decides to let that be a trial for Wade to overcome on his own.

The last two episodes feature the climactic showdowns with the GUN agents and their arms-dealing ally, who comes in with a mech for the obligatory final boss fight. You'd think this would be Knuckles' time to shine, but really, these episodes are mostly about the bowling tournament in Reno where Wade encounters his estranged father, wrapping up his own personal arc. While Knuckles does get some fights, a lot of the finale is spent on lengthy bowling scenes where Knuckles isn't in the room or even mentioned. It frequently feels more like a spiritual successor to '00s sports comedy movies like Dodgeball, Talladega Nights, or Blades of Glory than it does a part of the Sonic franchise, and the presence of ESPN 8: The Ocho commentary in the finale only drives those Dodgeball comparisons home. They get so immersed in the bowling stuff that it's genuinely hilarious when the show suddenly pivots and remembers "oh shit we still need to do the final boss fight"

Throughout all this, Wade is the protagonist. He's the character we spend more time with, he's the character who drives most of the major events, he's the character who gets more of an arc. The emotional core is Wade's journey. Knuckles is still present - sometimes, at least - but he's there as Wade's wingman, and also just as the excuse for there to be some fight scenes.

How much Sonic stuff is actually in this show?

Honestly? Not much.

Sonic and Tails are only in the first episode. Sonic gets some good scenes, but Tails gets a grand total of five lines. I counted. Unsurprisingly, Jim Carrey is absent as Robotnik, though he does get mentioned a fair bit. (For that matter, basically the entire established human cast beyond Wade is absent, even including Tom, though Maddie is there in episode one.)

GUN is involved in the story, which helps it feel slightly more connected to Sonic, but it kind of feels like it's GUN in name only. They don't use any recognizable GUN tech, and they don't call in the military. It's just two agents in suits. They might as well be the Men in Black.

The Master Emerald is mentioned as something Knuckles has to guard, but it's never seen. Angel Island is pictured as a drawing during the show's intro, appearing exactly how it does in Sonic 3, but it's never referenced at all beyond that.

I guess the climax taking place in and around a Reno casino is a reference to Sonic's many casino-themed levels. That's something. I'll give them that.

Oh, and if you're wondering if this is the point where we finally start to get actual music from the games: no, it's not. The soundtrack consists of a lot of '80s needle drops, many of which are generic Hollywood picks like "Holding Out for a Hero" for the billionth time, thought it at least has some slightly less obvious picks than the Mario movie. The theme song is '80s rock song "The Warrior" by Scandal. You'll hear it many times. You'll hear the Adventure era Knuckles raps zero times in this. You'll briefly hear classic A Tribe Called Quest song "Can I Kick It?" before Knuckles takes the question too literally and breaks the radio in Wade's car.

Beyond a handful of surface level references for nerds (one of which is admittedly wild - we'll get to that), this is probably the least an officially licensed adaptation of Sonic the Hedgehog has ever tried to actually engage with its source material. I struggle to think of another Sonic adaptation that has less to do with Sonic. For as much shit as I and countless others have given Penders for seemingly ignoring the content of the games in favor of building his own convoluted mythos, his Knuckles comics honestly included way more elements from the games than this show does.

Somehow, the one new(-ish) Sonic character introduced in this is the ghost of Pachacamac of all characters. Not even Tikal! Pachacamac! A very minor character nobody has particularly strong feelings about! You can't even use the excuse that they already had the character model, because they completely redesigned him compared to his cameo in the first movie to better match his Sonic Adventure design. And he's voiced by Christopher Lloyd! Honestly, so many of his lines are strained that it sounds like he's on death's door here, but then he'll surprise you with a more casual line like "just do it, man" and it catches me so off guard that I can't help but laugh.

Pachacamac here has basically nothing to do with the game character he takes his name and appearance from. Where the game character was a cruel warlord who kicked off a 3000 year cycle of violence, Paramount Pachacamac is now just this chill old man who gives Knuckles (and later Wade) advice in two episodes of the show. Hell, he also feels completely disconnected from his established role in the movies, where he's literally the guy who shot Longclaw. The show will not grapple with this contradiction at all. He's just here to be a thing fans like me will recognize from the games. Again, if that's all they wanted, it's kind of baffling that they didn't just use Tikal.

I don't love Knuckles in this

But what about Knuckles himself? Well, he doesn't feel all that much like Knuckles to me. Ironically, he sometimes feels like one of the weaker elements in his own show.

Back when the second movie came out, I noted that Knuckles' characterization seemed to be pulling heavily from MCU Thor as a gallant warrior from an archaic alien culture who doesn't really understand modern day Earth stuff. That worked for me in that movie. It was just there for spice. Just a little extra flavor for the character in what was otherwise a very faithful adaptation of Knuckles' storyline in Sonic 3 & Knuckles. Without those familiar elements grounding him and with a much higher reliance on comedy, Idris Elba's Knuckles becomes a pretty one-note character in this.

In damn near every scene with Knuckles, he's going to say something about being a proud, honorable echidna warrior, or brag about his glorious feats of strength, or be confused about some Earth thing and call it sorcery, or act like every other character is also a member of some noble warrior clan. He still has his moments for sure, but this schtick kinda gets old fast, and it just doesn't feel like Knuckles to me. His entire character feels derived from the scene in the diner where Thor smashes the cup on the ground and goes "Another!" Sure, I can picture game Knuckles smashing a radio to turn it off and being a little too gung-ho about busting holes through walls. That's Knuckles behavior. But building a barbarian combat pit in the living room so the Wachowski family dog can fight the mailman? Nope. That's some other guy now. It really does just feel like them taking a broad character archetype from something popular that kinda sorta fits Knuckles and just running with that, rather than trying to actually adapt the character.

Oh, but don't worry, he wears the OVA hat for like two minutes! AND he loves grapes! See, Sonic nerds? We read the wiki! That's his favorite food! Grapes! This is gonna come up like five times!

Knuckles kind of gets an arc here, but not as much as Wade does. I think the stuff about him starting to feel at home on Earth thanks to Wade's mom and the way he connects with their Jewish family traditions is oddly sweet. This arc is kind of let down, though, by the fact that Knuckles' heritage is treated as a complete joke. He's a cartoonish pastiche of various historical warrior cultures stuck together in a blender and used mostly for comedic effect. When Pachacamac's ghost appears, he's reading a newspaper and bemoaning the fact that the Mets lost again. This is not the place for a serious examination of Knuckles' feelings on being the last of his kind.

This is far from the only time the show undercuts itself with its jokes and attempts at self-parody. In the first episode, for instance, Knuckles clashes with GUN Agent Mason and his tech-enhanced punches, leading to an extremely on-the-nose inversion of the "Do I look like I need your power?" scene showcased in the trailer for the second movie. Except this time, Agent Willoughby butts in and points out how stupid that line is in this new context, since they're literally trying to steal Knuckles' power. The fight can't just be cool, they have to get cute with it. A lot of stuff like that happens in this show.

Given all these complaints, the first two episodes left me thinking I'd be fairly negative on this show overall. This seemed like the version of the show from the fandom's collective nightmares, one that undoes all of the progress the movie series seemed to have been making towards faithfulness to the games. Like, just look at these cast posters. Is this what you want out of Sonic? Do these excite you?

But then, something strange happened. Over time, I just kind of let the jokes and shenanigans wash over me and basked in how fucking weird this show is.

And I started to actually enjoy it.

Look. The Wade & Knuckles Show was never going to be peak Sonic. But that sure as hell doesn't mean it can't be entertaining.

This show is so fucking goofy

Here's the thing.

The show is funny.

Unlike a lot of other people, I didn't hate all the wedding stuff in Hawaii in Sonic 2, because I thought a lot of it was funny, both in its actual jokes and in the ways in which they tied everything back to Sonic. Tom looking wistfully at some bodybuilders doing Top Gun shit and spraying each other with beer and being like "I wish Sonic had that" is weirdly funny. The twist that those muscle bros are all agents of the newly formed GUN, who orchestrated the wedding as an elaborate scheme to catch Sonic, is funny. Mr. Olive Garden becoming the fucking GUN Commander is VERY funny. Are any of these elements of my dream Sonic movie? No, of course not. But my dream Sonic movie was never gonna happen in live action.

The Knuckles show follows up on the comedy of the previous films by being probably the funniest live action Sonic release yet. Did every joke land for me? God no. There are some stinkers in there that made me roll my eyes. But enough of them landed that it worked out for me overall. A big part of this is the fact that they've got a good cast of actors and/or comedians here.

Adam Pally is funny as Wade, and I found myself liking him more and more as a character as the show went on. He becomes an oddly endearing loser, with some sweet moments in his personal arc that made me feel for the guy. I like Wade more than Tom now, thanks to this show. I will now be happier to see Wade in Sonic 3 than I would have been previously.

The supporting cast is frequently great, too, many of whom are playing completely cartoonish, over-the-top characters. They took a cue from how exaggerated Carrey's performance was as Robotnik and decided to just abandon all pretense that this is the real world. Stockard Channing as Wade's mom is funny, and carries some of the more sincere parts of the show. Cary Elwes as Wade's very British dad who abandoned him as a child to run off and be the world's most egotistical professional bowler is funny. Edi Patterson as Wade's sister Wanda is... well, she's kinda trying too hard, but she has her moments. The Mighty Boosh co-creator Julian Barratt(!!) as a scenery-chewing bounty hunter, who was also somehow Wade's former best friend and bowling partner, is VERY funny. I love this guy.

(Honestly, they should let more people who were on Garth Marenghi's Darkplace be in Sonic stuff. Where's Matt Berry)

This is kind of a stacked cast for a bunch of stupid side characters in a live action Knuckles show! And honestly, that just makes it funnier to me. Even when they're not funny, the fact that this exists makes it funny. They somehow convinced Paramount to give them a bunch of money to make a spiritual successor to Dodgeball about a schlubby guy who wants to beat his dad at a bowling tournament... except also Knuckles the fucking Echidna is there as his personal life coach. My life is richer for the fact that I can say that sentence. I think about all the little kids who are probably watching this show this weekend, going in expecting a show about Knuckles the Echidna and having to sit through extensive bowling scenes and lore about Wade's family, and sorry kids, but I just have to laugh. Wade isn't even on the poster! The poster is just a picture of Knuckles!! They punked those kids!!!

In a franchise where every single aspect is so carefully micromanaged these days, it feels truly special to get an adaptation this bonkers. It frequently appeals to the same part of me that enjoys the fact that there's an officially licensed Knuckles comic in which Charmy Bee's best friend (also a bee) dies of an accidental LSD overdose from a drug-laced chili dog. Or like, everything about the original 1993 Super Mario Bros. movie. Or the fact that they made seven direct-to-DVD sequels to Alpha and Omega, one of which is half a retread of the adventure from the first movie (with more annoying supporting characters in tow this time) and half a literal clip show of the first movie. The sheer absurdity of the fact that these things exist is charming to me. Except, with the Knuckles show, it has the added benefit of frequently being funny on purpose! This is why I'm not sure I'd call it "so bad it's good." Like, it's not amazing, but there were a lot of parts that I enjoyed in the exact way I was supposed to enjoy them.

Look. Here's a list of real lines of dialogue from the Sega-approved Knuckles the Echidna streaming show that they're billing as a pillar of the Paramount+ lineup, to drive this point home. Let these marinate for a minute:

"I only eat grapes, and Cool Ranch Doritos™."

"Annihilate this little girl, Wade. Crush her spirit. Humiliate her so badly her parents won't even look at her again." "Doesn't that seem like we're going a bit far?" "Not far enough."

"So is he Jewish?" "Half, I think."

"I had a friend who when he listened to Alien Ant Farm he could lift a Toyota Corolla over his head."

"I'm in dire financial straits. Due to my lawsuit against an unnamed rainforest-themed restaurant franchise, I don't have two pennies to my name."

