#also his screen was “messed up” during that time and we never saw the pie chart

[coffeegnomee]

just thinking about it, is pie chart just banned or did they literally remove the pie chart from the debug menu?

Because I vaguely remember Zam implying it was gone gone, but that might've just been because he was on the tiny keyboard and literally couldn't open it up

[ender-baggins]

Just watched 14x13 Lebanon.

Will preface with the fact that this was a bit of my commentary on the previous episode, and that I do think John Winchester was a crap parent

Lebanon was a pretty good episode, actually. I know some people hate it, and I started off prepared to seethe every moment that John was on screen. but then I managed to get one foot out of the John-crit zone and put it in Sam and Dean’s shoes, and looking at it from both perspectives? The episode has a lot of nuance to it.

Spoilers for this 14x13 Lebanon (obviously)

Overall I think the most important thing to remember about this episode: the theme is that some things are too good to be true.

I knew which episode it was, but I was surprised because I thought it has been in season 15, and then John didn’t show up for a while, so I thought I was wrong until the Pearl came up.

I gotta hand it to Jensen. When John appeared, there were so many emotions packed into Dean’s face in that first short scene, I had to rewatch it several times to get them. Part of it was simple shock, but I could also see… something a little like panic in his face, along with Waay too many emotions for me to name.

The conversation between Sam and John was… I started off mad and then focused more on Sam’s perspective and realized that… yeah, Sam isn’t the same person he was last time he saw his dad. And he didn’t get closure. He never got a chance to get real closure on it, and then here, he did, at least in some form.

Also, interesting thing I noticed- I could see the beginnings of how it could turn into another argument, and John said something that seemed a little accusatory, “you didn’t have a problem talking about it before you left,” and then Sam was like “nope, not gonna argue, not gonna do it, REDIRECTING-“ Which, after what Dean said in the scene before—

—Sam doesn’t want to mess this up for Dean. No way is he gonna start a fight, not now, not when they just got their dad back.

I don’t like the last line of Sam and John’s conversation: “But you did your best, dad. You – you fought for us, and you loved us, and… that’s enough.” Because honestly- it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t. And… dammit he could have done better. But then again, that’s Sam’s dad, and he’s been dead for over a decade, and sometimes people tend to put rose-colored glasses on over the past. So I’ll still happily condemn John’s parenting but I won’t condemn Sam just because he’s unable to see things for what they are in this case.

Now- my absolute favorite part of this entire episode is the section of Sam and Dean going to get groceries and noticing things are changed, and realizing “oh shit, what else is different?”

One, gotta love Dean for implying that Sam being a kale nut is a worse thing than Dean being considered a serial killer by society (which, it’s not like society is wrong??). Like, ah yes, wonderful priorities there, Dean. You’re a wanted killer with your face up in the town, but clearly Sam giving a lecture about the wonders of kale is a much worse thing. (If you can’t tell, I’m being incredibly sarcastic here)

And then here. Castiel’s appearance. I was screeching watching this. Completely freaking out- so much adrenaline. I bet if I’d taken my pulse it would have been skyrocketing-

This was followed by the scene of Castiel and Zachariah in the restaurant, which was Awesome, very clearly highlighting the difference that Dean and the Winchesters made in Cas’s life (later this will be relevant in the Confession - “You changed me, Dean”).

*cue me posting an unnecessary amount of screenshots*

Castiel unfurls his wings—

(Note the messy hair from flying around everywhere. Not the same as his old haircut, but they did what they could with Misha’s hair at the time)

Notice that Dean’s got the angel blade point down, and when he attacks Castiel, he’s using the blunt end to hit him, not the sharp end

(On the other hand, Sam uses the sharp end of the blade to swipe at Castiel. No judgement from me here, Sam sees this as “not our Cas” while Dean still sees this as “my Cas, I can talk him away from Heaven again.”)

Then, the most interesting thing here- when Cas pins Dean agains the wall, Dean’s not even trying to fight Cas here.

See how his hand settles on Castiel’s chest? Not really pressing, just touching. His other hand is gripping Castiel’s wrist, I imagine to try to remove enough pressure from his neck that he can speak. Trying to use his connection to Cas to get Castiel to stop hurting him. And it doesn’t work. Castiel stares him the eyes, not even a flicker of doubt or questioning.

You’ll note that I referred to alternate Castiel in this episode as exclusively “Castiel” and not “Cas.” Because it’s not Cas. Cas is the angel that saved Dean from Hell, and the angel that’s been by Dean’s side for 11 years (at this point in time). And this Castiel has not done that. So he is not Cas.

I’m reminded of the scene wayy back in season 5 where Cas beats Dean up in the alley for trying to give up and give in to Michael. There, Dean actually encouraged Cas to kill him, at the end, and Cas softens. Can’t exactly parse out the parallels there because my brain isn’t working, but there you go.

Now, probably my favorite conversation with John is this one, with Dean.

Right here. The way that Dean says “I have a family.”

It feels almost defiant. “I do have a family. I have Sam, Cas, Mom, Jack. My mother, my brother, my best friend… and I have a son, we all have a son. And beyond that, I’ve got Jody and Donna and Claire and the girls. I do have a family. Yeah, it doesn’t look like the apple pie life, the white picket fence, wife and kids, and yeah, our son is the child of Lucifer, and yeah, I’m in love with my best friend who’s an angel in a man’s body, and I wouldn’t trade him for any woman, and you’d hate that. But they’re my family. And I’m good with that.”

It’s proud, it’s a little defiant, it’s also a little bit of a reassurance, as we see from John’s smile afterward. I don’t think John caught the hint of a challenge in there.

I loved that moment. That might be my favorite line in the entire episode. “I have a family.”

I also like… Dean’s acceptance, “I’m good with who I am.” Part of that… I think it’s both a good thing and a sad thing and also a half lie at the same time. I think he’s good with who he is, in the sense that he’s accepted that he and Sam are the people that have to fill this role in the world, y’know, saving everyone. I think he loves the people he’s with, he loves his family and wouldn’t trade them for anything, not even having John back. No way would he ever trade Cas or Jack or Sam, or Mary, for anything else, ever.

It’s sad, though, because it’s like… he can’t imagine who he’d be if he had a different life. Yes, he’s had a few runs at an apple-pie life, but they weren’t happy, there was always something wrong nagging at him. He… I think he believes there’s no way for him to be happy, and that this is the best he could have.

I’m not even sure how to analyze the goodbye scene. I mean, the clearest thing here is just so much grief from everyone. They got a taste of their father back, and now he has to go back to being dead. There’s so many complicated feelings for both of the brothers, because of the complicated relationship with John, but in the end? They can’t help but love him, and they can’t help but feel grief at losing him. I won’t fault them for that.

In short, I wanna give Dean a gigantic hug and also give him therapy-

And then Cas coming back to the bunker when he did. I bet he sensed something and headed back to the bunker as fast as he could. Also, no clue what he experienced during the whole “Castiel and Zachariah are alive” thing. I imagine it’s possible there were two Cas’s running around for a bit? Because Mary didn’t get affected by the pearl. And Sam was there with his own memories, despite there being videos up of him doing things in the parallel universe. As for Cas, he’s part of Dean’s group of “people” so my guess is two Castiels running around for a little bit.

I like how Dean looks at Cas at the end. He’s relieved to have his angel back.

In summary-

The theme of this episode is “some things are too good to be true.” John came back, the four of them got their moment together, but John couldn’t stay. Things were good for that single afternoon, because everyone was just happy to see each other again, but it sent so much stuff into chaos that it couldn’t last, it had to be undone. And even then, if they’d tried to keep going with it, I know it would have degraded, the illusion of perfection would shatter, and they’d fall into old habits, old arguments and new ones.

And so it had to end.

[pennamesmith]

For Want of a Skeletor

Entrapta hosts a Princess Alliance meeting at the Crypto Castle and absolutely nothing goes wrong. More Skeletor stories!

*

The lights were on late in Dryl. 

Stars shone outside the windows. Entrapta sat hunched over her desk, studying datapads and readouts. A polite cough from the laboratory door caused her to look up from her work.

“Oh! I’m sorry Hordak, did I wake you?”

Her partner stepped softly into the room and shook his head. “Imp did. You know how he gets when either of us take too long to come to bed.” 

Hordak crossed the cluttered floor and joined Entrapta at the desk. He was holding Imp in his arms, and the smaller, winged clone whined plaintively when he saw her. Entrapta kept her screens on, but leaned gratefully into Hordak’s side and curled a tendril of hair around his waist. She yawned, despite herself. 

“I know. I just want to make sure I get everything right before the other princesses come over tomorrow.” She glanced back at the data, nervously tapping her fingertips together. “I’ve never hosted an Alliance meeting before! And this rescue will be our biggest mission since… well, you know. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

Hordak smiled. “Your diligence is admirable. But I also seem to recall someone telling me that imperfections are beautiful.”

Entrapta stuck out her tongue. “No fair.” 

“I’m afraid the science is sound. Come to bed, my dear.” 

The scientist scoffed, but she did not protest when Hordak gathered her up in his arms. She wrapped more of her hair around him, and Imp settled sleepily in the resulting nest. Entrapta could already feel herself drifting. 

“You will be a shining star tomorrow,” Hordak promised, as he carried his family back to rest. 

“Tomorrow,” echoed Imp.

*

The next day saw the Crypto Castle’s largest meeting room filled with princesses, dignitaries, and other honorary Alliance members. While Scorpia and Perfuma admired the tiny refreshments laid out for everyone, Mermista split her time between groaning at Sea Hawk’s boasts and trying every available chair to find the most comfortable one. Glimmer and Bow stepped uneasily around the edges of the room, watching carefully for anything that might be a trap, and Frosta followed their lead. Netossa and Spinnerella tried their best to find a chair Swift Wind could sit in. 

Adora and Catra, wearing increasingly baffled expressions, were conversing with two domestic-looking robots who sat at the head of the table next to Entrapta. One was tall and skinny, and the other wore a welded-on handlebar mustache. 

“Entrapta has parents?” Catra was asking, her face a galaxy of disbelief. 

“Adopted, technically. Or adapted,” the skinnier bot explained. “We’re Entrapta’s parental units. She built us when she was six. You must have seen the painting in the foyer.” 

“Yeah, we’ve been here pretty much the whole time,” the mustachioed model added. “You kids sure made a racket during your last few visits. What was that all about?” 

“Uh,” Adora faltered. 

To her immense relief, Hordak swept into the room at that very moment, flanked by Imp, Emily, and the reprogrammed Horde drone Entrapta had dubbed ‘Skeletor.’ 

“Welcome, everyone,” Hordak boomed, bringing the gathering to a respectful hush. 

“Witless fools! I’m in charge now! And if you know what’s good for you you’ll do as I say!” Skeletor shouted. 

Hordak scowled and shooed the fussing robot away from the table. “Pay no mind to that one,” he grumbled once he’d regained the floor. “Now then. Please allow me the honor of introducing the unparalleled mind who has made this operation possible, Princess Entrapta.” 

“Thank you all for coming!” Entrapta started, while everyone took their seats. “I know you’re all excited about what we’re planning, but there’s still a lot of preparation to do before we can take off. As the chief science officers for this mission, it’s vital that Hordak and I gather as much data on your abilities as possible! Interdimensional travel is severely unpredictable and —” 

“Hold on,” Mermista interrupted. “Exactly how high are the chances of us getting mutated by cosmic space energy or whatever? Because I only want cool mutations, not gross ones.” 

“Maybe thirty, thirty-five percent?” Entrapta guessed. She shrugged. “A lot of this is theoretical. You guys will be like my guinea pigs! By which I mean the small robotic animals in the castle I protect and care for. And experiment on, sometimes.” 

She laughed heartily. Glimmer and Bow shared a nervous glance. Perfuma turned slightly green. 

Entrapta regained her composure and pointed back to the display board. “Ahem. Anyway, the good news is we already know some things about where we’re going! Probably.” She shuffled her notes, gaining confidence as she spoke.

“Before Adora found the Sword of Protection, historians debated ancient records of She-Ra. Some claimed she was called ‘Her-Ra’ and fought for the ‘Power of Grayskull.’ But I theorize that what those archaeologists actually uncovered was evidence of —”

“I have a question!” Frosta yelled. “Will there be hunky guys in the other dimension? I’m asking for a friend.”

“It’s funny you mention that, actually,” Entrapta replied. “Listen, just let me finish and…” 

Unfortunately, anxious impatience had already gripped the assembled Alliance members. They clamored with questions, all talking at the same time. Entrapta shrank back in her seat and pulled her welding mask down, seeming to reach for something under the table. 

Hordak stood up. Just as it looked like he was about to do something violent, a loud alarm sounded and the lights in the room flashed red. 

“Uh-oh.” Entrapta glanced around at the assembled company. “Um, get ready to tuck and roll everybody!”

“Get ready to what?” Mermista cried out, but it was already too late. Multiple trap doors swung open across the meeting room floor, and with flailing limbs and startled shouts the guests were sent tumbling down chutes in every direction. In moments they had all vanished.

“I always feel so much better after doing something bad!” Skeletor cackled. “Now we begin phase two!” 

*

Adora and Catra, who had clung to each other as they fell, landed with a bump in a darkened, underground space. As soon as they arrived, bright lights flickered to life and a huge screen lit up against the wall. 

Entrapta’s face appeared on the monitor, larger than life. “Oh good! You’re alive,” she chirped when she saw the other two. 

Adora clambered to her feet. “Entrapta! What’s going on?” 

The scientist glanced away. “Well, I guess Skeletor didn’t like that we were ignoring him. So he stole my map of the castle and activated the security systems! Which means we’re all lost in the labyrinth until I can catch him. Isn’t that great?” 

“It’s something,” Catra groaned, rubbing her head. 

“Exactly! Now, without my map I can’t come find you. But if you can make it through the traps, the hallway you’re in should take you back to the meeting room. Then you’ll be safe until I can fix things!” 

The screen dimmed again before Catra or Adora could protest. Left with few other options, they turned to get a good look at whatever dangers lay ahead. 

They were standing at one end of a long corridor. Square blocks floated along its length, suspended in midair with anti-gravitational tech. An interrogative punctuation mark flashed on one, while a squat robot with painted-on angry eyebrows shambled slowly back and forth beneath it. 

Catra took it all in. “You have got to be kidding.” 

Adora had already drawn her sword and begun to venture forward. Catra was about to follow her, when something made her ears flick. A suspicious frown crossed her face.

“Hey, Adora!” Catra called. “Listen!” 

“What?” 

Catra pressed her ear to the wall. “There! Do you hear that?” 

“Obviously not,” Adora huffed. “Now stop dawdling, the first puzzle looks pretty easy.” 

Catra stayed where she was. “Hold on a second. This part of the castle feels familiar. I remember walking through here back when, uh, back when it was still Horde territory.” She coughed awkwardly, and then reached up to tilt the frame of a big-eyed kitten painting. “Look!” 

Something clicked and the wall slid open, revealing a new passageway. Distinctive laughter could be heard coming from the other end of it. A purple neon sign reading “Secret Entrance!!!” buzzed to life. 

Adora sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“One time Entrapta had me and Scorpia over for a life-size Snakemen and Ladders game that got a little out of hand,” Catra explained as they entered the tunnel. At the far end there was a brightly lit office; inside, it was filled with laboratory equipment, video monitors, and a humble but dignified desk. 

Hordak was sitting at the desk, in what appeared to be a smaller version of his old Fright Zone throne. It swiveled. Entrapta was sitting on the desk, and she waved as the other couple entered. 

“Myaah! Sleep gas and stun-rays only, my evil minions!” muttered Skeletor, who was busy working the video monitors. On closer inspection, Adora realized that each of them showed some of the other princesses as they traversed the castle labyrinth. 

“Welcome to mission control!” Entrapta sang, spreading her arms wide. “Hordak didn’t think you’d find us, but I had a hypothesis you might.” 

“It was a ruse!” Adora gasped, scandalized. “You’re not lost at all!” 

“You really need to hang out with Entrapta more if that still surprises you,” Catra observed. She looked at the monitors. “Ah, are they gonna be okay?” 

“Better than!” Entrapta sprang off the desk, hanging by her hair as she showed off multiple datapads. “Everyone was getting a little… distracted upstairs, so I just decided to speed things up a teensy bit! The princesses using their powers to escape the maze will let me get all the readings we need, and then we can have a nice little party! I had the baker make tiny cakes.” 

“I made sure Hordak’s doomberry pie was especially tasty!” Skeletor piped up. 

“And it’s all perfectly safe!” Entrapta promised. Discreetly, a ribbon of hair reached out to push a blinking button. On the monitors, Mermista and Sea Hawk were rescued from a robot shark attack by a convenient change of the currents. 

“This is hilarious,” Catra laughed, looking more closely. On one of the screens, Swift Wind was gleefully running loop-de-loops along a curving racetrack. “I think they’re actually having fun in there. Can we stay and watch?” 

“I’m afraid not,” Hordak said. She-Ra’s — and your — assessment is the most important of all. But we’d love to have you over to the castle for dinner soon. Shall we say eight o’clock next week?” 

“That sounds nice!” Adora chimed, before Catra could stop her. 

“Splendid. I’ll cook,” Hordak concluded. Then he pressed a button on his desk, and a trapdoor sent the younger women plummeting through the floor. 

Catra and Adora yelped in surprise, only for their fall to be cut short by an enormous pile of pillows on the level below. They struggled to their feet. Another corridor stretched away in front of them, filled with further challenges. Floating gold coins, each about four feet tall, indicated a pathway. 

“Try not to have too much fun,” Hordak called good-naturedly as the trapdoor slid shut. 

“Use the warp zone! It’s faster!” Entrapta added. 

“Have a nice trip down!” said Skeletor. 

*

Hordak settled back in his chair (it had soft armrests, and a cushion for lumbar support) and watched his partner at work. Entrapta flitted from screen to screen, taking notes and making adjustments. On one display, Bow and Glimmer had met up with Netossa and Spinnerella while navigating a cage minefield. On another, Frosta was making an ice bridge to help Perfuma and Scorpia cross a slow-moving spike trap. 

“I’m sorry you had to use your backup plan. They really are utter fools if they ever doubted your genius,” Hordak mused. 

“Different people have different strengths and weaknesses,” Entrapta replied, without looking up from her work. “And a good scientist collaborates whenever they can! Even if that requires a little creativity sometimes.” 

Hordak nodded. “Fair enough. Nevertheless, I would not blame you if you wished to have nothing more to do with the Princess Alliance. Even their attempts to help you can seem… insensitive. You’re not obligated to forgive that.” 

Skeletor looked up from his control panel and shook a fist. “Don’t you get awfully tired of being a hero all the time? Don’t you ever feel like doing something evil?” 

“They’re trying to be good friends,” Entrapta defended. “And so am I. And if I really did need their help, maybe things would be different. But I’ve got it all under control!” 

She vaulted across the room, flipping switches and turning dials along the way. On the monitors, Perfuma’s fall from a tall platform was gently broken by a sudden anti-gravitational field. 

“Besides, forgiveness isn’t always about the person being forgiven. It’s also about taking back potential energy that was lost.” 

“Did you learn that in my brother’s therapy group?” Hordak asked. 

Entrapta smirked. “Actually, he got it from me.” 

A pleasant ding sounded and Entrapta clapped her hair. “Hooray, everyone made it back! I’ll calculate the high scores and then we can continue the social experiment!” 

“You astonish me every day,” Hordak purred as he rose to follow her. Entrapta put out her hand, and he took it. 

“Wait for me!” Skeletor cried out. “You might get lost by yourself!” 

*

One week later, a much smaller gathering of royals met in Dryl. 

Catra and Adora sat together in one of the Crypto Castle’s least intimidating dining rooms, listening with barely-contained delight as Entrapta’s parental units thoroughly embarrassed their former boss. 