"We're here in sunny Reno, Nevada, which is so close to Hell you can smell the sparks."

"You can't threaten me with your Jewish karate chops because I am a federal agent."

"I will say, regardless of how you feel about child abandonment - and I'm against it! - the deals at TJ Maxx can't be beat."

This is a Sonic show in which they got Paul Scheer and Rob Huebel to appear as ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators.

This is a show where Wade's mom insists upon pronouncing "Knuckles" with the throaty Hebrew "ch" sound, and declares that Knuckles is basically Jewish. Later, they watch Pretty Woman together while enjoying a nice slice of key lime pie. Knuckles comments: "I don't understand. This young streetwalker with a heart made of gold, why do the others treat her with such disdain? Is it so wrong to walk the streets?"

This is a show where the fourth episode is directed by one of the guys from The Lonely Island and features a hallucinatory low budget rock opera stage musical put on by the ghost of Pachacamac. It recounts Knuckles' life story, with Wade playing Knuckles and the "evil" Longclaw played by the bounty hunter guy who's played by the Mighty Boosh guy.

Look at this.

And also, Knuckles' singing voice is provided by Michael Bolton, which they proudly announce in the middle of the musical.

And also...

Also...???

IBLIS IS IN IT????????????

Yes, Iblis!

From Sonic '06!!

Knuckles is said to have looked for a mythical power called the "Flames of Disaster" to avenge his clan, which ended up being the power that was within him all along that lets him do fire punches yadda yadda yadda. As part of this, he apparently fought Iblis off-screen at some point, as conveyed with the giant singing papier-mâché Iblis in the musical.

...Then Iblis sings about hitting up Facebook Marketplace

How? How does any of this exist? Why reference '06 of all games? How did Iblis get into the live action Sonic movie universe before Amy and Metal Sonic? Why are they using Iblis and the term "Flames of Disaster" in such a goofy way that completely disregards their original context?

I don't know. I don't know how any of this happened. But I love it. We got a Knuckles miniseries in which Michael Bolton sings the phrase "the Flames of Disaster." The world is a beautiful place sometimes.

Some people will tell you to skip episode four. "Knuckles is barely even in it," they say. "It's dumb and pointless," they say. "They clearly just ran out of special effects budget," they say. These are people whose opinions you should disregard. The episode with the least Knuckles in it is somehow the most entertaining episode of the show. I would, in fact, go as far as to say that if you only decide to watch one episode of the Knuckles show to see what goofy bullshit they get up to, it should be this one.

I cannot be mad at this show. It's so dumb, but it completely owns the fact that it's a dumb and unnecessary spinoff. Inferiority is baked into its very DNA. It's very self-consciously redoing the premise of the first movie, but stupider. It's about The Other Cop from the movies, instead of the competent one. Instead of being into a "cooler" sport, his life revolves around professional bowling. Instead of going to Vegas, he goes to Reno. Even his tragic backstory that shaped his entire life sucks. He was abandoned by his pro bowler dad in a TJ Maxx. Not even a nicer department store. A fucking TJ Maxx. This whole show is a Dril tweet.

They put a ton of effort into making it dumb in an occasionally spectacular way. So much effort was put into that joke rock opera that fans will just write off as stupid filler. They put their whole pussies into it. This is not a poorly made show. This has better production values than half the shit made for Disney+. This was made with love. Maybe not as much love for the Sonic the Hedgehog series of video games as we'd like, but it's love nonetheless.

Maybe this show broke me and these are the ramblings of a madwoman. Maybe I'm just really nostalgic for the '90s and '00s comedy movies all the Wade stuff is modeled after. Maybe the Alan Wake fan in me just really loves it when a story pivots to a silly rock opera for no real reason. I won't discount any of these possibilities. This isn't high art. This isn't something I would recommend to anyone with zero interest in Sonic, and it also isn't going to sway Sonic fans who hate the Paramount universe. I really can't blame them for being bewildered by this show. But for a specific type of person, this is the absurd three-star Sonic-adjacent comedy miniseries of your dreams. It's a mid masterpiece.

Again, I just have to step back, realize the fact that this shouldn't exist, and smile. Sega's too afraid to do stupid bullshit with the franchise like this these days. And I can't blame them, after years of Sonic being a treated as a laughingstock. But part of me misses some of the goofy shit. No matter how much I tore some of the Archie comics apart as I was reading them for this blog, I just look back on stuff like Cal and Al or the Many Hands issues and laugh. And that same part of me looks at this show about Knuckles being the sidekick to this fucking guy, and just goes...

"We're so back."

In conclusion, I genuinely think this was a more enjoyable TV show than Sonic Prime.

I wouldn't go back and rewatch Sonic Prime anytime soon, aside from maybe, like, a couple of the Shadow-heavy episodes. Huge stretches of that show bored me to tears. The writers squandered all of that show's potential. But I would rewatch the Knuckles show, which takes a terrible premise and has a lot of fun with it, in a heartbeat. Even the bowling parts. The bowling scenes in the Knuckles show are more engaging than 70% of the fights in Sonic Prime. I am not trolling. I mean that sincerely, with all my heart. Don't @ me.

Stray observations

There is effectively zero meaningful setup for the third movie in this, unless Wade's family or the two GUN agents come back or something. Project Shadow is not mentioned in this. There is no secret post-credits scene with Gerald

The CGI in this is pretty good. Not quite on par with the movies, but pretty good. Sonic's weird forehead wrinkles are distracting in his scenes though. Please fix that

I wouldn't say I liked this as much as the second movie, which obviously gets a ton of points for, you know. The Cool Sonic Shit. But I had more fun with it than the first movie, which I still feel is a painfully generic family movie that was only saved by Tyson's redesign

"Grapes are an interesting choice for someone who doesn't use his individual fingers."

Agent Willoughby was apparently the one at GUN who had to buy the Olive Garden gift cards and set up the fake wedding. Her origin story is that she hated doing shit like that and wanted to go fight aliens

This miniseries contains another Keanu namedrop because Wade's childhood bedroom has a Speed poster on the wall. I swear, if Sonic doesn't say Shadow sounds just like Keanu...

Knuckles is familiar with Paul Blart Mall Cop

Near the end the ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators say that the 1974 Reno bowling championship was also interrupted by an extraterrestrial, and given that was exactly 50 years ago I can't write off the possibility that that was Shadow. Please for the love of god give us a sequel series after the third movie where Wade takes Shadow the Hedgehog bowling. I need this more than I need air

[voxslays]

Lucifer’s Daughter Headcannons

Lucifer x Reader: If Lucifer and Reader had a daughter, here’s what I think she would be like. or an excuse for me to talk about apple white…

Personality

First of all, personality. Your daughter would be raised by Lucifer, therefore picking up some of his both positive and negative traits, but let’s start positively.

Your daughter would be very creative. Her father was a dreamer; having beautiful (rejected) ideas and dreams for humanity. We saw in episode five how Lucifer would use his powers to show baby Charlie magic—so I doubt your child would be any different. Although Lucifer would be worried about her ending up like him.

Your daughter is very empathetic. Always helping injured little animals she finds in your back garden. Also, speaking of animals, it’s like she can speak to them. Animals really like and trust her—and by the time she gets older, she has an army.

Very charismatic. Your daughter would be extremely popular in school. Not only because she’s a princess of hell and the daughter of a fallen angel—but because of her charisma and charm. She is extremely outgoing, and will walk up and talk to anyone. Almost everyone loves her—how could they not?

Unfortunately, she would probably have selfish tendencies. Having been spoiled her entire life, she expects everything to be handed to her on a silver platter. And yes, while she can be down-to-earth and empathetic, she isn’t a perfect Angel.

As a teenager, your daughter would likely experience extreme anger issues. We’ve seen Lucifer can control his anger and annoyance…but he’s also been alive for eons. A teenager wouldn’t be able to do that.

She also inherits her father’s powers. From childhood all the way up into her teenage years, she will struggle to control them. Her powers getting stronger the angrier she gets. She is completely out of control, and has to be calmed down.

Looks/Appearance

Blonde. Very very blonde. There is no way she doesn’t inherit the signature blonde Morningstar locks. Oh, and those adorable rosy red cheeks. She’s so cute!

However, she will have your complexion and eyes. I also can imagine your daughter having curly little ringlets or locks, which is extremely hard to brush, because she cries every. single. time. and you just feel so bad about it.

Overall, I think your daughter would look (and dress) something like apple from ever after high, with your eye color and skin tone ofc. (God I love her so much).

Name

Okay. I know I’ve mentioned Apple White already in this post…but I just love her so much! Can you guys imagine Lucifer having a daughter like her?

Do I think he would name his daughter something like Apple? Definitely. I mean, he was the one who offered eve the forbidden fruit; an apple. And he just likes apples.

Another name is Evangeline. Depending on who you ask (or what you google lol) Evangeline can mean one of three things. Angel, messenger, or ‘good news.’ So not only does this name remind him of the good days back in heaven, but also his brother Gabriel, the messenger…is that too much of a stretch?

Another good one is Penelope. The name Penelope is Greek and means ‘weaver’ (not important) or ‘duck’. Wouldn’t it be so cute if Lucifer named his daughter something duck related? You can’t tell me otherwise.

The last name I can think of is Aurelia. (I actually knew an Aurelia lol). Aurelia means ‘golden’ or ‘the golden one.’ Not only is Lucifer referred to as ‘the golden angel’ in mastermind, but he would treat his daughter like a golden treasure. A chance to start over and fix his previous mistakes as a father.

Idk if I should make a part 2…but if I do, would u guys rather it be more Headcannons for Lucifer’s daughter, or a different characters child?

[ordinaryschmuck]

I love that The Ghost and Molly McGee's forced cancellation isn't just frustrating to fans of the show but to people in the animation industry as well. They're just as sick as we are about how much studios disrespect animation. They keep looking for the next Spongebob, Simspons, or goodness forbid Family Guy, but instead having faith in the creators and their content, they just...wait. They wait to make a profit and do the bare minimum to market their shows and make them available.

Let's look at Gravity Falls for example. I remember that when Gravity Falls was still airing, you would be able to find out a new episode was coming out based on coming across a commercial by random chance or by the people working the show promoting it online. Add that with the fact that it was on a different channel that required you paying MORE for your cable to get it. It WAS available through Disney Channel, a channel more available at a cheaper price, but the entire of Season Two got moved to the more expensive Disney XD, where Disney shows go to die, because...REASONS. With no warning or announcement. I think I found out about Gravity Falls moving to Disney XD because the trailer played during a commercial break. And that's just the START the show's problems. Mixed in with poor marketing, the show would have a crazy inconsistent schedule, where we'd have four episodes a week, a few months of NOTHING, a few more episodes a week, nothing for a few months, a random episode playing between that nothingness with next to no promotion, and all of that happening to the rest of the show until it finally died a slow death with its series finale where four episodes got stretched out for six months. That...is NOT okay. And it doesn't stop with Gravity Falls.

Steven Universe, OK KO, Ducktales 2017, Amphibia, The Owl House, and now Ghost and Molly McGee are all shows that had similar and sometimes WORSE treatments as Gravity Falls did, where the networks gave next to NO marketing, the creators had to promote their own shows themselves, and the airing schedules were so inconsistent with wildly long hiatuses that only the most dedicated fans were willing to keep watching. General audiences (mainly kids) weren't willing to keep up with shows that had ongoing stories if the episodes stories kept being too spaced apart and never had reruns as frequent as other shows like Teen Titans Go or Big City Greens (Or whatever's constantly on network TV nowadays. I don't know. I mostly watch shit on streaming).