“...And so I said to him, ‘I have charging ports Hordak, can you download raw data offa me?’ Ha! Oh, you shoulda seen his face!” 

Hordak slouched in his chair. “I do not think we need to bore our guests with the details of this particular story,” he protested, feebly. 

“Oh, I’m not bored at all! I want to hear everything,” Catra said. She leaned forward, grinning. “So, was this before or after you hooked him up to the lie detector?” 

Entrapta giggled, and gave Hordak a gentle pat on the shoulder as she reached for another helping of his tiny quiche. All things considered, the night was going surprisingly well. 

It was exactly what Entrapta wanted. 

After dinner, wheeled bots carted away the leftovers and dirty dishes. Hordak poured coffee for himself and Adora, and the parental units retired to wherever it was they lived in the cavernous castle. Entrapta, lost in thought as usual, felt a familiar feline presence approach her. 

“Thank you,” Catra said, sincerely. “Not just for this. For everything. For being so nice all the time. For making this mission happen. It means a lot to me.” 

Entrapta smiled softly. “To me, too. Everyone makes mistakes. It would be a shame not to learn from them when we can.” 

“Did you say something?” Skeletor squawked, suddenly materializing in the doorway. 

Entrapta, unbothered, immediately produced a datapad. “Oh we’re just talking about the big rescue mission! Actually, you should probably take a look at my data, Skeletor. I haven’t told you much yet, and we might need you!” She held the blinking screen out happily. 

Skeletor looked at the datapad. At first he seemed confused; then he boggled as he registered the information in front of him. “Eternia?” he gasped in disbelief. “Grayskull?” 

His voice rose to a fevered pitch. “He-Man!”

For once, Skeletor had no words. He shrieked incomprehensibly instead, fists shaking. 

Hordak chuckled. “It’ll be just like the old days!” 

Skeletor screamed. 

[ecclais-fouoras]

Sometimes moving on is good

Chapter 3&4

The two of you met often for drinks and chatting, while you exchanged a few messages.

You : Hey😝✌️ what is up ? I haven't heard from you today, is everything ok? Btw i finished your recipe but the cake 🍰 was not looking good😭🤣

Diane : hi, sorry i was busy with work. what happened with the cake? Oh i know you must have overcooked it, i used to do that all the time at first. What does btw mean? And why are there little faces on my phone ?

You :🤣oh honey...those are smileys you use that to had emotions to texts. AND Btw means by the way, everybody knows that diane.

Diane: haha ! Well I don't, anyways I finally finished the book you handed me last time.

You: OMG ALREADY??? IN 3 DAYS ! did you at least like it?

Diane: i did especially because of Jude’s past. Oh, and then Jude’s present, because sometimes life just keeps knocking people down, even when they’ve already suffered more than anyone ever should.

You: yes ohh it was so sad. I almost shead a tear. Which does not happen often !

Especially when reading... But I'm glad you liked it.😘

Diane: well i did the writing was really good, and the plot was interesting, what do you mean especially when you read ?

You: well... I always have trouble connecting to a book, especially when I have to read it, AND WHEN IT'S LONNNG🤣

In all seriousness I just have a hard time reading for as long as I can remember.

Diane: oh...why is that??

You: well I was diagnosed with An Oral and Written Language Learning Disability with impairment in reading and a specific reading comprehension deficit years ago. So basically my brain don't wORK.

Diane: i apologise that was intrusive of me

You: oh no don't worry I'm fine with talking about it, it's not that big of a deal, it doesn't stop me from messing up your cake🤭😭.

Diane: 😂 you'll do better next time don't worry. Do you know what are the causes ? You don't have to answer. It's just, well medicine interests me a lot.

You: apparently an abnormal cortical development, that occurs before or during the sixth month of fetal brain development, may have Abnormal cell formation known as ectopias, and more rarely, vascular micro-malformations, and microgyrus.

It's all big words but yeah those are the latest studies about dyslexia sais.

Diane: oh okay, i never thought it was actually physical, it's good to know

you: me neither until I searched it ! Even if I had it🤣. Sorry i gotta go I'm gonna be late for work !

Diane : sure, have fun! well Don't have fun...you know what I mean

Goodbye y/n.

When you got back from work you directly went on your phone hoping that diane sent you a message just so you'd have an excuse to talk to her. You had just seen her a few days before but somehow you still missed her, and little did you know she was missing you too.

After a few weeks you grew closer, and she invited you over for lunch or brunch, but tonight, you were going out. Together. You had asked her on a date a few days before.

"Hi Diane ? Yes it's me I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me on Friday ?...mmm...yes well I know a great place next to the cinema... Totally we can go out to the movies and then diner...what do you want to see ? Okay, cool see you then."

Yes, you were neighbors, you could've asked her in person, but you didn't want to be rejected face to face, it seamed easier to do on the phone.

And tonight was the night, the movie didn't start until a few hours, but you had already started getting ready. You picked up a nice outfit, Classy but casual, and put on just a little make up.

On the other side of the road diane was also starting to prepare, she was -not gonna lie- overall a bit anxious, why did you ask her out? Was it a date ? No it couldn't be, you'd never think of her like this. She was lucky to call you her friend, maybe you didn't even think of her as a friend ? God I'm so silly i got carried away, she probably doesn't even like me back. She was completely overwhelmed with thoughts, her breathing was shallow and she could not get in the right headspace as she put on her outfit.

She didn't notice that it was almost time, and that you were going to show up anytime to pick her up.

She offered to drive but you said you'd like too since you worked from home and didn't drive your car out often.

next thing she knows, her doorbell rings and as she goes down the stairs you hear her say "coming !" in a soft voice.

"I'm so sorry I barely even finished getting ready... Here come in I just have to find my shoes and I'll be right there." She looked so beautiful in her bordeaux dress that you didn't register her words.

"...o.. okay.." you manage to say while eyeing her up and down. Even if she didn't seem to know, she was beyond beautiful and you were going to make sure she did.

"You look.." you couldn't finish you sentence before she started rambling and letting all of her anxieties taking over her speach.

-" what too much, oh no i should have never put on that, sorry i thought it was cute but I'm too old for this and ugl...

She didn't have time to finish you just cut her off;

-"NO ! No i ment you look beautiful like this"

You couldn't help but feel attracted to her right now, but you put it aside, she didn't like women obviously?

-"Oh...wait really ?" You could feel the shakiness in her tone

"Yes...of course you look cute, and the dress is amazing on you. Don't even worry about it you are a very beautiful women diane."

You said in a firm voice that made her knees go weak.

"Well we should get going sweetie, do you have your shoes?"

"Yes..let's go" she closed the door blushing widely as you opened up the door to your car.

You bowed as you said "Milady" in a formal tone

She giggled softly and it was the most precious sound in the universe.

The car drive went by in a comfortable silence as just the soft music and a bit of humming could be heard.

You invited her to the movies, she offered the popcorn and choose your seats.

It wasn't necessarily a scary movie, but when things got a little tense, you could see her clench the armrest, so you scooted over and offered her your shoulder so she could hold on to you. After a bit of esitaton she accepted your embrace and the two of you cuddled together while the movie played. She gasped and then laughed at herself a few times.

When the credits started to roll none of you wanted to move, but you broke the silence and told her;

"As much as I'd like to stay here and cuddle you... I think the dude standing there with the bucket needs us to leave... Also the reservation is in ten minutes."

She sighed softly in defeat, gathered her bag and started to get up.

She rose too quickly and felt dizzy as her legs started to buckle. But you cought her hips before she could fall.

"It's okay...I got you", you said softly in her ear.

"Are you good? Can you walk" you asked as you still held her hips firmly. Which send a shiver down her spine, and a tingle down further to the both of you.

"Yeah.. I'm good thank you I just got up too fast".

You both went to the restaurant, the waiter took your orders and you both started to chat about anything and everything, the movies, life, cake, and even your delicious pastries.

"I was NOT scared !?"

-"YES you totally were ! you clang on to me the whole time I heard you whimper at Thé screen everytime there was something scary on."

-"sorry about that..."

-"why are you apologizing ? If it had bothered me i would have told you so..."

-"oh..okay, but I wasn't scared, just sometimes the movie was making me anxious ! I mean like that part in the stairs...brr..gave me chills."

-"alright alright fine..you weren't scared...I'll give it to you.. just because your cute"

She nearly choked at your comment and became as red as your wine.

"It's okay you don't have to be shy with me."

-"Do you really think I'm cute?"

-"Yeah, already told you you were cute today; and well not just tonight"

-"thank you y/n"

"Anytime diane, you are beautiful i want you to know that"

She didn't want to cry in front of you but you saw the tear she was desperately trying to hide run down her cheek, and got worried.

"Oh diane...are you okay ? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable... please look at me" you moved closer to wipe the tears off of her face, and gently stroked her cheek.

"I'm fine y/n, just it's been a long time since anybody called me beautiful"

-"Well that's a shame then, and I'll make sure you hear it a lot more."

"You don't have to do that... I don't need to hear it"

-"You do. And you should be hearing it, i don't know why it stopped but I'll make sure it doesn't ever again"

She sobbed at your words again

"Oh No...sweet girl don't cry.. please... you're okay diane, I'm here always, I'm your friend"

She calmed down a bit, and felt butterflies in her stomach at what you said.

-"You are? You mean you actually want to be ?"

"OF course silly, i wouldn't have invited you to diner if I didn't at least like you diane."

Just after that sentence left your mouth the waiter arrived to pick up your plates, you breathed out 'thank you' as he left.

"You know, I don't understand why you didn't think I liked you, at leaaaast a little ?"

You joked as you took a sip of your glass.

"Well.. I've been alone for so long now...I don't know...i thought you were just hanging out with me because you didn't have a choice...".

You were saddened by her words

"Diane..I... if I had known you felt that way I would have said something a long time ago ! I don't want you to think for a second that i am here out of pity or because I got nothing better to do. I'm here cause I wanted to have a nice evening out with you."

You said as you put your hand on top of hers, when she didn't draw back you started to gently stroke it.

"Would you two like some dessert ?"

You pulled away to take the menu form the waitress.

"Do you want some dessert diane? They have apple pie, and tiramisu?"

-"i don't know...I'm not that hungry for both but i don't want to choose."

-"we can share you know"

-"huh? What do you mean"

-"well, i take the apple pie, you take the tiramisu, and we split"

-"are you sure? I wouldn't want to bother y..."

You cut her off before she could go any further.

"Yes I'm sure diane"

"..o..okay then"

"Are YOU sure??" You asked in a funny tone

She giggled and nodded.

You asked the waiter for both and shared when they arrived. After fighting a bit over who would pay you told diane that you had asked her out and therefore you should pay, "and if you want to pay so bad... you'll pay next time."

Both of you were full, you had spent an incredible night, it was dark but you offered diane a quick walk around the park, and she agreed. The two of you made your way back to the car after laughing your asses of and getting even closer than before.

You drove her back to your...her house. And before she entered her home you softly said;

"Well diane, i had an amazing night, we have to do that again sometime."

-"yes we do, i had so much fun too"

-"And I ment everything i said tonight,.."

For a few moments you just looked at each other, your gaze met her lips and she thought about how sweet they would taste before thinking 'who am i kidding she'll never kiss me, get those thoughts out of your head diane'

Before you could process what was happening, both of your bodies grew closer and your eyes shifted between both of your lips you kissed her, softly. it was a calm and quiet kiss. You broke off for air and looked into her eyes. You caressed her cheeks and put your hand on the small of her back before kissing her again, she moaned inside your lips and you took the chance to put your tongue in her mouth. Her hands flew to your neck and she kissed you back.

After a few minutes of making out you pulled away, you didn't really want to break the moment but you asked

"Diane... it's late i should go back home..."

She looked a hurt and a bit sad while she let you go.

"No don't.. I don't regret kissing you Diane don't worry. I just want to take this slow"

"Oh alright I thought you didn't... nevermind. Go home y/n, it's getting cold out here" she looked down at her hands and

"..you don't regret it don't you?"

"No i enjoyed it" she said blushing slightly.

"Good... I'll see you tomorrow then... Good night diane"

you kissed her sweetly again before leaving and you both smiled like teenagers who just had their first date.

-"Sweet dreams y/n"

[lostinmirkwood]

Iambic Pentameter

Catch up from the beginning. Read Chapter 2.

She’s Got The Look

Arya glared down at her notebook, blank except for the pen doodles in the margins. She would love her final period Literature class if only Mr. Dondarrion would let them read something written by someone other than old, dead, white men. Who decided that Steffon Fossoway had more literary value than Nymeria Ny Sar? Nymeria was a Rhoynish rebel during the Valyrian uprisings and her writings reflected the plight of her people as they fled across the Sunset Sea to Dorne. Fossoway just wanted to relive his “glory days” of war through stilted sentence structure and pretentious metaphors about sunlight. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d petitioned Mr. Dondarrion to allow her to take the senior level class as a junior.

She would also love this class even more if there was a seating arrangement that didn’t have Joffrey Baratheon sitting directly behind her. He kept knocking his foot against her chair leg and she was going to lose it on the little snot-nosed southern princeling if he didn’t knock it off soon. She didn’t care that their fathers were best friends, that his grandfather was on the Small Council, and his mother was THE King’s Landing socialite, he was a prick. One who seemed to know just how to push her buttons. If she could keep a lid on her frustration that would be a small victory for her.

Arya tuned back in to the lecture just as one of her classmates was lavishing praise on Fossoway, “His prose is so romantic,” Marella Rosby was gushing.

Arya scoffed audibly, “Romantic? Fossoway? He was a misogynistic alcoholic who spent most of his life trying to shag Aerion Targaryen’s leftovers.”

From behind her Joffrey cut in, “As opposed to a bitter, self-righteous twit who has no friends?”

Arya rolled her eyes. She could see Mr. Dondarrion sigh when she carried on as though she hadn’t heard Joffrey, “I guess in our society being a male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time, Baratheon ,” she could hear his snicker. “What about Argella Durrandon, or Elissa Farman, or Nymeria Ny Sar? Why can’t we read something from-”

The classroom door swung open, cutting her off. The half of the class that wasn’t already facing Arya, and unintentionally the door, to watch her soapbox turned as one to see who was there. Standing in the doorway was Gendry Waters, his unruly black hair falling over his high forehead into his bright blue eyes, scruff decorating his sharp jawline, and the other reason Arya couldn’t enjoy her Literature class. When he even bothered to show up to class he always sat brooding in the back corner smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. He never participated in discussions, she never saw him turn in work, and when it was time for partnered essay editing she always seemed to get stuck with him. He’d flip through the first few pages of her draft before sliding it back to her with a wink and nary a word or a pen mark before slipping out of the classroom as soon as Mr. Dondarrion’s back was turned. It was infuriating.

“What did I miss?” His school bag was hanging haphazardly over his shoulder as he leaned against the door frame, everyone’s attention now firmly on him.

Arya rolled her eyes, and turned back towards the front of the classroom, “Just the oppressive, patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

“Cool,” with a crash the door swung shut behind him as her annoyance returned to whatever it was he did when he wasn’t sitting in Junior Literature, ignoring her essays and winking those blue eyes at her.

Mr. Dondarrion sighed again, his head in his hands. “Miss Stark, thank you for sharing your opinion on Steffon Fossoway and our curriculum. You’re dismissed.”

Arya’s jaw dropped, she hadn’t done anything today to warrant this, “But, Mr. Dondarrion!”

“Dismissed, Miss Stark.”

With a huff, Arya slapped her notebook closed and stood. She made sure to clip Joffrey’s shoulder with her elbow as she stepped past him, fuming, into the hall.

---

Miss Tarth raised a pale eyebrow as Arya swept into the Main Office. “Mr. Dondarrion, again?” she asked, knowingly. Arya nodded before pointing at Ms. Smallwood’s open door with a cocked eyebrow of her own. Miss Tarth sighed and gestured for Arya to enter the guidance counselor’s office. Ms. Smallwood was typing away at her computer talking under her breath as Arya stood in the doorway. Suddenly her head shot up and she shouted, “Brienne! What’s another word for ‘engorged’?”

Arya turned back to look at the secretary. Miss Tarth was staring at the ceiling with a long suffering expression and a slight blush before she replied, “I’ll look it up.”

Arya stepped all the way into the counselor’s office, closing the door behind her, “Turgid?”

Ms. Smallwood cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment. “Perfect!” she chirped before making a few keystrokes and waving Arya into the plain wooden chair in front of her desk. “So, I hear you were terrorizing Mr. Dondarrion’s Literature class again.”

Arya frowned as she sat, “Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action.”

Ms. Smallwood looked up from her computer and adjusted her spectacles, “The way you expressed your opinion to Elmar Frey? By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went well, if you’re interested.”

Arya faked a concerned smile, “Good for him. I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls.”

Ms. Smallwood sighed, “The point is Arya, people find you a bit…”

“Tempestuous?” Arya supplied.

“Bitch from the Seventh Hell is the term used most often. You might want to work on that.” With that the older woman gave a firm nod and turned back to her computer screen.

Arya stared at Ms. Smallwood for a moment before standing to leave, obviously dismissed, “As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. I’ll let you get back to Aegon’s quivering member.”

The door swung shut behind her and Arya heard Ms. Smallwood mumble, “‘Quivering member’, I like that. I’m going to use that,” as the frantic typing resumed.

---

The day finally ended and Pod found himself back in the main courtyard with Hot Pie again. Hot Pie was going on about some hostile take-over in the KLP Baking Club that had his croissants branded “store-bought” much to his offense and dismay. Pod nodded along vaguely as he scanned the courtyard for shining copper hair, straightening slightly when Sansa Stark finally made her appearance. He wasn’t the only one who noticed her arrival though, sprawled on a low wall near them was a small group of guys ringed around a smug-looking blond who was clearly their leader. One of the boys nudged the blond as Sansa approached with the same friend from that morning. Both Sansa and the blond made eye contact as the girls walked by, Sansa smiling shyly and tossing her hair as they went. Just as they passed the blond called out, “Looking good ladies.”

Both girls glanced back briefly as he gave them an appreciative once over before they continued on through the courtyard, giggling as they made their way towards the parking lot. Pod felt nearly invisible as Sansa and her friend passed by him and Hot Pie without so much as a glance in their direction. He sighed quietly and turned back towards Hot Pie who was shaking his head slightly at Pod’s reaction.

Before either of them could speak they heard one of the boys in the circle around the blond say, “She’s out of reach even for you, Joff.”

The blond scoffed, “No one’s out of reach for me.”

“Want to put money on that?” the other boy replied.

“Money I’ve got. This I’ll do for fun.” Joff sneered.

Pod huffed in disgust and it was Hot Pie’s turn to sigh. Slinging an arm around Pod’s shoulders he turned them away from the other boys, “That, my friend, is Joffrey Lannister. Richest asshole at KLP, don’t mess with him. Rumor has it he once had a kid expelled for taking the last energy drink out of the vending machine right before he got there. He’s a model too.”

“Wait, he’s a model?” Pod laughed.

“Mostly regional stuff, but word on campus is he’s got a big tube sock ad coming up.”

“Really?” both boys snickered before Pod looked back towards Sansa who had paused with her friend at the edge of the courtyard, “Man, look at her. Is she always so-”

“Vapid?” Hot Pie commented.

“How can you say that! She’s-”

“Totally conceited,” Hot Pie deadpanned.

“No! There’s more to her than you think. Just look at her. There’s something in her eyes. She’s totally pure. You’re missing what’s there!” Pod exclaimed quietly, aware that his voice could carry through the crowd if he wasn’t careful. He wanted to woo Sansa, not have her start off thinking he was a creep.

“No Pod,” Hot Pie sighed, “What’s there is a haughty little princess wearing a strategic sundress that makes guys like us realize we can never touch her. And guys like Joffrey realize they want to. Put her in your spank bank and move on, man.”