The people of the animation industry is catching onto all of these tricks, and they're getting sick of it. They're getting sick of inconsistent schedules. They're getting sick of trying to bend over backwards in every possible way to make the show they wanted. By either making serialized content as episodic as possible so the network could air it more or by condensing their stories as much as they can, already expecting that forced cancellation to happen sooner than later. And in some cases, they don't even get the luxury of being told their show is ending. Did you know that Inside Job and Paranormal Park both had seasons that were already in development before Netflix pulled the plug shortly after releasing new episodes of their shows? Did you know that The Ghost and Molly McGee was already working on a Season Three before Disney shut that down so they had to force out a series finale that would still be good despite the cancellation? Because it's true. It's ALWAYS true. Creators want to make MORE, but the studios won't let them because they didn't profit off of it. Except they WOULD HAVE if they treated it better.

I want kids to grow up with characters that stick around through their childhood, just like I did with mine. I want kids to have their own Ed, Edd n Eddy, Codename: Kids Next Door, Phineas and Ferb, or Kim Possible. I want kids to watch shows that last more than two-three seasons, stick around for years, and leave an impact as if they have all the time in the world because to them, it feels like they do. I want kids to have a show that ends on a high note because the creators wanted it and not because the networks demanded it. But the unfortunate thing is that it doesn't seem possible nowadays. Because if a mostly episodic show like The Ghost and Molly McGee fails, despite being charming and inoffensive and something most kids will love, the what hope IS left.

[wileys-russo]

in the shadows II a.putellas x sister!reader

based around this request here - haven't decided if i like or hate this yet? but here we go! in the shadows II a.putellas x sister!reader

"mija! can you get the door please?" you heard your mami yell out from the kitchen as the knocking first sounded. "why? they have keys." you called back, quite invested in the latest episode of your favourite drama.

"just get it por favor!" you rolled your eyes and flicked the tv off, hauling yourself off the sofa you'd been lazing out on with a grunt and a stretch.

"vale! i'm coming jesus christ." you groaned as the knocking continued, pulling the door open with a deep seeded scowl of annoyance.

"i hope the wind changes and you are stuck like this, permanently ugly." alba teased, pinching your cheek and pushing past you making a beeline for the kitchen.

"alba!" your eldest sister huffed, being left with all of their luggage as you rolled your eyes. "gracias pequeña." alexia sighed as you helped her bring everything inside, kissing your head and pulling you into a hug. "hola." you mumbled into her shoulder as she echoed back the greeting.

"alexia!" you groaned as you tried to pull away only for her to hold on tighter. "no i never get to see you anymore, i am making up for lost time." your sister stated firmly as she started to walk toward the kitchen causing you to stumble as you were still held captive in her arms.

"you are so needy, i saw you like two weeks ago!" you struggled in her grip, truly no match for her strength. "you once used to love and appreciate me, worshipping the ground I walked on and following me everywhere always wanting me around, i remember those days." alexia sighed dramatically, gently smacking your cheek with her hand.

"get off!" you huffed, eventually pushing her away only to be pulled backwards into yet another hug. "are we sure she is not adopted mami?" alba asked, wrapping your arms around you as if you were wearing a straight jacket and holding them firmly behind your back as you wriggled to break free.

"sí she hates affection, like an alien." alexia joined in with a smug grin as you tried to kick and hit your sisters shins. "how do you have a girlfriend? so miserable and angry all the time, maybe we should give her a medal for putting up with you." alba teased, kissing your cheek as you huffed and struggled to break out of her grip, a head shorter than her.

"she still cannot get free, so cute." alexia joined in, cooing and pinching your cheek as your teeth snapped at her. "oh the biting phase is back, watch out." alba grinned as your legs lashed out wildly trying to connect with either one of them.

"i'm only like this around the two of you because you never leave me alone!" you grunted, bucking and kicking hopelessly much to the amusement of your older sisters who had always found pleasure in teasing and picking on you.

thats not to say they would ever allow anyone else to push you around though, that role firmly occupied only by them and they'd been fiercely protective of you your entire life in every other aspect.

"vamos, let your sister be." eli waved to the two of them with a disapproving look. you were let go and immediately launched at whoever was closest which in this case was alba, chasing her into the living room.

"do not break anything!" eli yelled out as a war cry was heard and something crashed to the ground, thumps and grunts echoing as the two of you rolled around wrestling like children on the living room carpet.

now a few days before christmas you were all due to spend the holidays together, cramming back into your family home which always lead to some sort of squabble between the three of you when you were forced to live on top of one another for the week.

"go make sure they do not kill each other please." your mami sighed a few moments later when you and alba were yet to return, alexia pushing herself up and setting off to find wherever the two of you had dissapeared to.

your relationship with both of your older sisters despite the teasing and the age gap was always incredibly close, and had only seemed to get better now none of you lived together anymore, alexia busy with her football career, alba with her job and you with law school.

well, you used to be.

"-no you need to tell her. we cannot keep this up forever!" alexia paused by alba's bedroom door which was slightly ajar, frowning at the hushed voices coming from inside.

"not forever! just not over the holidays, you know mami is already stressed with everyone coming over and she always sends herself sick and crazy preparing and cooking and cleaning. its not the right time alba!" you whispered back with a firm shake of your head.

"when will be the right time? you have made excuses for weeks now and you are making me lie because you're living with me instead of at school. someone will find out and then i get in trouble for not telling anyone you dropped out!" alba warned sternly as alexia's eyes widened and you both jumped as the door flew open.

"you dropped out of law school?" you withered under the piercingly sharp glare of your eldest sister as alba hurried to close the door again.

"ale-" you started but fell silent at yet another angry look flung your way. "when? do not lie to me." your sister warned firmly as alba sat back on the bed with you.

"five months ago." you answered honestly, even alba's eyes now bugging out of her head and she smacked your arm. "joder! you told me three weeks ago. where the hell were you living?" she scolded, both their gazes burning into you.

"with mariana." you again answered honestly. "oh when i get my hands on that girl. she should have known better than to let you drop out, i bet she encouraged it!" alexia scoffed shaking her head.

"yeah well you won't need to worry about seeing her again to kill her because we broke up." you mumbled, gaze dropping to the floor as you picked at a loose thread on your shorts, the ripped denim edges now suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

"oh great! so you drop out of school, move in with your girlfriend, your girlfriend breaks up you and then you move in with alba and make her lie to everyone." alexia laughed but it was a bitter noise which stuck in the back of her throat, your eyes snapping up toward her.

"why do you assume she broke up with me?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper as alexia failed to hear but alba didn't, her frown melting from one of anger to concern.

"ale." alba warned quietly, catching the new look you were sporting as your fists balled by your side. "no! you do not get to defend her and coddle her alba. everyone makes excuses for her!" your eldest sister warned sending the brunette beside you quiet, but it didn't stop her hand from finding yours, gently forcing it out of a fist and squeezing it supportively.

"you are always going on about how everyone treats you like a baby. well look at how you act!" alexia gestured wildly with her hands.

"you're supposed to be smart. to study and learn and finish school, then get a great job, help people and help make change like you wanted to. you have so much potential hermanita why would you just throw that all away? do you not care about your life? your future? a career?" alexia lectured, voice growing louder as your eyes flickered nervously toward the door aware your mami was only a few feet away in the kitchen.

"alexia i-" you tried to answer her questions but it would appear they were rhetorical as she held up a finger silencing you. "you are going back to school. do you know how much even a year costs? no you don't because you didn't pay for it! and you promised me." alexia hit you where it really hurt as your face crumpled.

when you'd first floated the thought of law school it had been on the floor of her apartment, the three of you laid down on the floor the night she moved in testing out the new white shaggy rug alexia had insisted on buying for the place she'd bought after she signed a new contract with barca.

you hadn't finished high school yet but you hardly needed to try, you'd always been smart, book smart anyway, and you passed through school with ease. much to the infuriation of your friends who spent hours and hours studying for tests you'd finish a half hour early and that was after you'd already gone through all your answers twice to double check.

"how many years is law school?" you'd asked suddenly, both your sisters sending you a perplexed look as you rolled your eyes and snatched alba's phone, your own out of reach on the counter as you googled your question.

"why?" alexia pushed herself into a sitting position to look down at you as alba grabbed her phone back and flicked your ear for taking it.

"just thinking." you shrugged, moving your hands behind your head. "about going to law school?" alba had asked now as again you shrugged.

"maybe. oh! can get we get sushi for dinner?"

for the weeks that followed that night you continued to do your own research, hauled up in your room reading through the different kinds of law, lengths of study, different schools, but all of that came screeching to a halt when you'd looked at the cost.

though you'd tried to keep it to yourself there wasn't much you could get past alexia. alba was much easier to lie to or manipulate as you needed but your eldest sister seemed to have been born with a built in lie detector.

which was part of the reason you'd avoided her so much these last few months for fear of her finding out you weren't in school anymore.

but it was just after you'd graduated when of course the questions started. what would you do now, where did you see yourself in a few years time, what were your goals for the future? and all accompanied by the growing pressure of your families boasting that you were so smart you could go anywhere and do anything.

only, you couldn't do the one thing you actually thought you might be good at.

you'd applied for a scholarship without telling anyone, a last final hope that maybe you could make something work. but when you got the letter back in the mail informing it had gone to a different applicant you'd abandoned the thought all together.

but of course there was one person who saw right through your attempts to evade the questions and the compliments, alexia.

you'd all just finished having dinner after your graduation ceremony, the table of your family and friends loud and rowdy all drinking to celebrate you as you watched on with a smile, your eldest sister knocking her knee against yours.

nodding for you to step outside with her you'd followed, the two of you slipping away to the balcony of the restaurant which given the late hour of night was a lot quieter as you exhaled and relished in the momentary peace.

"so, law school." alexia had started, catching you off guard as the walls you'd had up all night when it came to the questions of your future faltered for a moment. "the scholarship did not go through." again, she was right on target.

"how did you know i even-" you frowned and shook your head in bewilderment as she only shrugged, refusing to disclose an answer. "its the cost nena, sí?" alexia spoke, softer now as you hesitated before nodding and exhaling, the walls tumbling down.

"you have to pay for the first year up front. then the next two years you are put onto a program where you do not pay until you graduate and start to work. like a debt! it gets paid off overtime with interest. but that first year alone, it is too much." you admitted with a shake of your head as alexia only hummed.

"please don't tell mami. she would do something stupid like sell the car or mortgage the house again for a loan, she has already given up so much for us." you pleaded quietly, eyes baring into hers as the taller girl looked away.

"ale please! i am already looking into other scholarships for other courses, other schools, other options." you begged, which wasn't a lie. "no." your sister replied simply as you deflated, looking upwards with a deep sigh.

giving up on the conversation you stood from your chair to head back inside, intending to enjoy one last night of peace before alexia would force you to come clean to your family.

"ay hermanita." your sisters hand grabbed your wrist, nodding for you to sit back down. "no, you will go to law school." alexia corrected as you took your seat, sending her a frown. "ale i already said-" her hand silenced you.

"i will pay for the first year." alexia stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument though you were never one to listen to her. "no you will not!" you scoffed, again trying to stand and leave but she tugged you back to your seat.

"alexia." you sighed deeply as her hands found yours and forced you to look at her. "hermana, you are so smart. smarter than me, than alba, than most people i know! you have so much potential it is a waste for you not to use your mind to learn and to do good because of something like money." your sister spoke kindly but firmly, eyes locked with yours.

"you are not going to drop this, are you?" you asked, lips hinting at a smile. "no, you know me better than that." alexia smiled smugly, dropping your hands to pull you into a tight hug. "and you really need school if you cannot even win an argument with me. some lawyer!" alexia teased softly.

"i don't even know what to say ale." you exhaled shakily as your sister kissed your forehead, lips lingering there.

"start with a thank you hermana. we can call it your birthday and christmas present for the next...ten years." alexia mumbled against your skin as your body vibrated with laughter against hers. "thank you, thank you so much."

"but pequeña promise me you will make the most of it. that you will go and you will learn and do great things, greater than any of us." alexia stared down at you as you nodded, promising her with a smile.

the moment was interrupted by alba bursting outside as you broke apart, slinging her arms around both of you with a cheer and a lopsided grin.

"vamos hermanas! time for shots."

"that is not fair alexia. i never asked you to pay." you spoke up again, standing to your feet with a frown as alexia scoffed. "you might not have asked but you also did not do much to fight me on it, did you?" alexia bit back, squaring up and taking a step forward as you refused to back down.

"are you even going to let me speak? or just talk at me, after all i know how much you love the sound of your own voice capitana." you spat, tone now laced with venom.

"vale! i think we should all just take some time and some space to calm down before we continue." alba stepped in, trying to push her way between the two of you sensing it was bordering on ugly.

"and how could you let this happen! you kept her little secret and you did nothing to try and change her mind?" alexia instead turned her anger on her other younger sister who pulled a face.

"alexia you have not even heard her out for five minutes. i have had three weeks of conversations with her hermana, you are not being fair." alba defended you, having reacted similarly when you'd first come to her and realizing her mistake once you explained yourself.

"fair! whats not fair is her giving up the moment something gets hard. you found school easy but not everything will be easy for you! that is what being an adult is, if you want to be treated like one." alexia attempted to push her way past alba who held firm despite being the shorter of the two.

"ale that is enough. walk away, calm down and hear her out afterwards." alba spoke calmly again, though you knew both of them well enough to see she was near to meeting alexia at the same level of anger.

"no! i have never been so disappointed in you, ever. i thought i was investing in you and your potential but if you are so happy to throw it away and drop out of school? fine! but what a waste it was then." alexia spat, glowering at you as hurt flashed across your face.

"you dropped out of school?" all three of your heads whipped to the door which was now open again, your mami standing there with a face like thunder as you shrunk, wishing a sinkhole would form and swallow you up.

"mami-" you started as alba and alexia stepped away from one another, all the anger which had once radiated around the room sucked out in a second.

"no. come!" she pointed for you to step outside as your body deflated and you made your way out of alba's room, the older girl moving to follow but eli held up her hand again.

"you two stay here, fix this." she ordered, gesturing between them before pulling the door closed as her footsteps sounded in the distance. a pause of silence passed where you could have heard a pin drop, before the sound of eli's yelling echoed through the house and both alexia and alba winced at the harsh catalan bouncing from wall to wall.

neither girl spoke a word sat side by side on alba's bed as they listened in to the entire lecture, not hearing you even say a single word back before a door was heard slamming and there was silence again.

sharing a look both older girls left the room, finding your mami dishing up lunch. "eat please." the woman instructed calmly as they both sat down at the table. "where is she?" alba spoke first as eli took her own seat.

"your sister went for a walk." the woman answered curtly, anger still present in her voice as alexia remained quiet, picking at her food and ignoring the looks sent her way by her sister across the table.

lunch being painfully awkward the silence was broken by the sound of the door opening again as you stepped inside, alba the only one to look toward you and noticing your red and puffy eyes where you'd clearly been crying.

"mami." you tried, the woman ignoring you as she continued to eat. "mami por favor, can we just talk about this?" you requested softly, voice dangerously close to breaking.

"mami please, at least look at me." you all but begged, voice cracking as alba tore her own eyes away unable to watch as yours filled up again with tears.

but when again you received nothing in return you deflated even further, shoulders slumping as you dropped your keys on the counter and silently made your way to your childhood room, door closing with a gentle click.

"mami." alba frowned, the woman pushing her chair back with a scrape, collecting their empty plates and wordlessly walking to the kitchen.

"mierda!" alexia swore as suddenly alba kicked her under the table with a glare. "puta." the older girl spat back rubbing her shin which started to throb. "this is all your fault, big mouth." alba huffed, pushing back her own chair and heading for your room.

but as hours passed she was unsuccessful in trying to coax you out or to let her in, your door remaining locked and the entire family on edge, a frosty silence falling throughout the normally bright and joyous home.

alexia seemed unfazed, laying on the lounge watching the barca men play, arms crossed and a placid look on her face. "ale!" she looked up at the call of her name. "i'm going to the store mija." eli informed as her daughter nodded, the older woman out the door before she could even blink.

"what?" alexia sighed as alba appeared again, blocking her view of the tv with arms crossed. "you know what." her younger sister retorted. "how is this my fault? she is the one who made all the mistakes, mami was going to find out eventually anyway!" alexia defended herself as alba rolled her eyes and grabbed the remote, flicking off the tv.

"alba!" "alexia!" her sister mocked in the same tone, taking a seat beside her. "well if you won't hear her out, i will talk." and with that she spent the next ten minutes explaining everything alexia had failed to hear from you, the blondes stony features softening.

"oh." was all she managed to get out. "oh!" alba repeated sarcastically, shoving the older girl.

"see? now do you see why this is your fault? you didn't give her a chance to speak and you did not see her when she came home before ale, you did not see her break when mami ignored her." alba shook her head.

"you need to fix it. and today! we cannot be like this over the holidays." alba warned as alexia nodded in agreement, at a slight loss for words for once.

when again alba was met with silence as she knocked gently and called out your name, alexia took over and opened your door using a butter knife to easily pick the lock. but when the door popped open, they were only met with an empty room and an open window.

"i know where she will be."

~

"alba leave me be por favor i am not in the mood." you warned with a sigh, hearing the footsteps approach you from behind. your body tensed as they stopped beside you, the taller girl taking a seat on the sand but taking caution to leave a reasonable gap between the two of you.

"no way." you scoffed quietly, moving to stand and walk away before alexia grabbed your wrist. "please. i am not here to argue or to yell, just to listen." the blonde promised softly as you tugged your hand free and gave her a cautious look.

"i promise hermana."

not finding the same burning anger from before present in her eyes you took a seat again, scooting a little further away and tucking your knees to your chest as the wind picked up a little.

"did you pick the lock?" you broke the silence first, refusing to look at her as your eyes remained locked on the horizon. "sí. did alba show you how to sneak out?" alexia asked, also staring out at the water with a slight smile.

"years ago." you answered, having been caught once by alba when you were trying to get out the front door to go to a party she for once had taken pity on you, showing you how to safely climb down the side of the house and out the back gate when you were just fifteen.

granted she did also use that particular instance to blackmail you into doing her laundry for a week, so really pity may have been the wrong word to use.

"good, i showed her first." alexia smiled properly now, pulling her hood over her head in an attempt to block out the wind whistling sharply through her ears.

"so. alba told you?" you again broke the silence which fell, eyes dropping to the ground as you traced patterns in the sand with your fingers. "i would like to hear it from you." alexia spoke, her stomach knotting up at the memory of the harsh words she'd slung at you hours ago.

"you weren't completely wrong, school was hard, really hard." you started with a sigh and a frown, focused on the sand beneath your fingertips. "none of my friends are studying, they all chose to take gap years and travel, together." your tone shifted, a slight bitterness to it.

"leaving you behind." alexia spoke softly, glancing toward you as you nodded. "i just-" you started, clearly struggling to get your words out. "i don't not like school, its hard but i want to be a lawyer, i think." you continued, shaking the sand off your hand.

"all of my teachers speak about how much of a commitment law is once you are licensed to practice and once you start in a firm." you looked back out to the ocean, well aware of your sisters eyes boring into the side of your head.

"i have to do two hundred hours of placement minimum, a hundred hours each year after the first. and i just...i am only twenty one alexia, i like learning about law but i do not want to be a lawyer right now." you admitted, chin resting on your knees as you fingers picked at your shoe laces.

"so you dropped out." alexia had only already put the pieces together but wanted you to know she was listening. "yes. but they hold my place in the course for a year, that is the bit that nobody ever lets me explain." you murmured, voice barely above a whisper and almost snatched away in the wind.

"oh pequeña, i should have let you speak." alexia mumbled, guilt wracking her body as you hummed. "i am so so sorry hermana you were right not to tell me, i just messed everything up." alexia sighed deeply, rubbing her face tiredly.

"yes you did. mami won't even look at me!" you puffed air from your nose, stabbing the sand angrily with your finger. "we can fix that, i will fix this." alexia promised, taking her chances as she moved to be right by your side, relieved when you did not make an attempt to move.

"i have a job you know? thats what i've been doing since i left, just working and saving." you confessed, still stabbing at the sand and refusing to look at your sister.

"i work reception at a dental clinic, not far from your apartment actually." you chuckled a little at that though you were never too worried about running into her. you knew her training schedule too well and the chances of the alexia putellas stepping foot in a public dental clinic was slim to none.

"i am going to save up enough to pay you back, it will take time but i will pay it back, all of it." your face hardened again which didn't go unnoticed by your sister who frowned. "pequeña-" she started, a hand coming to sit on your knee which you pushed away.

"no, you cannot change my mind. i am not having you hold it over me for the rest of my life alexia. i wish i had never said yes!" you warned, finally meeting her eyes though it broke your sisters heart to see the obvious pain and trouble swirling behind them.

"hey i wont-" "you already did alexia. or have you gotten so old you fail to remember conversations a few hours ago? if you can even call yelling at me a conversation." you reminded sharply, frown set back into your face as you shuffled away from her slightly.

"i am not old." was all she retorted back in offence, causing a small snicker to escape from you as your features softened slightly. "you're basically thirty, that is halfway to sixty." you mumbled, hint of a smile on your lips which dissapeared as quickly as it formed.

"i am twenty nine." her arm stretched out to shove you lightly, eyes on the horizon and a smile on her lips. "still old, should be in a museum." your own arm shoved her back, sharing a quick glance of amusement momentarily.

"know what will be in the museums? all of my trophies." she smirked as you rolled your eyes. "they will need to pry them from mami's cold dead fingers first, or get to them before alba sells them all on ebay." you joked, the frostiness from before beginning to melt slightly.

"i should make a list, she really will sell them." alexia sighed with a shake of her head. "probably already has, or some of your smelly boots and match shirts." you smiled, your sister shaking her head beside you.

"i do not want you to pay me back hermanita." the conversation shifted as you now sighed. "ale-" you tried but she cut you off. "no. at least not yet, if you really want to i cannot stop you. if you decide to go back and you become a big fancy lawyer we can talk about it then, but promise me you will not use your savings from the last few months." alexia warned firmly, your head turning to look at her.

"promise me." she repeated, holding out her pinky. "really?" you gave her a look. "sí, unbroken agreement." she wiggled her finger as you sighed and gave in, locking your own with hers as you both leaned in to kiss your hands.

"i really am so sorry pequeña. i said some very nasty things, i did not mean them but i still said them and that wasn't okay. but i love you very much and i did mean it when i said you are smart, so so smart." alexia again moved closer as you kept her gaze.

"but your life should be yours to do with it what you want, and if that is not law that is okay. you could do anything! the world is yours if you want to take it." alexia smiled sincerely which you finally returned, settling her anxiety.

"i think i am going to travel for a little bit, see more of the world." you spoke up, alexia nodding as you both looked back out to the ocean, your head falling to her shoulder. "you should, it is beautiful. so long as you come home afterwards!" she nudged you with a grin.

"maybe, i might fall in love with the world and never want to come back!" you teased as your sister scoffed. "there isn't a corner of the world where you could hide from me hermanita." she threatened playfully, a gentle hint of insecurity in her voice.

"i would always come home. i'd miss alba too much!" you shrugged, alexia pushing you with a glare. "what? we had all those years at home together when you were off playing football to bond, you're second on the list now, maybe even third if we're including mapi." you grinned, your sister pulling you into a headlock.

"i am always number one, i even have it on a trophy!" alexia reminded with a smirk as you struggled to pull away. "i was six when i gave that to you!" you protested, flinching as her fingers dug into your ribs eliciting a loud laugh to fall from your lips.

"you used to follow me around everywhere, my little shadow." the blonde smiled fondly and let you up as you huffed and fixed your hair.

"i didn't know any better!" your eyes rolled as you halfheartedly punched her shoulder. "and besides you hated it! you used to always tell me off and yell at me to go away." you chuckled at the memory.