“No, no. You’re wrong about her. Well,” he paused for a moment, “maybe not about the last bit but the rest, you’re wrong.”

“Oh I’m wrong?” Pie smirked slightly, “You know, she’s actually looking for a Volanti tutor.”

“That’s perfect!”

“You speak Volanti?” Hot Pie questioned, looking surprised that Pod had jumped on his suggestion so quickly.

“Uh, no. But I will!” Surely it couldn’t be that hard. They could learn it together if he could just stay a lesson or two ahead. He’d just moved here, no one needed to know he’d taken two, broken up, years of Braavosi. The root language was the same, he could fake it, right?

[wriggleum]

Your Hand In Mine

on AO3 ! Summary: Jack wants to cook dinner for Bitty because he realizes that he's never properly cooked him dinner before. prompt: Jack cooks dinner for @jackzimmermannturns30​ Words: 8819 Chapters:1/1 Rating: G Relationship: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann Warnings: Concussions

“What’s wrong? Did I mess up the recipe? My hand kinda slipped when I was seasoning the chicken and I dropped a lot of paprika in the bowl. I thought I fixed it?” Jack had been staring at his plate for what was most likely an awkward amount of time after he had taken a bite of chicken breast. But Jack was just stuck in his head. He had a thought earlier during breakfast. Bitty cooks for him all the time. He makes dinner for them whenever they’re together and if Bitty isn’t around Jack can always just heat up one of the premade meals stocked up in his freezer. Bits is just amazing like that, and he insists that it’s no trouble at all. The thing that’s getting to Jack is the fact that he’s never cooked dinner for Bitty. It’s been bothering him all day, during his run, all through practice, at the gym and when he came home and took his nap up until he hit the ice. It’s not that Jack can’t cook, he can cook just fine. He’s never actually followed a recipe before. His mother taught him how to cook chicken at one point, and he can follow packing instructions perfectly. His food may lack seasoning most of the time —he became aware of that fact at some point his sophomore year, Shitty broke it to him gently after a few bites of whatever he made for dinner that night— salt was pretty much the only thing he had in his cupboards before he met Eric. A spice rack was one the first items Bitty added to his kitchen when he visited for the first time over the summer of his second year. His kitchen has never been the same. Despite the lack of seasoning in his food, it gets him fed and full. His meal plan didn’t allow for much variety. Jack had never minded it. Yet for a while it was eat to bulk up, and eat to keep him going. Then Bitty came in and ruined it all for him with his pies. Jack will be reluctant to admit he’s snuck away with a few extra slices of pie in the middle of the night while he was living in the Haus. At least he’s not living off of takeout like some people he knows. So yes Jack can cook, but he honestly doesn’t know how he survived without Eric’s cooking for the years that he did. His baking is next level, that's a known fact of life, but his cooking is just as good. Meanwhile Jack's cooking looked like lukewarm high school cafeteria food compared to Bittys carefully thought out dishes. The fact is Eric is always cooking for Jack and Jack feels kind of bad about it. It’s not like Bitty isn’t busy with his (second!) book and the Youtube channel and then he goes and insists on cooking for Jack or prepping meals for when he’s off doing bookdeal stuff. So Jack is going to take it upon himself and make a meal for his husband. It’s really the least he could do for him.  Looking back down at his plate of perfectly seasoned chicken breast —Eric’s mistake not noticeable at all— surrounded by flavorful green beans and cauliflower. It was all so good and exceeded anything Jack could have made for himself without a recipe. “Bits, there's honestly nothing wrong with the chicken. It’s perfect actually.” Eric squints at him from across their plates. “Ok then why do I feel a but coming?” “But,” Jack chuckled. “You’re always cooking for me. Us.” Jack stabs a bit of green bean and chicken onto his fork, stuffing it into his mouth, chewing for a bit and swallowing “You’ve been so busy Bits and you’re still cooking dinner for us and baking and going all over the place and I don’t know.” Jack paused and took a sip of water gathering himself. “I feel bad.” An outraged look crosses Bitty’s face for a second. He scoffed and says, “You made breakfast for me the other morning! You grill all the time during offseason!” “Scrambled eggs and a toasted bagel can hardly count compared to what you end up cooking, and that takes minimum effort.” Jack gives Bitty a long stare, “Also you season and marinate the meat whenever we barbeque. Here I thought you of all people would understand that premade chicken tenders and a homemade lasagna aren’t the same thing.” Jack goes to eat another bite from his plate but then says, “Also I meant dinner. You’re always cooking dinner. When was the last time I actually cooked dinner?” Bitty takes the time to honestly think about it but looks up at Jack sheepishly a moment later. “That’s what I thought. If you don’t want to cook we just end up ordering take out or we go out somewhere.” Bitty rolls his eyes at Jack, “Well, you’ve got a point there hun I’ll give you that.” They go back to eating, Bitty’s dinner playlist playing softly in the background. Then Jack has a thought. “I’m going to cook dinner for you.” he looks Eric in the eyes, “As soon as possible.” Bitty looks like he’s trying really hard not to laugh, Jack pouts. “Oh honey, that's real sweet of you, and I would love that! Don’t get me wrong.” he picks up his glass of water and tries to take a sip to hide his suppressed laughter but fails. “I’m not laughing at you ok, so please stop with that face. It was just you were so serious about it.” Bitty giggles and grabs Jack's hand next to his and smiles brightly at him, “I really would love to have whatever you cook up!” “Ok so what do you want?” “Oh you know I’ll have whatever!” When Jack doesn’t respond to that, Bitty rolls his eyes again and pulls out his phone and starts tapping away. “Oh ok, ok. I’ll send  you one of my Pinterest boards and you can choose something from there, how about that?” “I would really appreciate that. Thank you Bits.” Jack's own phone pings and he smiles down at it. He saves the link to the board to look at later and goes back to polishing off his plate. *** The next day after practice Jack is sitting in the nook scrolling through the Pinterest board Bitty sent him titled Quick ‘n Easy: Beginner Friendly Recipes. When Jack first saw the board he looked at it a bit suspiciously. He couldn’t think of a reason as to why Bitty would have a board of recipes for beginners. It would make more sense if it was for his Youtube but the board itself has no baking recipes in it. Bitty must have had it already made because he had sent it when Jack had asked, and there were a lot of recipes already in it. He’d have to ask Bitty about it later. Now, Jack was struggling with what to choose. Did he want to with the easier option of a pasta dish, or did he want to do something like a steak with a couple of sides to go with it? He really wanted to cook Bitty the best dinner he possibly could. Apparently Jack was stressing about choosing a recipe harder than he thought because the first thing Tater said when he sat down next to him was, “What is matter Zimmboni? You look as if you are making big life decision. You talk to Bitty yet?” Snowy who sat down across from them chimed in, “Yeah man I don’t think you can stick your phone any closer to your face without it becoming a part of you.” Jack suppressed a sigh. Might as well come out with it, these two sure as hell won’t leave him alone without Jack saying something. “I’m going to cook dinner for Bitty.” “Ah, you cook for little B! What are you cooking?” Tater wiggled in glee, peaking over Jack's shoulder to glance at his phone. Handing his phone straight over to Tater, Jack poked at his packed lunch —prepared by none other than Bitty. “That’s the problem.” Jacked sighed, “I don’t know.” “What is it, an anniversary or something?” Snowy asked. “No it’s just Eric is always making dinner for us and I just want to cook dinner for him for a change.” Jack explained. “Ahh gotcha.” It was silent for a second but Jack felt the brunt of Snowy’s piercing stare. He didn’t say anything but Jack could see it in his eyes when he looked straight back at him: what the hell Jack, you don’t cook for your husband? When he’s not only been cooking for you, but he brings in plates and plates of amazing baked goods for the team? Really Jack? For shame. He could hear it clearly in his head in Snowy’s smooth drawl. When Snowy looked down at his own food, breaking the eye contact that went on only for a second or two, Jack chastised himself. Snowy would never seriously say something like that. Chirp him to hell and back? Oh for sure. Jack snapped out of it when Tater exclaimed, “Oh Zimmboni! Cook this, is perfect!” Tater wiggled the phone in Jack’s face. Taking it back he looked down at the screen, it looked like it was no longer on Pinterest but rather on a blog post. Snowy snorted, “Oh yeah? Or is it just something you want to eat?” “Of course I want to eat, if I want to eat it is going to be good for little B!” The two chirped back and forth while Jack scrolled through the blog. It was a blog post with several other recipes in it. There’s a lot of text, the post going on and on about the bloggers family —something about a family reunion?— with so many pictures of people and food. By a photographers standpoint it wasn’t actually that bad. The composition was actually quite nice, and the lighting in all the shots was beautiful. Jack mentally noted to go back to the blog again later but for now he went back to looking for the recipe that he still hadn’t gotten to despite scrolling for a good bit. “So?” Tater looks over to Jack with an eager look. “Euh, what was it you wanted me to cook?” “What! Zimmboni please.” Jack gives his phone back to Tater, feeling a bit like he just was scolded. Tater quickly scrolled through the blog straight to the recipe and showed it to Jack. “This one! It sounds good and looks very easy.” The recipe read, One-pot lemon shrimp pasta. The dish was only five ingredients and the instructions themselves fit into one small paragraph. That seemed simple enough but it also sounded really good. Jack made sure to bookmark the page when Tater handed his phone back to him. “Send updates. I want to know how it comes out.” “Sure Tater, I’ll send you updates.” Snowy snorted between a bite of sandwich, “Can you even cook Zimmerman?” Jack quirked an eyebrow, “Can you?” Snowy said nothing but gave Jack a slight nod of his head as if to say touché. It was a fact that all the Falconers knew, something that Tater brought up constantly, is that Snowy can’t cook to save his life. At least Jack can fend for himself tasteless as his food may be. He really hoped the shrimp pasta was as easy as it seemed. *** The next day Jack facetimed his mother after practice. “Maman, I need your help.” “Oh?” Alicia raised a perfectly plucked brow. Jack explained the situation and Alicia nodded and hummed appropriately. In the end she smiled that superstar smile, all genuine and glimmering white. A twinkle of mirth in her eyes. “I think that’s wonderful. If anyone deserves a home cooked meal it’s Eric.” Jacked nodded in agreement, because that was a very obvious statement. Bitty deserved everything. “But what is it exactly that you need help with? Want me to talk you through the steps?” Alicia ginned. “No maman.” Jack rolled his eyes playfully. “Just. Do you think it sounds good? And Should I add anything else to the food, or on the side? What