"now its you yelling that at me, full circle." alexia mocked, pinching your cheek and draping her arm over your shoulder pulling you into her side, a comfortable silence falling once more as you both watched the waves crash.

"do you remember when you tried to drown me here?" you spoke up, a smirk ghosting your lips. "i did not try to drown you!" the older girl protested sending you a glare.

"you dragged me out past the waves and threw me in, before i knew how to swim!" "sí, and what happened? you learned to swim, you are welcome." "that was not a thank you."

"so what happened with mariana?" alexia questioned curiously. "nothing." you shrugged lightly, the look of disbelief having you roll your eyes.

"if she cheated or she hurt you or she left you or anything, i will take mapi and we will take a baseball bat and we will-" alexia started to explain as you pushed her hands down where she had started to demonstrate just what the baseball bat was for.

"no! nothing like that. when i moved in with her after leaving school things just sort of...fizzled. i think we just saw too much of each other and we decided we were better off as friends, we still talk sometimes but not very much." you confessed honestly as alexia pulled you into another hug, kissing the crown of your head.

"vamos pequeña we should head back. i need to speak with mami, i will fix my mistake." alexia promised as she pushed herself to her feet, holding out a hand to help you up.

"alexia!" you huffed as she started to pull you up but let go, sending your body tumbling ass first into the sand with a grunt. "you always fall for that." your older sister snickered, turning and starting to walk away.

"puta." you mumbled under your breath, standing up and brushing off the loose sand before catching up to her. "never gets old." alexia sighed happily sending you a smirk as you shoved her, the two of you falling into step.

"know what is old though? you." "joder, i am only twenty nine!"

[eve-1xx]

eves payjay ramblings on inanimate insanity season 2 episode 16 . obvious spoiler warning for below

even in their smallest interactions , the socalled "silly" ones played off as jokes , you can see paper genuinely upset at how dismissive oj can be of him .

take this scene for example , paper is so happy to share his adorable acronym for the Hotel OJ Party (H.O.P , going by papers not so accurate acronym that was argued over several times in the livestream , loved that reference)

after knife says it would be "H.O.J.P" rather than hop , oj goes ahead and goes all "i TOLD YOU SO" about how the acronym was a stretch

while this is played off as a funny joke , paper is seen to be legitamately hurt by this , asking why he couldnt just go with it

in the background they can be seen having a conversation

however this conversation is very one-sided , as while it keeps jumpcutting between suitcase and nickel + balloon , oj is the only one talking the entire time as paper just stands there and listens to him

[EDIT :] i realized a day late that once we DO see paper getting a word in in the conversation , oj looks uninterested and doesnt look like hes listening all that much .

in this scene when oj is stroking his fat orangey ego again by trying to make the party hats paper has been working on all day meant for the guests look like him , paper "snaps" (i dont have a good word english is not my first language) at him about how he always makes it about himself

we can see how much this hurts paper by the fact he is jealous of the fact oj was in a lawsuit . something you usually wouldnt wish upon yourself

after telling oj all of this , hoping just maybe his (very really insanely platonic) best friend of several years would actually own up , apologize and reassure him .. he just . stands there

but you can see in ojs expression , he DOES feel bad . its not like hes a neglectful demon or something , paper is still his (very really insanely platonic) best friend , but he doesnt say anything

nor does he get the chance to before his time is cut short .

and even after all of that . it had been several minutes , maybe even over 10 since he was "killed" (i refuse to believe they are permanently dead and oj wont be back) , with other hotel residents succumbing to the same fate and everyone running around screaming and panicking

hes still stuck by the inanimate corpse of oj , just staring in disbelief

[lovexjoe]

Unspoken

Part 1 

Synopsis: Jack and Y/N have been best friend for years. She recently ended her 2 year relationship, due to moving to Atlanta for a better job opportunity. What’s going to happen when she stays with Jack for a week ?

Warning: fluffy, angst?, language and smut🧎🏽‍♀️

Y/N POV 

Great!!! I finally found an apartment for myself, but I have to stay at a hotel for a week due to maintenance. I sighed as I begin to search the internet for a hotel suitable to my needs. Currently I’m at Jack’s house, cause he offered to let me stay the weekend as I sorted myself out. Moving to a new state is draining. I left a lot of my things back home as my mom said it’s good to just start fresh. So I packed what I needed and hopped on the plane. I left so much behind, even my 2 year relationship. Surprisingly, I’m okay and even happier that it ended. There wasn’t a spark between us. He treated me well, but the relationship over all was boring. I guess I kept it going for so long, because it was better than being alone. 

“Alright what’s got you so stress? You been glue to the computer since you woke up” Jack says as he sits down next to me on the couch. 

“The apartment won't be ready for another week and I need to find a hotel beca-” 

“Hell no! Come on, you know you can stay here till it’s ready. I’m not taking no for an answer either. Now can you stop stressing before you explode. That vein on your forehead is serious” He starts his usual teasing. I laughed and playfully shoved him. 

Arguing with him was useless. It was his way or no way. I finally close my laptop and enjoyed whatever tv show he was currently hooked on. He stretched out his left arm and placed it on the back on the couch. I crawl into my usual spot: snuggled up with a blanket. 

“I missed you. I know you’re stressed but I’m happy to finally spend some time with you this week.” Jack says honestly. You were taken aback but also happy as well to be here with him.

“Me too”

Jack’s POV

She takes her usual spot on the opposite end of the couch, I so badly want to pull her close to me. As selfish as it sounds I hope her apartment takes an extra week so she could stay longer. And those god damn PJs she wears is gonna end me. She could wear a turtleneck and I’d probably still have the same reaction. 

I had met her through Druski as she was working with him for a while on video concepts and managing his social media. As soon as they linked up, she got his account to gain a million followers within a month. Thats why Jack put his full trust in her when it came to his social media. He’ll give her a heart attack here or there when he posts some random video of him trying to dance. Keyword is try because he looks like he’s glitching half the time. 

~~~~~

They indulge in a few episodes together before both of their stomachs start grumbling. Jack grabs his phone to open up UberEats. She gives him an insane look. 

“Jack you already ordered UberEats for breakfast, do you ever actually cook?” She arched her brows at him and he just looks at her cause lowkey she ate him up with that one. 

Oh yea forgot to mention, she got attitude that could last a lifetime and he fucking loved it. 

“You know I can’t cook!” He tried to justify but she’s already up and headed to the kitchen scanning the pantry and fridge for a simple meal. 

“Alright since you insist on me staying here for a week, you have to learn how to cook to at least survive.” She points the wooden spoon at him which causes him to laugh and throw his hands up in the air. 

“Goddamn Gordon Ramsey when did you even grab that!?” 

“Mmm don’t worry about that, give me a cutting board and knife stat! We making the world’s simplest meal. Pasta!” 

Pasta? Yeah no, he has spent his entire life over and under cooking pasta noodles. He watches her work the kitchen like a natural, pulling out ingredients he didn’t know what was what but he  tried his hardest to pay attention. She started with washing, then cutting then cooking. When it started to heat up in the kitchen, she tossed her hair up in a messy bun and in that moment Jack swore his heart could burst outta his chest.  He was trying his best not to stare inappropriately, but she was down right beautiful. 

Her ex was an idiot for letting her out of his sight, but he had to thank him because he’s not letting this chance pass up. There’s been multiple times throughout their friendship that her previous relationship and his hookups were not too fond of what they had. Which caused a few months of silence here and there. It use to kill him that he couldn’t reach out to her or hear her voice. She’s the reason why most of his hookups never lasted. Even during sex he wasn’t fully present, always distracted. 

As she finished up the tomato basil pasta, she turns around bumping into Jack not realizing he was so close to her. She felt so small around him, he looks down at her and smiles. 

“Hi” he says as he looks into her green hazel eyes that complimented her tan skin. 

“Hi…” she wish he would just kiss her, but she probably wasn’t what he even wanted. This man has the whole world at his feet. Why would he want her? They both stood there for a few extra seconds, just admiring their favorite features of the other. 

He swore she bite her lip 

She swore he was staring at her lips 

Kiss me already they both thought.

The sizzle of the pot reminded her she needed salt, so she purposely pushes up against him to grab the salt 

“Excuuuuseee me” she says innocently causing him to blush. 

“Smell yummy, thank you seriously” He says as she hands him his plate. As she makes her plate last, but Jack grabs it and heads over to the dinner table. Pulling out her seat for her, she happily sits as he grabs them some wine. 

“Oh my god, this is amazing!” He hums enjoying all the flavors that melt in his mouth. She’s really getting brownie points right now cause once his tummy is full he is a happy camper. 

This could be them, she thought. If only he wanted her. 

This could be them, he thought. If only she wanted him. 

After a few glasses of wine and enjoying the food together. Jack knew she was gonna crave something sweet because anytime he took her out dessert was always a must. He took her plate and nods his head for her to follow him.  

He grabs a bowl, vanilla ice cream, sprinkles, chocolate drizzle and whipped cream. Instantly her smile appears on her face, he still remembers her favorite toppings. How could he not though? He remembers everything about her. They both assisted each other is building the sundae. 

“Time for the finale!! Whipped cream!” She shakes it up and hands it to him to do the honors. Jack holds down the nozzle but it was stuck. He shook it one more time confused cause he literally just bought it when he told Y/N to stay at his crib. Yes he fully stocked the house and made sure it was squeaky clean before she got there. He even went to target and Ulta and stocked up on products she’d like or needed for the guest room. 

“This thing is stupid!” He holds the nozzle facing Y/N and it shoots out straight onto her neck and face. They both looked shock but Jack was trying so hard to hold his laughter in. 

“Oh you little shit!” They both busted into laughter. 

The wine definitely taking effect as laughter filled the air. Their stomach hurting so much from being full and the happiness that overcame them. Grabbing a towel, Jack pulls her close and the two still having the giggles. She wasn’t in control anymore because she couldn’t believe the words that was escaping her mouth. 

“Lick it off of me….” Jack freezes. Is he dreaming? Is she fucking with him? Wouldn’t be a nice joke but the way she was looking at him she’s lucky she doesn’t get bent over this island right now. 

“Are you sure?” He looks into her eyes wanting to confirm because if he starts god only knows if he’ll have the strength to stop. 

“Yea….make me your dessert.” She wipes some whipped cream off her neck slipping her finger in his mouth to suck it off. The need growing between them as she felt his tongue lick her finger dry. His lips meeting her neck, licking up all whipped cream on her as her moans escape her mouth. 

Fuck. He thought this was it, she’s gonna get eaten up tonight, he had to taste her. He was hungry for it. His hands caressing her face, as their lips finally meet. They both dreamt of this moment endless amount of times, but nothing….nothing could compare how this really felt. The little sounds she makes got him bricked up and aching. It’s almost as if she knew what effect she had on him cause her hand begins to palm him through his joggers. He groans into her mouth, causing a certain wetness to form in her panties. She never knew Jack had an aggressive side to him, she always teased him of being vanilla. 

He picks her up and sets her onto the island. Slipping her shorts off and spreading her legs. No panties? Fuck, her pussy glistened from her wetness under the lights. She closed her legs, starting to feel shy. 

“Nuh uh, open those legs for me. Lemme see that pretty pussy.” Oh god she loves this. He gets on his knees, kissing her lips, taking in her scent causing her hips to buck. 

“Jaack please don’t tease,” she feels his breath on her as he laughs, knowing exactly what he was doing. He takes her clit into his mouth, slowly sucking and swirling his tongue. He was so fucking handsome and with your pussy in his mouth made him even hotter. Working his tongue up and down your folds, you lift you hips slightly to ride his face. 

Fuck fuck fuck 

Jack couldn’t believe how fucking beautiful you looked under the island lights. Everything about you just amazed him. He works his movement with yours as he sees your body tensing up. 

“Fuck Jack, I’m- fuck I’m gonna cum!” In that moment he slips two of his fingers in, curving them upwards pumping them in and out. The only thing that could be heard was your cries and the wetness of your pussy. His fingers were big and long you could only imagine what he’ll stretch you out to. He pulls you close to him, placing little kisses along your cheek and neck. He lets you ride out your orgasm from his fingers. He only just begun with you, but he notices the slight sheen of sweat that covered your body. 

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He places a soft kiss on her lips. 

“Jack I need you, please.” She reaches into his jogger to pull him out. His tip already leaking with precum. Teasing him, she rubs his length between her wet folds causing him to groan. The lust that filled both of their eyes as they watch his tip play with her clit. Jack slipped in not being able to handle it anymore. 

Y/N lets out a soft cry not realizing how big he really was. Her back was cold against the marbled island, but the way Jack started pounding into her she couldn’t possibly give a fuck about anything 

“Jaackkk” she cries out throwing her head back

“I know it’s big baby, you can take it. Be good for me and take it.” His thumb starts to rub circles on her clit as he continues his ruthless thrusting. She was drunk off of his fucking. Not a single thought was running through her head besides the fact that he felt so fucking good and was deep.

“Look at you. Such a good fucking girl taking me. So beautiful baby.” He whispers his praises into her ear, till he feels her clenching him tightly. His free hand grabs the back of her hair firmly to make sure he was looking at him as she cums. 

“Mmm fuck, where do you want it?” She better answer quick cause those hazel eyes looked fucked out and he could barely hold on. 

“Inside me! P-please please” 

Jesus Christ 

He nods as he increases his speed, hitting a new spot for her causing her to come undone. She couldn’t even stop the babbling. 

“I love you I-I love you Jack.” He kisses her passionately, emptying himself deep inside her. 

“I love you too.” He says out of breath. 

He picks her up carrying them to his bedroom. She was completely out of it, her eyes closed and sleep slowly taking over her. He couldn’t imagine this moment any better. It happened so naturally. He tucks both of them in pulling her closely. She was his. He was hers. Thank god for that fucking apartment delay. 

~~~~~~~~

Y/N woke up feeling satisfied and definitely sore. Some of their friends were suppose to be flying in today to vibe for the next two days. She looks at the sleepy man next to her and smiles. They really had some nasty sex last night when just prior to that they were just best friends. She places a soft kiss on his forehead and decided to make them breakfast. She picked out some boxers and one of his t-shirts and got to work. As she was making them pancakes and eggs, the door bell rang and it was probably Druski since he had the earliest flight. She opens the door to see a girl, who looked like a super model holding a duffel bag. 

“Y/N, right?” 

“Uhh yeah…I’m sorry who are you?”

“I’m Jack’s girlfriend….”

Part 2? 😌

TAGLIST 

@dyttomori @harlowcomehome @itsyagirljaz

[linddzz]

One thing I've been wondering about and maybe I just missed something, but is old mage Viktor supposed to be post-glorious evolution era, with him succeeding in his conquest and everything? Because I have been wondering why he still looks human and not like his machine herald form, and also appears to have aged? Or can he change his appearance?? Idk I am so confused about that part O~O

The Doylist answer is that Viktor being the mage was most likely a retcon (not a dig at all, as I love the way it really makes Jayce and Viktor a causal loop of a pair) and/or having a machine herald hand would give the entire twist away. Fun fact though, I just went for screenshots comparing the hands in episode 2 vs the flashbacks to show the gnarly nails, but they did give Viktor the nails if not the hand tattoos in the quick flashback! Maybe he cleaned them up for Jayce's visit lmao

There's a few plausible theories one could roll with, though I don't think the show itself has one answer they planned. While I still fully think Arcane could have at least used another act to flesh out more details and give that breakneck ending some time to breathe, one thing I like is that they do give the audience a lot to work with in the details. Though I'm also someone who enjoys having lots of breadcrumbs to play with in a story,

(tangent, but as someone who loves different methods of storytelling this is why I love Arcane and how it uses narrative, visual, and musical storytelling methods to weave everything together. It's approach to crafting a story is also very collaborative, which is how we get different answers between writers and the animation teams (see the writers not intending Jayvik, but more and more animators/VA's revealing that they ship it, and YEAH, most of the Jayvik content is in their body language and vocal delivery. I think the audience is included in that collaboration, and they give the audience a lot to build pretty solid speculations with. Tho again....we could have used things slowing down to make it easier to take in at that end there.)

Also; introducing a multiverse is kind of genius when you have a story that has nebulous cosmic magic, since it creates a LOT of leeway for getting around details like Wizard Viktor. (Again, not a dig at all!)

One take I have is that Wizard Viktor never transformed into the Arcane Herald form because Jayce never killed him. For extra heartbreak, the pose we see Jayce in could have been a willing submission instead of defeat :). There is still some of the arcane corruption coloration around his face, with the rest of him being hidden besides the hands. That leaves the hexcore body still, but since our Viktor had his face exposed I don't see it as much of a stretch that Mage Viktor may not have had his entire body changed.

Another take, and I think the easiest answer, is that Mage Viktor is already at a level where he is fucking around with timelines and is seen using an anomaly and it's not much if any stretch to assume that he can change how he looks to some extent. The anomaly is a force of perpetual creation and self annihilation (aka exactly what he's doing by perpetually making himself/Jayce while trying to avert his own existence). I headcanon that his first attempts to undo what was done to Jayce (and everyone else but it's pretty obvious Jayce is his focus lbr) involved him trying to undo his own evolution and using the time shenanigan powers of the anomaly to make himself more human again.

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

Another show just wrapped up, but a new one takes its place next week. Takara and Mitsuya have really become the bright spots for me in this current run of shows; they make excellent bookends for the week in jql. Of the five shows airing now, four are streaming weekly on Gaga and the other is available via fansub.

Takara's Treasure

What a fantastic episode of a show that continues to get better and better. The way this story has slowly built our understanding of these characters, and their understanding of each other, is masterful and so rewarding. I really loved the direct conversation they had about Takara's post-graduation plans and what it means for them, as well as Taishin getting to the heart of things and reassuring Takara that his desire is welcome. I'm excited to get a peek at Taishin's family next week and see how they navigate whatever challenges they bring.

Cosmetic Playlover

Farewell to this very pretty show whose story did not make much of an impression on me in the end. It never found a coherent relationship arc or gave us any foundation for this romance to hang onto, and it didn't live up to the dark and sexy tone of its original promotion. But it gave us a lot of beautiful visuals!

I Hear the Sunspot

We've now spent an entire month on repetitive side plots designed to separate and cause insecurity for Kohei and Taichi, and I am over it. I understand that the show is faithfully adapting the manga, but this is the thing about adaptations: when you switch to a new medium you have to adapt the work to fit the new format. When you read a manga you can speed through side plots designed to stretch out the story, but you can't do that in a weekly airing drama. And yes, I have seen the arguments that this is primarily a coming of age story about finding yourself, but it's not doing that well, either. This job falling out of the sky for Taichi and his boss—who we are meant to read as someone with good intentions—encouraging him to drop out of school immediately to work full-time is a strange development. That it once again set off a spiral of Kohei and Taichi feeling insecure about their friendship and misunderstanding each other only makes it worse. I understand the intention: we are supposed to be getting that Taichi is embarrassed about this job because it's tied to his still ill-defined feelings for Kohei. But they haven’t unpacked his hang ups with admitting (or understanding?) that he likes Kohei back enough for that to land. We've spent so much time sitting with Taichi's broody confusion without gaining any deeper insight into its source or seeing him grow, which makes all of this just feel like stalling instead of important character work.

Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

*sobs* Welp, the penultimate angst has definitely arrived. They distracted me with the possibility of dog death (Frito lives! THANK GOD) before sucker punching me with Mitsuya pre-emptively rejecting Ishida before their relationship could go further. And while I often roll my eyes at this kind of noble idiocy in the penultimate chapter of a romance, I think it's well-grounded in this story. Mitsuya has been worried about whether a relationship between them is right since he learned about Ishida's feelings, and on the heels of this blow about Frito's health and his sense that he burdened Ishida with this problem, he is feeling his age and his melancholy more than ever. He sees Ishida as a bright and beautiful young person that he would only drag down, and he does not yet understand that it was meeting him that brought this out in Ishida in the first place. The way he apologized and berated himself for asking Ishida to stay then hugged himself for that whole horrible conversation said it all. This also sets us up nicely for Ishida to finally make himself clear and do a classic jbl run next week (this show is ending too soon, I'm going to miss it so much). Thanks as always to @isaksbestpillow for providing her wonderful subs so we can all enjoy this beautiful drama. You can find the ep here.

Tagging @bengiyo to add this week's anime update.

[doodledork01]

CW: death/suicide mentioned

I’ve came to the realization that stolas’s actions throughout full moon and mastermind(and the entire show really) make so much more sense when you notice he fits almost all the boxes for suicidal ideation

We’ve seen him abuse substances like alcohol and pills enough to get called out on it. He dose risky behaviors like giving up his life in mastermind, as well as letting assassin imps try to kill him in the loo loo land episode and only really dose anything one tries to hurt via

Speaking of via, many people clocked his more distant attitude toward her then when she was a child as a sign of neglect but it becomes a tell sign of withdrawing from a loved one while contemplating suicide

Octavia is the only person stolas has cared about living for for years, thinking of her after nearly dieing instead of himself. Also the “you will be ok” song gets disturbing when you realize it’s an immortal singing about how his daughter will be fine when(not IF, when) he dies

The only time he’s not feeling suicidal is around blitz. And that falls apart with stolas self destruction, not willing to hear blitz out on in the full moon when he gets a hint of an excuse to withdraw from him as well, his mood shifting the next episode to push him away more

That episode also being the one time he actually tries opening up about it, saying he wants someone to love and “to care if I stay or go”,(the go part at this point feels like an easier way for him to say to kill himself). this also being with the person he thinks might love him

The only thing we haven’t seen him do is look up or find ways to die. You COULD count his songs “look my way”where he pictures himself drowning and “motherfucker” where he gets set on fire. But that might be a stretch…

(Also songs he sings about wanting to die in)

Also this isn’t something to take all the blame off of stolas, he still very ignorant of his classism and needs to fix that, but it’s crazy that no one picked up on this very clear pattern of self destruction and jumped to calling him manipulative and selfish

[cherrifire]

Fragment headcanons <3

For those who don't know, these are fragments:

Art credit: me ;)

They are caused by Watchers eating up a player's negative emotions and visualize as these cracks in the body.

Note: I'm going to slap all Double Life fragments onto the heart. It just makes sense. So this headcanon list will be for 3rd/Last/Limited unless there is a special difference (Grian + Pearl + Jimmy + Ren). Just so I don't have to write over the heart several times.

Grian

The only fragment he has stretches across the back of his hands from where he had to beat Scar to death in 3rd Life.

He keeps the Watchers off him for the rest of the series by bringing a silly and goofy vibe to the games though. They hate him so bad so they haven't given him any more fragments. They would rather just ignore him.

Scott

3rd Life fragment wraps around his head like a flower crown.

Last Life fragment hits him in the shoulder then another on the bottom of his foot, spreading inside his body like lightning. (Think Aang's scar from Avatar the Last Airbender)

Limited Life fragment on the left side of his back, giving him a fragment on both sides of his heart. This is due to how hard his heart would have been pounding every time he was hunted for sport.

Pearl

Last Life, Pearl is granted 6 lives and has a habit of using/giving those lives to help Scott, her closest ally. The fragment is small and over the heart.

Pearl's experience in Double Life with heartbreak was so intense, and since she already had a fragment over the heart, her fragment for that season ended up huge. The cracks over her heart are wide and bright. But the Watchers loved her so much they sent her back in even though she wasn't ready. Meaning she held onto her emotions for Tilly and had to be swapped out with Lizzie for an episode.

Limited Life fragment is placed between her eyes and above on her forehead. Like a third eye for being a nosey neighbour and watching.