about drinks that go with it? Should I even bother making a desert or should I just buy it?” “Jack, sweetheart. The recipe sounds delicious. You’re going to have to make it for your father and I next time we visit. And you can’t go wrong with a dry rosé.” Alicia hummed a bit, thinking about Jack’s other questions. “You could add some bread for the side. Perfect for soaking up the pasta sauce. I think you should go to that bakery Eric is always going on about, and maybe get some dessert while you’re there. But I wouldn’t stress about all that, Eric knows you’re not a baker.” Jack thanks his mother for the advice and after the call ends he heads out straight to the store to pick up all the ingredients. Before heading into the grocery he stops by Bitty’s favorite bakery and asks about pre orders and says that he’ll keep in touch. At the grocery store Jack texts his mother a picture of the bottle of wine he picks out  just in case; he gets back a string of thumb up emojis and a longer string of various hearts. The recipe called for linguine but he knew Bitty didn’t really prefer it so he stood in the aisle looking at a box of bowtie pasta and a box of penne. Why in the world are there so many types of pasta? In the end he chucked in the penne into his basket because a mother was giving him a mean side eye for taking so long. Thankfully he didn’t have any other issues with getting the other ingredients, so the rest of the trip went a lot quicker. At home Jack put what he could of his supplies in a box and stuffed it in the pantry, the rest went in the freezer and the fridge wrapped up so Bitty couldn’t tell what it was. It wasn’t long after that Jack found Bitty poking around in the pantry. “I’m only looking for flour Jack. Why would I snoop when you told me not to? How could you accuse me so.” he said, thickening up his accent and looking playfully aghast. Jack jokingly shoved him away from the pantry, “Move along Bittle we both know you keep all of the flour in the cupboard.” “Hmm really? I guess I do, don’t I Mr. Bittle-Zimmerman. My apologies I’ll be making my way along to the cupboards then.” *** After all that Jack was sucked into the world of hockey. The playoffs were right around the corner and the Falconers were doubling down in preparation for it. They had a good chance of making it through. So Jack promptly forgot about cooking dinner for his husband and was in full hockey robot mode. Bitty was just as busy with his second book, and he knew how Jack got during the playoffs so he didn’t mention anything. After all, if he really wanted Jack would have all the time in the world to cook when the offseason came around. *** It was an earlier night than usual for Jack. He had to be up extra early for a flight to Pittsburgh and wanted to get enough sleep so that he wasn’t wound up for the whole plane ride. Bitty was getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth in the bathroom. When he hopped into bed and kissed Jack goodnight it was minty and sweet. Before he drifted off into sleep he had a feeling that he was forgetting something. *** They’re a second game into the playoffs, and It’s a home game. It’s warm ups, the national anthem, and then the puck drops. A Penguin wins the face-off and Jack is right behind them. It’s give and take the whole first period, Thirdy gets a pretty goal from the blue line hitting the net right behind the goalie's shoulder. But a Penguin scored one right after, keeping them 1-1 for the rest of the first period and well into the second. Each team took shot after shot on the goal but none were going in after those first two goals from each team. It’s when they come back onto the ice for the third period that it all goes to shit. Jack has the puck and is on his way into the offensive zone, he’s got a huge Penguin on his heels (number 85) and he’s trying hard to push Jack toward the boards. Jack clenches his mouth guard and takes a quick look around to see if anyone is near to pass the puck to. He gives the puck away at the last moment, but Jack was too close to the boards when 85 slashes him with his stick on the outside of his right leg, taking his skates right out from under him and with the speed they were both skating at there was no way to stop 85 from crushing Jack right into the boards. Jack wasn’t sure if he heard a whistle or not, but he was already falling. His shoulder hit the glass first and on the way down his head hit the edge of the dasher board, helmet catching and flying off. His temple hits the ice and it all goes black for a second. When he opens his eye the lights from the rink are blinding and for a very long second Jack panics and then he’s aware of pain and everything blows up around him. He can hear Tater cursing in russin, he already knows he probably has 85’s jersey in his large fists. Thirdy is asking how Jack feels, and he can only blink at him slowly and then he’s cursing as well. Jack isn’t exactly sure how long it takes, but at some point the team doctor is out on the ice blocking his view of the rafters asking him too many questions. What hurts? Everything. Can he move? Sure, but he doesn’t want to. Finally, he asks if Jack needs a stretcher and Jack says no so the trainer and Thirdy help him up and help him across the ice, players around them tapping their sticks on the ice and against the boards. He’s nauseous the whole way across the ice and it takes everything in him not to spue across it. His head is pounding, his ears are buzzing, and the world is spinning. It’s nothing like the smaller concussion he got while in the Q. He’s been lucky so far, but he guessed it was bound to run out at some point. After Jack is off the ice things get a little hazy, the last thing Jack wants to be at the moment is awake. Bitty is looking frantic and now Jack feels guilty and he has a pounding headache. The trip to the hospital is pretty unmemorable to him, and while at the hospital the haze isn’t as bad he’s still having a pretty terrible time. Jack goes through all the necessary procedures, takes too long to answer a few of the doctor's simple questions and promptly gets shoved into an MRI machine and then he’s waking up in a hospital bed, the lights are off. Bitty is sleeping on the most uncomfortable looking couch in existence next to his bed, and he’s really hating 85 right about now. Jack takes stock of himself. His head is unsurprisingly still pounding, he lifts a hand to graze at his temple and it’s tender as hell. Probably already bruised up. His shoulder is stiff, twinging with the slightest movement. And most of all he wants to sleep for a good solid month. Jack tries moving a bit but after his body screams at him he decides he’ll just wither away in the position he’s in at the moment.A gasp to his left shocks him and he winches when he jumps a bit at it. “You’re awake!” Bitty was off of the couch in a blink and next to Jack holding onto his hand in moments. “How’re you feelin’ hun? I know it's probably terrible.” Frowning, Jack thinks back to when Bitty was sprawled on the ice helmet feet away from him. The terror he felt. It’s unfortunately a part of the game and can happen to anyone but Jack still feels bad about the undoubtable stress Bitty probably went through having to watch what happened to Jack from behind the glass unable to get to him. “Sorry Bits.” Confused Bitty responds, “What for? If anyone has to be sorry it’s that 85.” “It’s ju-” Jack was cut off by the doctor entering his room. She explained the situation to both Jack and Bitty but Jack wasn’t really paying much attention. The pain behind his eyes was making it hard to concentrate. Apparently he has a grade 3 concussion and at some point during the hit he popped his shoulder in and out. They want to keep him overnight for observation. Jack was going to protest but thought better of it when he saw Bitty’s glare. Jack would have rolled his eyes if it didn’t cause him pain, so he closed them instead raising the cheap hospital blanket to his chin. Bitty continued to talk to the doctor, their voices a low whisper. Tabarnak, Jack thought. He was out for at least a month, maybe two. Meaning he was done, he was officially out for the rest of playoffs. At least he had more than enough time to heal. He must have dozed off for a few because when he came to again the doctor was gone and Marty was handing a bag off to Bitty. Marty had retired the year prior but hangs out with everyone whenever he’s not busy with his family, and gives Tater pointers from time to time since he handed off his A to him. “Whenever you’re ready to leave you guys just give me a call and I’ll pick you up.” Jack wanted to thank Marty but one second he was blinking and when he opened his eyes again —with great reluctance— he was gone and a nurse was checking out the machines next to his bed, a soft light making its way through the shut blinds. Bitty wasn’t on the couch next to him but the nurse saw him looking around and said that he had only left a few minutes ago, so that left Jack to deal with the nurses poking and prodding him after what felt like zero hours of sleep despite knocking out for a while. He hated hospitals and he hated being incapacitated. Jack knew he was a horrible patient, but he’d always been like that. Though he thought he was polite enough to the poor nurse who had to deal with him. For breakfast they gave him some bland soup and crackers that Jack didn’t really want to eat, but Bitty came back just as they were rolling in the cart, a cup of steaming cafeteria coffee in his hand. He gave Jack a look and it was enough that he begrudgingly slurped at his watery soup. A quick visit from the doctor and some tests later and Jack was free to go home. Not without explicit warning from the doctor and nurses to not strain himself and to listen to their instructions. To get the frown off his face Bitty read the texts from the Falcs and the old SMH hockey team telling him to get well soon, as they escaped by way of a back door straight into Marty’s car to make a clean getaway. “You know the drill.” Bitty said as soon as they made it home, the door locked behind them. Jack sighed, he did in fact know the drill. It was drilled into him by several people in the hospital and as well as Marty on the way home. “Bits. Bud. I stink. I still have to shower.” Jack felt grimmy. He never got to shower after the game and on top of that he has hospital all over him. Bitty scrunched up his nose, “Yeah. You reek.” A quick shower later with Bitty keeping watch on the toilet who gave him a play by play of the rest of the game after Jack’s exit. He was honest with him back at the hospital when Jack asked how the team fared after his exit. Short answer was that Falcs lost in regulation, 1-3 (in the end the Falconers advanced to game six without Jack, they fought hard but it wasn't enough and they lost it all in the next round. It’s hard to lose when you’re so close, but Jack found it especially difficult not being there for his team when they needed him the most).   