Martyn (We actually get to see his fragments at the end of Lim Life.)

3rd Life fragment spreads down the cheek like tears for when he cried losing Ren.

Last Life, on the back. The backstabber was backstabbed. He was completely willing to betray Grian in order to get himself, Mumbo, Jimmy, and Impulse somewhere nicer. Somewhere safer. The end. Only for the Watchers to reveal that was never the case.

Limited Life, over the hand his weapon was held in in which he had to kill Scott twice with.

Jimmy

All of Jimmy's fragments spread across his back like canary wings.

Scar

3rd Life, spreads across his chest from where that first creeper blew him up. The first death. Seems rather fitting for the guy who can't keep his shirt on.

Last Life, through his mouth, built from all the lies he spoke.

Limited Life, matching placements with the Clockers on the right forearm like a family tattoo.

Joel

3rd Life, a few small cracks spread around like dog bites.

Last Life, one of the biggest fragments and spread through his entire body. For every kill he got, he got a matching crack as if he was the one who died. His insanity means he has axe, sword, arrow, explosion, and fall damage cracks because with each kill he got worse.

Limited Life, kind of hidden based on just how many cracks Joel has, but starts above his chest and out through the bottom of his foot. Another lightning scar.

Etho

3rd Life, cracks spread from his finger tips up from digging his hands in the dirt to plant dark oak saplings.

Last Life is hard to place a fragment. Because I know he would get one for never giving Bdubs one of his lives but I don't know where that would place on the body. Back of the head for not thinking? Over the heart for the ache of regret? I'm not sure.

Matching fragment with the Clockers but it's on the wrong arm (left).

Bdubs

Bdubs is similar to Grian to me in a case where he brings a very goofy mood to the series. So I want to say he doesn't have a fragment for 3rd Life. Like, he betrays Impulse with 0 remorse.

Last Life, on the back where Grian shot him. That was the moment he realized Etho didn't love him as much as he thought. Shot for doing what he asked and never receiving another life. Etho's name on the tip of his tongue as he dies alone.

Limited Life, Clocker fragment, right forearm.

BigB

3rd Life, similar to Etho, I'm not sure where to place this one. But I think BigB would have a fragment for loneliness. BigB spends a lot of time that season on his own. And it's not like other seasons with lonely characters. Last Life Joel + Scar, Double Life Pearl, etc etc, they all still sort of had someone. Like Joel and Scar still technically had each other + Pearl technically had Scott, Martyn, and Cleo. BigB is mostly just doing his own thing for a good portion of 3rd Life and doesn't join a team till late season.

Last Life, matching stab fragment with Cleo because his betrayal on her hurt just as badly for him.

Limited Life, matching third eye fragment with Pearl for being a nosey neighbour.

Impulse

It's so easy to betray this guy. Both 3rd and Limited Life fragments are on his back from being backstabbed by both Bdub and Martyn. Though, the one left by Bdubs in 3rd life is more prominent and fractured.

Impulse doesn't get a fragment for Last Life. He didn't do much this season and thankfully was able to avoid any huge heartbreak.

Skizz

I think... despite not being in Double Life, Skizz has a huge fragment over the heart. It's not massive like Pearl's despite all 3 fragments being there simply because Skizz is filled with so much love. Love for his teammates and love for even his enemies.

3rd Life, he dies for his nation. Rushing in because he's tired of his friend being pushed around. (I will also never be over how Skizz RAN to Dogwarts when he heard Martyn beheaded Ren. He thought Martyn had betrayed Ren and was ready to CATCH HANDS despite only being in golden armour.)

Last Life, even when team BEST kicks him out, he's sure to stop in the middle of his threats to tell Tango that he's on Skizz's good side. And even though he's mad at his team, when he dies, his ghost watches over them anyway. Being the only one to hear Bdub's final words.

Limited Life we of course got the affirmation station. And when his time was up, he let Etho kill him so his whole team could stay in the game just a little longer even if Skizz could have kept trying for another 20 minutes. He loves so much it kills him almost every time.

Tango

Fragment hidden in his hair for his rage (hot-headed).

For the most part, Tango goes under the radar for the Watcher. His deaths are anticlimactic and there's never enough drama for him. They only pay attention to him when he's angry and this neglect means he holds onto grudges and hosts a furious rage for most people who have hurt him the most. Bdubs constantly being the one to take his lives in Last Life and inflicting the first rage. Martyn just never being a positive presence for Tango's POV meaning he doesn't trust him one bit. Like. Tango is Martyn's most frequent victim with 4 kills.

Cleo

Another case where I'm unsure where to put it. I think Cleo would have a fragment from the stress she had to endure from stealing and hiding Pizza.

Last Life, Cleo gets a stag fragment on her back for being backstabbed by BigB. The thing that makes this fracture special is how it doesn't stay the same. The Watchers forgot to remove part of her negative feelings towards BigB after this betrayal. As the series goes on, this fragment gets bigger and bigger since Cleo never forgives BigB for this betrayal.

Limited Life, Clocker fragment, right forearm. Additionally, part of her Last Life fragment settles down thanks to her short swap with Gem.

Ren

A crack around the neck, fracturing from the back where Martyn beheaded him. Similar to Scar's explosion fragment being important because he's the first death of the series, I think this fragment is also significant since it's the first PvP kill. The first weapon drawn.

Like Skizz, Ren is also a lover. Filled with love, loyalty, and dedication to the people he cares about. His heart fracture spreads across his heart for the same reasons. He would lay his life on the line for his allies. And I think BigB leaving him for Grian broke him so much inside he couldn't return to Limited Life.

Lizzie

She wasn't built for this series. Wasn't built to be killed in cold blood by her soulmate Joel and his red life insanities. But she was healthy enough to be brought because just a little to stand in for Pearl.

Mumbo

He also wasn't built for this series. They snapped him in half bro. Being killed by Grian was too much.

If you disagree with anything or have any of your own ideas please let me know in the comments/tags <3

[inbarfink]

Okay, so here is my Thought…

It’s already being established that the majority of worlds in the AT Multiverse are born from wishes granted by Prismo. I mean, we know there are other types of alternative universes (Like Flapjack’s universe) - but Prismo’s exposition implies they are the exceptions and not the rule. And we already know the Wish that birthed Farmworld, and we even got a Word of God about Babyworld (a Wish made by BMO) but… 

Was Winterworld also born from someone’s wish?

While first watching the episode, I was wondering if that was a universe born from Ice King’s wish to, like, make Princess Bubblegum madly in love with him or something. But after all of the reveals at the end of the episode and thinking about it a bit more - I feel like this is unlikely. 

I mean for once, there is the question of how the ‘One Wish Per Person' rule works with the existence of a multiverse. Because we know our Simon also tried using his Prismo Wish

(And from their interactions in Episode 4 it seems like Prismo considers Ice King and Simon to be the same person, So a Wish made by Ice King would also count as the one Wish for Simon)

So like… if Ice King made a Wish with Prismo and then got teleported into Winterworld where his wish was granted and then like… a duplicate of him keeps going in Mainworld Ooo and that one’s actually the Simon we follow… would that Simon get his own Wish from Prismo? Or would the Winter King count as the separate Simon who didn’t waste his Wish yet? Finn has already used up his own Wish but his situation is kinda unique cause he, like, came back from being Farmworld Finn. I’m not sure about the rules here but I’m feeling like it shouldn’t work, Simon used up his one Wish failing to bring Betty back so that means he probably didn’t wish up Winterworld.

I don’t feel super-confident about that, but I feel a bit more sure of this next observation; Prismo says that the Wishes he grants, whatever he wants them to or not, always have some sort of a Monkey’s Paw or ironic twist thing going on. They never go quite right for the Wisher. And the Winter King was doing extremely well until our Free Radicals came along.

I mean… maybe the fact that Pre-Curse Simon would’ve been disgusted with the Winter King’s actions counts. Or maybe the implication is that with the Candy Queen’s recent ‘escalation’ he would’ve been killed sooner or later even without the Multiverse Trio’s intervention.

But… compared to how throughly and how quickly Farmworld went badly for Finn specifically- that honestly feels like a stretch. I think that if Winterworld was born from the Wish of any character - it was most likely Marceline.

She has all the motivation to Wish for Simon to have his memories and/or sanity back - and had it for the longest time out of all of his acquaintances. And if it was her Wish - then it sure as hell has gone extremely wrong for her. 

The woman that she loves has been doomed to the same torturous existence Simon has been trapped in alongside her entire kingdom. And Simon might have his sanity and identity again, but this vile man who willingly and knowingly condemned PB to a life of suffering in his stead is so much farther away from the kindly father figure Marceline remembers than Ice King the crazy old Wizard ever was.

And then he also stole Marceline's most beloved personal possessions and like… probably killed her and definitely replaced her with an icy duplicate who is forever the child he wants her to be. If this Wish is some sort of Ironic Monkey's Paw to anyone, I think Marceline makes the most sense. 

(I will give an honorable mention to Betty, because she also very much has the motivation and it is kinda weird we haven’t seen her try and save Simon with a Prismo wish. But I think that while, like, dying in the Mushroom War unmourned and unremembered by the man you did all of this for is a pretty miserable fate.... I still think that Marceline’s narrative fits the idea of cruel irony a lot better)

[nameless-jamie]

TARTT'S CORNER - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Episode Two: Off the Pitch

Y/N sat at her desk, fingers drumming against its edge as her eyes darted between the notes she'd meticulously prepared for the second episode of Striker’s Corner: Jamie Tartt Edition. The pages were filled with bullet points, stats, and conversation prompts, but none of them seemed to hold her focus. Her mind kept wandering back to the first episode—her big gamble.

The decision to have Jamie Tartt as her guest had felt risky at the time. Sure, he was one of AFC Richmond’s star players and undeniably popular, but he was also known for being… well, Jamie. Cheeky, arrogant, and unpredictable. She’d braced herself for disaster—cringeworthy one-liners, dodged questions, maybe even an early walkout if things went south. Instead, Jamie had completely blindsided her.

He’d been charming, sure, but there’d been more to him than she expected. Beneath the cocky grin and playful jabs, there were these brief, unguarded moments that hinted at a depth she hadn’t anticipated. The audience had picked up on it, too. Within hours of uploading the episode, her inbox was flooded with messages.

“Loved the chemistry between you two!” “That banter? Literal flames. You guys were flirting, right?” “Jamie Tartt has layers. Who knew? Also, when’s the next episode?”

And then there were the comments about the Bellingham interview—her previous viral moment, thanks to Jude’s on-air flirting. Somehow, the fans had decided her banter with Jamie was even heavier, sparking endless TikTok edits and Twitter threads dissecting every little exchange.

The response was overwhelming, but what stuck with her the most wasn’t the audience’s reaction. It was the way Jamie had looked at her during the recording—his blue eyes sparkling with mischief one moment and softening with something else entirely the next.

She leaned back in her chair, chewing her bottom lip as she stared at her notes. She’d been replaying that first episode in her head far more than she cared to admit, scrutinizing every word, every glance, every laugh.

Why are you even thinking about this so much?

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

But now, staring at the blank page in front of her, she felt a twinge of pressure. The first episode had been a success, but could she capture lightning in a bottle twice? Could she dig a little deeper this time without making him shut down completely?

The soft buzz of her phone cut through her overthinking. She glanced down at the message notification.

Jamie Tartt: On my way. Hope you’ve got snacks again.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she typed back a quick reply.

Y/N: Do you ever stop thinking about food? Roy told me to stop you from snacking.

The response came almost instantly.

Jamie Tartt: Not when it’s free, love. Roy can suck my 🍆. See you in a bit.

She set her phone down with a shake of her head, a faint smirk still lingering. How was it that he managed to make even a text conversation sound like he was standing there, smirking at her?

Fifteen minutes later, Jamie arrived, swaggering into her apartment like he owned the place.

"Alright, love?" he greeted, his grin wide and mischievous as he gave the room a quick once-over. His eyes immediately landed on the coffee table. "No cheese platter this time?"

Y/N folded her arms, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Didn’t realize I was running a restaurant."

"Shame," Jamie said with a mock sigh, plopping himself down on the couch. "That spread last time was class. Felt like I were on one of them posh cooking shows."

"Noted," she deadpanned. "Next time, I’ll roll out the red carpet and hire a butler."

Jamie chuckled, leaning back and stretching his arms along the couch's backrest. "Now you’re talkin’."

Y/N settled into the chair opposite him, rolling her eyes as she adjusted her laptop. "Alright, are you ready to get started, or do you need a snack first to fuel your ego?"

Jamie grinned, clearly in his element. "I already told you. I was born ready, babe."

Once the recording began, Y/N’s professional voice took over.

"Welcome back to Striker’s Corner. I’m your host, Y/N, and today we’re diving into episode two of our exclusive series with none other than AFC Richmond’s star striker, Jamie Tartt. Last time, we talked about his career highlights and his journey on the pitch. Today, we’re going a little deeper and exploring the man behind the goals. Jamie, thanks for coming back."

"Like I had a choice," Jamie quipped, his trademark smirk firmly in place.

"Always the charmer," Y/N shot back. "Alright, let’s start from the beginning. You’ve been in the spotlight for most of your career, but let’s rewind. What was life like before the fame?"

Jamie’s smirk faltered slightly, and he shifted in his seat. "Before the fame, yeah?" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "It were… different. Grew up in Manchester. Proper council estate. Weren’t much money, but we got by."

Y/N nodded, her tone softening. "Was football always the dream?"

Jamie leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. "Always, yeah. Me mum used to say I kicked a ball before I could walk. Played in the street with the other kids. But it weren’t just a dream—t'was an escape, y’know? Somethin’ to focus on."

"And your dad?" Y/N asked cautiously, acutely aware she was treading on sensitive ground.

Jamie’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought she’d overstepped. But instead, he let out a bitter laugh. "Me dad… well, he’s a piece of work, innit? You’ve seen the stories."

"Only the headlines," Y/N admitted. "But I’d rather hear it from you."

Jamie studied her for a moment, his eyes searching hers as though deciding whether or not to trust her. Her warm eyes made him feel at ease. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

"He was always pushin’ me, y’know? Nothin’ was ever good enough. Scored two goals, he’d ask why it weren’t three. Got a contract, he’d say it should’ve been bigger. It messed with me head for a long time."

Y/N felt her chest tighten at the vulnerability in his voice. "That’s a lot to carry, especially as a kid."

"Yeah," Jamie said quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But it made me who I am, I guess. Don’t mean I forgive him for all the shit he pulled, but… it is what it is."

The room fell into a brief silence, the weight of Jamie’s words lingering in the air.

Y/N cleared her throat gently, shifting the conversation. "You’ve mentioned your mum a few times. She sounds like she’s been a big influence."

Jamie’s face softened instantly, a genuine smile breaking through the tension. "Yeah, me mum’s the best. Proper legend. She was always there, y’know? Givin’ me packed lunches, showin’ up to matches, cheerin’ louder than anyone else. Dunno where I’d be without her."

Y/N smiled back, her voice warm. "Sounds like she’s your biggest fan."

"She is," Jamie said with a grin. "And she’s always tellin’ me to be nice to people, so… guess that’s why I’m here. Shoutout to me mum. I luv you. She's listening to this, you know."

“Misses Tartt, your son is lovely, well done!” Y/N smiled into her microphone, then she turned towards Jamie and raised an eyebrow. "Doing my podcast out of the goodness of your heart, huh?"

"Exactly," Jamie said, his grin turning cheeky.

The rest of the episode continued in a similar vein, Jamie oscillating between humor and surprising depth. They discussed his struggles with self-doubt, the pressures of fame, and even how he’d dealt with his reputation in the media.

"It’s funny," he said at one point, his tone contemplative. "How people think they know you just from readin’ some tabloid headline. Like, yeah, I used to be a prick, but that ain’t all I am, y’know?"

Y/N nodded thoughtfully, her voice soft. "Do you feel like you’re constantly trying to prove people wrong?"

Jamie shrugged, though his expression was pensive. "Sometimes. But I’ve learned not to care too much what people think. The only opinions that matter are the ones from people who actually know me."

Y/N was struck by his honesty. For all his exterior and cheek, Jamie Tartt was far more complex than she’d anticipated.

“Jamie Tartt, the man that you are. Are you gonna say a proper goodbye to my listeners this time?” Y/N sarcastically fake-swooned at him.

Jamie rolled his eyes at her, understanding the sarcasm. “Ye’ Alright, goodbye dear football nerds. I will definitely see you next episode. I’m definitely not being forced to be here!”

“JAMIE!!! Ok guys, that’s it for today, don’t trust this crazy lying footballer. And we’ll hear from you next week, Jamie Tartt. Out of your own free will !“

By the time they wrapped up the episode, the atmosphere felt lighter, like they'd both let down walls without fully realizing it. Jamie stretched his arms above his head, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips.

"That episode weren’t half bad either, eh?"

"You’re getting better at this," Y/N admitted, already shutting off her equipment.

Jamie rose from the couch and grabbed his jacket draped over the armrest. "Right then, I’ll let you get back to whatever it is podcasters do when they’re not grillin’ footballers for all their secrets."

He started to head for the door, but Y/N felt a sharp pang in her chest, like the room would feel oddly empty without him there. Her brain scrambled, flipping through excuses to make him stay. She didn't want the evening to end just yet, but why?

Say something. Anything.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Do you drink wine?"

Jamie froze mid-step, turning back to her with an expression that was equal parts confusion and amusement. "Do I… drink wine?" he repeated, cocking his head.

Y/N felt her face flush, her heart racing as she realized how ridiculous she must sound. "I—I just meant… I have wine? If you… like it? Or want some?"

The corner of Jamie’s mouth twitched as he fought back a laugh. "So what you’re sayin’ is… you don’t want me to leave just yet?"

Y/N’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Caught. Absolutely caught.

Jamie stepped closer, his grin softening into something teasing yet oddly kind. "Alright, love. I’ll stay for a glass of wine. Wouldn’t wanna offend you by refusin’, would I?"

She rolled her eyes, trying to mask the nervous flutter in her chest. "God forbid you do something polite."

Jamie chuckled, tossing his jacket back onto the couch. "You pourin’, or should I help meself?"

They ended up sitting at her small dining table, glasses of red wine in hand. It started light, like they hadn’t just been pouring their souls into a podcast.

"So, let’s grill you a bit then, podcast babe" Jamie asked, swirling his glass with surprising finesse, "do you ever actually watch football, or is this just a gig for you?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "I’m a podcaster for football. What do you think?"

Jamie smirked. "Yeah, but some people just talk about it without watchin’. Like pundits. Bunch of 'em have no clue what they’re on about."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "I’ll have you know I’ve watched football religiously since I was a kid. Played in school, too."

"Really?" Jamie leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. "What position?"

"Defender," she said proudly.

Jamie snorted. "Defender? Nah, you’d get eaten alive these days. No offense, but you don’t exactly scream ‘brick wall.’"

"I was aggressive," Y/N retorted, a spark of competitive pride lighting her eyes. "And strategic. Not everyone can be a cocky striker, Jamie."

He raised his glass in mock salute. "Fair enough."

The conversation drifted naturally from football to lighter topics. Movies, favorite snacks, embarrassing moments. It was easy, their laughter filling the small apartment. But somewhere along the way, the conversation deepened.

"So… no one ever backed you on this whole podcast thing?" Jamie asked, swirling the last of his wine.

Y/N stared at her glass, running her thumb along its rim. "No. Not really." She took a deep breath. "My parents are both lawyers. Big-shot, prestigious types. To them, this—" she gestured vaguely around the room, "—is just a phase. A hobby I’ll grow out of. I could interview Lionel Messi himself and they would still think I'm a joke."

Jamie frowned. "That’s harsh."

"Yeah, well." Y/N shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "It’s why we don’t talk anymore. They think I wasted my potential, and I think they’re… insufferable. So, win-win."

Jamie studied her, his expression unusually serious. "That’s shit, though. You’re proper good at what you do. Like, really good." And you have the prettiest smile. He thought.

Y/N smiled, a small, grateful curve of her lips. "Thanks."

Jamie nodded, taking a sip before changing the heavy subject. "So what about Keeley and Roy? Seems like you also know them pretty well. They’re really great together, yeah?"

Y/N’s grin widened. "Keeley’s the reason I even started this podcast. She was the first person who believed in me, We’re childhood friends, we go waaay back. And Roy… well, Roy’s Roy. Grumpy teddy bear who’ll secretly do anything for you. That’s how I experienced him at least. Roy and I do brunch every other Sunday."

“Fucking Brunch. With Roy Kent. You’re a box full of bloody surprises, you know that, right?” Jamie chuckled. "Jesus Christ, that sounds about right. That’s what I love about ‘em too, though. They’re always there for ya. Never seen Roy as soft with someone, as he's with you or Keeley."

“Yeah, he’s an old softy. Told me all his deepest darkest secrets, about love, family …and the first murder he ever committed. That’s why we’re so close.” Y/N looked Jamie deep in the eye while saying it, then broke character as a big ole’ chuckle bubbled up, at Jamie’s disturbed look. “I’m fucking kidding. Roy is just as gruff with me as he is with everyone else. I don’t want to know anything about his murder business, nor do I know anything about his love business.”

The mention of love lingered in the air longer than either of them intended. Y/N, feeling bold from the wine, tilted her head curiously. "And what about your ‘love business’, Tartt? You seem like the type who’d have no trouble finding someone."

Jamie smirked, leaning back in his chair. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means you’re… you," Y/N said, gesturing vaguely at him. "Confident, funny, good-looking. Surely you’ve got women throwing themselves at you."

Jamie’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. "Yeah, but that don’t mean much, does it? I’ve had all that, and it’s just… empty."

Y/N blinked, surprised by his honesty. "So why are you single?"

"Why are you single?" Jamie countered, his tone shifting back to cheeky, but his eyes stayed on her, sharp and curious.

“How do you know I’m single?” she teased him. Jamie raised his eyebrows at that.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I am single. As single as one can be. It’s because of work, mostly. It’s hard to date when your schedule is insane. And even when I do get asked out, which I don’t get often, it’s always weird." She hesitated, debating whether to share.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. He knew that it must be a lie, a girl like her gets asked out at least thrice a week. Acting all humble in front of him right now. "Weird, like how?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "Like, for example Jude Bellingham asked me out mid-podcast. And yes, I had to cut that part out. But he did it in such a weird way. He asked me out and it was so rushed and unromantic. So uncomfortable."

Jamie’s face instantly twisted into mock offense. "Bellingham? Really? The lad can’t even keep the ball under control half the time. And he’s a proper fuckboy, too. Not good enough for you."

Y/N burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God, are you jealous, Tartt?"

Jamie rolled his eyes, though a faint blush betrayed him. "Jealous? Nah. Just got high standards for you, is all."

Y/N’s laughter faded into a softer smile. "Thanks… I think. You’re still my favorite cocky premier league footballer. Don’t worry."

They stayed up late, the wine forgotten as their conversation meandered into heavier topics, lighter jokes, and moments of quiet understanding. And somewhere between the laughter and the honesty, Y/N realized something that both thrilled and terrified her: she was starting to feel something for Jamie Tartt.

She glanced at him, catching the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, and suddenly her chest felt a little tighter.

Jamie, meanwhile, found himself lingering on the way her smile lit up the room. He’d always thought she was sharp and quick-witted, but this was different. She was… special.

Neither said a word about the shift in the air, too scared to ruin whatever it was that had started to grow between them. For now, they’d settle for laughter, conversation, and the quiet thrill of knowing they’d found something in each other neither of them expected.