Jack went straight to bed after his quick shower, his mattress felt amazing after laying in the lump of a thing the hospital made it’s patience lay in. He was staring at the ceiling thinking about all the things he wasn’t able to do when Bitty came in a few minutes later, a bowl of steaming something in his hands. “Chicken soup! You definitely need to get something in you, I have no idea what they tried feeding you back at the hospital but it definitely shouldn’t have the right to be called soup, let alone chicken soup.” Bitty was handing it off to Jack his fingertips barely grazed the bowl when it hit him. It was so sudden that Jack physically recoiled, shocking both Bitty and himself. “Bits!” Jack gasped, pulling his hands back. Bitty pulled the bowl back towards himself, almost flingling the contents of it all over the both of them. “What oh my god I didn’t think the bowl was that hot!” Shoving his face into his hands he groaned, “I was supposed to cook dinner for you!” Setting down the bowl of soup on the nightstand on Jack's side he let out a long d’awww, “I wondered how long it would be until you remembered.” He gave Jack's upper arm a little squeeze. “I think you get a pass from cooking. You were all busy getting ready for playoffs and then actually making it to the playoffs! And well...” And he waved a hand over Jack. “Considering your bedridden figure ‘n all. Plus that terrible looking bruise on your head.” “But Bitty it was supposed to be a thing. I even bought everything ahead of time. I was even going to pre order bread from your favorite bakery. I talked to them and everything. Why didn’t you say anything?” Jack only felt slightly betrayed. “Don’t you worry about cooking for me mister!” Bitty scolded, “You had this idea come into your head when playoffs were creeping up right around the corner, you know how you get during this part of the season. And well you just worry about getting better and then you can make me dinner whenever you want.” Picking the bowl of soup back up Bitty hands it off to Jack or he tires to and is unsuccessful because Jack is crossing his arms and pouting in bed like an overgrown toddler. “Oh my god!” Jack harrumphs. “You infant!” Bitty is trying really hard not to smile. “You giant manchild! Are you seriously refusing my soup? Do you think I won’t tweet about this?” Bitty wipes his smile away, putting on his most serious expression. “Eat the damn soup Jack.” he says, making it sound like a warning. “What are you going to do if I don’t eat the soup?” Jack smirks back. Bitty mutters under his breath, “Geez for someone with a serious concussion…” and then he trails off and says louder. “Jack you don’t wanna play these games with me. Not only will I call you mother, who I was assured will come down with the drop of a hat, your father in tow. But I will call Shitty as well.” How quickly Jack uncrossed his arms and grabbed the bowl of soup had Bitty stuffing his laughter behind both of his hands. “My own husband on the cusp of betrayal.” It was Bitty’s turn to smirk. *** The first week Jack caught up on a lot of sleep and listened to one full audiobook read outloud to him from his laptop that he carried from room to room when he felt restless and was sick of lying in bed. That was all he could really do. Listen to his audiobook for a few minutes a time, rest, get up, walk around the house, get a terrible headache, nap, repeat. And worst of all he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen when Bitty was around. Which at the moment was all the time. Jack has never wanted to cook a meal so badly, he was so excited to be able to do something for his husband who works so hard. But Bitty refused to let him cross the threshold between the dining room and kitchen, even if Jack claimed it was just for a glass of water. To which Bitty would then say, “You have a glass and a water bottle and a gatorade next to the bed.” and then Jack would turn tail and lay under the covers because the bright natural lighting from the kitchen was stabbing his eyes like knives. Without hockey, or TV, or physical books Jack was bored out of his mind by the second week. The bruising around his temple had turned a sickly shade of pale greens and brights yellows and browns. The headaches were still there but definitely not as bad as the week prior. But he still wasn’t allowed to do much of anything, especially with Bitty keeping like a sentinel; Guardian of the Kitchen. Jack could admit himself he was getting restless and he was definitely being a grump at times. Bitty thankfully didn’t take his shit moods and would sweetly tell Jack to take a nap if he was going to be ill-tempered, or to take up knitting or something to keep him occupied. After a few days into the second week of The Concussion, Jack was waking up from a mid afternoon nap and was on his way to the kitchen to be a bother when he overheard Bitty talking to someone in the living room. Jack peaked his head in and waved to Bitty who was talking on the phone, pacing back and forth barefoot on their extremely soft white (fake) fur rug. Bitty waved back absent mindley and then did a double take, glaring at Jack he did the I’m watching you hand motion and then pointed sternly at the couch. Jack shrugged and plopped right down in the middle of their couch wrapping a plush throw blanket around himself, catching the rest of Bitty’s conversation. “You know I would love to and I would hate to cancel but Betty, I don’t think I can go.” And nope. Jack had a hunch on what this was about and Jack was definitely not letting Bitty cancel.Getting up from the couch Jack stood in front of Bitty who gave him a curious look. Jack looked right at him and whispered, “Go!”. With a furrowed brow he shook his head, while Jack nodded his. “Yes! Go! I can take care of myself just fine. Bits, go to your convention.” Jack whispered. Bitty bit at his bottom lip, thought about it for a second and then told his agent. “On second thought Betty I think I will be able to make it. You can go ahead and confirm!” The yay! That came from the other end of the phone was loud enough for Jack to hear as he fell back onto the couch. When Bitty hung up with the date and hour of his flight to California written on a notepad, he put his hands on his waist and gave Jack a very squinty glare. “Want me outta your hair don’t ya?” Chuckling Jack pulled Bitty down onto the couch hugging him but then unwrapped the blanket from himself, rewrapped it around the both of them and then slinked his arms back around Bitty. “No Bits. But you have stuff to do and just because I’m not working at the moment means you stop working too. I don’t want you to miss out on all of these opportunities you’re getting!” Bitty went to protest but Jack cut in before he could say anything. “I know you rescheduled a meeting with that publishing company in New York the other day.” Bitty tsked, but then he hugged Jack tightly back. So they came to an agreement and Bitty was on his way to LA by the end of the week. And Jack thought he was bored before. But at least got to practice the dish he was supposed to have cooked for Bitty. Instead he invited Tater over who had a lot of input with how Jack prepared the food and cut vegetables. But he was always good company even when he was nagging over Jack's shoulder the whole time he was cooking. “‘S very good!” Tater hummed as he chowed down on Jack's creation. “Have to facetime Snowy, show that Zimmboni can cook.” “Were you guys seriously doubting me?” “Yes.” Came from Taters phone that he was pointing at his own half eaten plate of pasta. Jack took his own to wash having finished while Tater chattered, shaking his head on the way to the sink. By the third week Jack is still bored out of his mind, but at least Bitty is back, the downside is that he’s really doubling up on his youtube content in anticipation of his second book release. He’s doing several collaborations. He actually already did a few while he was in LA and he’s been editing every day hunched over his laptop at odd hours because he still refuses to hire someone else to do it for him. Jack had forgotten that one of the collabs was with the Falcs social media team, filming something for his own channel and a second video for FalcsTV. So when he walked into the kitchen one Saturday morning and saw the kitchen in full Bitty-Is-Recoriging mode with the addition of Poots, Tater, and Snowy. Jack was actually surprised and thankful he had actually put on pants because his teammates would never let him live it down for walking around half naked in his own home. Unfortunately Jack was having a major headache that day so he only stayed for some hellos and a snack before he retreated back into the bedroom for the rest of the day. He was feeling a little better by the time Bitty came in ready for bed, cuddling up to him and falling asleep in seconds, breath ticking the back of his neck. The fourth week was an improvement from the previous ones. Bitty was away again finalizing book deal stuff so Jack was home alone. But Jack was finally able to do some reading and light trainer approved workouts with the approval of his doctor after a follow up. Now that he had something to occupy his time with he was not only feeling better physically but also mentally. Best of all was the fact that Jack was able to get onto the ice, with the stipulation of not overworking himself. But the sooner he was on the ice the sooner he could get with his personal trainer, and get his ass kicked into shape again. He has to get his stamina back up though, a few circles around the ice and he was definitely feeling it. It would only be another few weeks until Jack was able to officially get to work on putting his body back into shape. By the time Jack was good to go he was hopping on a plane to Quebec for a quick trip to see his parents. He was getting call after call from his father complaining about not knowing what his face looked like anymore— despite several facetime calls. Jack told him he could come down himself and his father said, “I’m getting old Jack, I’m tired of traveling. I've done it my whole life you’ll understand when you get to my age.” “Ok old man I’ll fly up.” “Hey!” Bob protested at being called old by his son, when two seconds ago he was just complaining about getting old. Jack had to shake his head at that. In all honesty the second his father mentioned a visit to his old home Jack was already pulling up listings of flights and had bought a ticket while his dad was blustering on about how good he looked for his age or something like that. Jack had tuned him out a bit. A month and some weeks out of commission, stuck at home with not much to keep him entertained and Jack was itching to get out. Jack would be back home in Providence in time for his birthday —so would Bitty who was still out… doing something Jack wasn’t too sure but he knew it invloed the new book and a possible show? Bitty was being very hush hush about it. He said he didn’t want to jinx anything. Jack wasn’t supposed to have heard that particular conversation but he was in the room first when Bitty answered the phone, so that was all on his husband. It only hit him while he was out having dinner with his parents and they asked him what he was planning for his birthday that he was like huh. Jack is turning thirty. The big three-oh. In reality Jack wasn’t bothered by turning thirty, he was still plenty young. In the hockey world though, it made him sweat a little. He learned not to pay attention to the media long ago, but he still has bad days and when several outlets ragged on about how he’s past his prime years he can’t help but let it bother him a little. He was on the phone with Bitty when his birthday came up again. “So did you want to do anything special for your birthday? We both get back on the 1st right? We can plan something out if you want. We haven’t really had time to talk about it huh?” Bitty’s voice crackled through Jack’s phone. On the screen Jack was getting a spectacular view of his nose and all the hair inside it. Jack laid back onto the overstuffed pillow his mother kept in his old bedroom, having changed it long ago to a guest bedroom changing out his old twin to a full. “I don’t know, I haven’t really thought about it. It’s just another birthday you know? I think I’ve done all there is to do. Or at least all I’ve ever really wanted to do birthday wise.” Bitty shifted, propping his phone up against a pillow or something because now Jack was able to see him from his head to his chest. He was fluffing up pillows and getting comfortable for bed, laying down to face Jack fully. He looked at Jack sideways from his current position laying down. “What about tigers?” “Tigers?” “Oh yeah tigers.” he said with a serious tone "Thirty is kind of a big deal, you’re no longer twenty. I think that deserves a wild party with some tigers.” “Nah, I think that’s more of a fiftieth birthday type of thing.” Bitty paused but then went, “Hmmm Ok then!” Not long after that they said their goodnights and when Jack’s screen went black he squinted at his reflection with an inkling of suspicion. “He’s definitely trying to plan something.” *** It was late but he was back home, suitcase in hand Jack was dead on his feet. Never more glad to be home. He was greeted by the smell of freshly baked pie and if Jack listened closely he could hear his bed calling to him. But first. Bitty. He was sitting at the dining room table typing away at his laptop with a plate left only with pie crumbs next to him. He must have heard Jack walk in because he immediately closes his laptop and turns around with a blinding smile and holds his arms out for a hug that Jack was already going to give. “Welcome back handsome.” Bitty said into Jack’s chest. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Jack smiled, “You’ve been busy.” he passed a hand through Bitty’s freshly shaved undercut. Sighing, Bitty losend up in Jack arms, “Yeah it’s all been a bit hectic but I’ve got some exciting stuff coming along.” “Anything you want to share with your loving husband?” “I don’t want to say anything just yet!” “Ok, ok! Well if you’re done here want to get to bed?” “I would love nothing more.” *** Jack sleeps in the next day, he decides that morning the first time he wakes up to take the day off from his morning run. The second time he wakes up it’s because Bitty is getting out of bed, he kisses Jack’s forehead and then Jack out again. The third and final time Jack wakes up it’s because he’s being crushed. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRAH!” Jack shoves Shitty off from him and gives him an icy glare. “What the fuck Shits? And my birthday is tomorrow!” “I know.” Jack exhales loudly and gets out of bed. No use in trying to get anymore sleep with Shitty around. In the kitchen he finds Lardo and Bitty quietly conversing, pie dough rolled out between them and Jack is so sure that a pie is already baking away in the oven, even if the smell wasn’t a dead give away. The day is filled with a lot of pie and catching up. The only time they’ve had recently to talk is the odd facetime call and whenever Lardo and Shitty had time for a game or two in Boston. Shitty is busy with his firm and Lardo has been getting huge commissions from a few major companies so they’ve all been fairly busy with life and being adults. So it’s nice to take a day to talk, have a couple of beers and eat a few pies while screaming at each other over Mario Kart and Smash. It’s later at night when they’ve just finished watching 1917 —Jack’s been wanting to watch it but kept on forgetting about it until Lardo mentioned it when they were all throwing suggestions for movies— that Shitty says. “Hey we’re going out tomorrow for a little bit, just you and me. Two bros out in the town.”   Jack laughs out loud and replies, “Sure Shitty.” And the following day at nine in the morning Jack wakes up with Bitty in his arms, his steady breath hitting the side of his neck and he's officially thirty years old. Bitty makes him special birthday pancakes for breakfast —they’re really just maple blueberry pancakes, and everyone else is having them too— and Shitty insists that they pop a single candle in his stack and sing him happy birthday. When that’s all done and they’re all full, Shitty slaps Jack on the back and tells him to get ready. On their way out Bitty gives him a tight hug, Lardo gives him one too that’s less constricting and then Jack is in Shitty’s hands. Shitty’s first stop is at the historic downtown area in Providence where a cluster of vintage stores crowd both sides of the street. They both take their time visiting each store, looking through them and all they have to hold. In one of the stores dedicated to mostly just vintage clothing Shitty finds a horrendously patterned disco shirt, it’s made of a material that squeaks. “Lardo’s going to kill me if I let you bring that home.” “Brah, if I have to wear clothing it might as well be clothes that speak to my soul.” Jack walks out of the store as Shitty is forking the cash over to an all too pleased cashier, and walks into the next one over. And it’s much more what Jack is into. The smell of old books permeates the air, it’s very dusty and books line shelves are stuffed into bins, and there are even towers of books stacked up on the floor all over. He’s already across the room looking through the titles on the shelves in the back when Shitty comes rustling in with his bag that holds the ugliest shirt Jack has ever seen is being carried in. He may not be the most fashion forward, and he may have committed some fashion crimes in his time but come on. Looking down at his watch Jack can’t help but be shocked at the amount of time that’s flown by while they were walking around. It’s well into the afternoon and Jack was getting kind of hungry.  So he goes to pay for the little pile of books he’s gathered (one is a personal journal dated from 1946, another was an old mystery novel and cute little vintage cookbook for Bitty.) and asks Shitty if he wants to go get some food. He hums a bit glancing at his phone before answering Jack, “I think…” he types out a text, “We should eat something light. I'm sure Bitty is planning some sort of feast or something for when we get back.” “Ha, you’re not wrong.” So they find a cart selling hot dogs and walk to a park nearby to eat their food at a pickin table by a lake. Jack finished his two dogs in a few bites but Shitty is still on just one. He’s doing a lot more talking than eating, telling a ridiculous story about an intern and a major coffee mishap that invloed a few sick and one injured. By the time Shitty was done with both of his hotdogs and the story it was already half past three. Shitty was furiously texting on his phone, while Jack sares off towards a cluster of trees where two squirrels were chasing each other around the base, upwards, and then back down again. “Ok time to go!” Shitty shouted, slamming his phone down the table. “Euh, ok?” It was getting kind of late so Jack picked up his books and followed Shitty back to his car. When they were on the way home Jack realized what was happening. Bitty had planned a party. A few minutes later his suspicions were confirmed when all along his driveway and lawn were a cluster of cars. Loud music was coming from inside and out of the house. Jack gave Shitty a sidelong glance; his smile was wide underneath his mustache. The front door was already open and when he walked in the party was already underway. He dropped off his books at a table full of gifts before making his way through his own birthday party. Most of the Falconers and the old Samwell hockey team were gathered throughout the house and the backyard. He even spots his mother and father mingling with George by the couches. Ransom and Holster screamed at him and jostled him around when they spotted him. Nursery, Dex, and Chowder were more subdued but still loud enough to draw the attention of Tater and Snowy who greeted him like Ransom and Holster did which was much more obnoxious because he sees them regularly. And so it went, much the same as he made his way throughout the house and into the backyard, meeting old teammates and saying hello to his current teammates' families. When he finally made it to the backyard with a plate full of food in one hand and a cup of water in the other he was greeted by Marty, Thirdy and their respective wives. They chattered for a little while, Jack mostly listening while he ate, when a shrill scream drew his attention away. It was Bitty running around the grass playing with a pack of children and preteens, they all seemed to be playing a fierce game of tag. Jack knew the second he laid eyes on his husband his eyes went soft. Something bloomed in his chest at the thought of Bitty running around with a child of their own in this very backyard. Marty lightly punched his arm, nodding to the group of children currently chasing Bitty. “You talk to him about it yet?” Nodding Jack replied, “It’ll come up from time to time, we’ve talked about adopting.” and they have talked about it. It’s always out of the blue when they’re both silent, in bed or watching TV, or out for a walk. Bitty will say, “We should adopt.” and Jack will agree, and then they both say, “In the future.” But Jack right then in that moment, with Bitty laughing under a dogpile of giggling children, thinks why not now? It’s not long after that Bitty comes jogging up to him, grass stains on his knees, a smile stretched across his face making his cheek so very pink. He stands on his toes and gives a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Time for cake?” Jack grins and nods and they go hand in hand into the kitchen and the windows can barely stand it when everyone sings happy birthday. *** “There's only one thing I really wanted for my Birthday that I didn’t get yesterday.” Jack is making the both of them smoothies. His mother and father helped them clean up the morning after Jack’s party. They left a while ago telling them to enjoy themselves, so now it’s just Bitty and Jack back in the kitchen where they always tend to gravitate to. “And what’s that?” “I never got to make you that dinner I promised.” Pearls of laughter spill out from deep within Bitty’s chest. “Alright I think it’s about time I get this dinner.” Neither of them wanted to go out so Jack orders the ingredients through a delivery app and in the meantime they bake a pie. Jack has baked plenty of pies with Bitty over the years at this point, he’s become quite the expert at draping the crust just right and his lattice is always laced perfectly. The one they make is more for the fun of it, since they both have had their fair share of sweets during the last few days. The pie is probably going to a grateful neighbor later on. “Yesterday was really nice Bits, thank you for that.” Bitty who’s washing his hands free of flour smiles warmly at him, “Anything for you hun, I just wanted you to have a special day. You only turn thirty once.” Bitty takes a handtowl and wipes his hands dry. “And I’ll have you know it was Shitty’s idea to take out and “distract you”.” “Of course it was” Jack grins, “He did a decent job of it but I had my suspicions by the end.” “Well I wasn’t really trying to hide the fact, but you know how that man gets.” Later on when the ingredients are delivered and Bitty is watching Jack try and fail to neatly devein the shrimp does Jack pop the question. “Did you want to adopt a kid?” Bitty splutters into his cup of wine, “Now?” Shrugging Jack replies, “Yeah now. Well not right this moment obviously it’s a process but, yeah. Now.” Nearly out of seat Bitty gushes, “Yes let's have a kid now! We’ve waited long enough haven't we?” The food is done in fifteen minutes, and they're both on the couch forgoing the dining room for the night. Bitty is profuse with the compliments towards Jack’s cooking, moaning with every bite.   “If I had known we had a secret chef in the house I would have let you cook dinner more often!” “Are you actually admitting that you weren’t letting me cook on purpose this whole time?” Instead of replying Bitty shoves a mouthful of pasta in his mouth. Jack fakes being wounded in the chest but they’re both giggling. After the dishes are done they both hunch over Bitty’s laptop looking up the process on how to adopt a child in Rhode Island. At this moment he’s warm and happy, he finally cooked his husband an actual dinner served with fancy wine and all. He'd never thought back when he was teen that he would be here now. Out in the NHL married to another man looking up forms for adoption. It was a thorny path he followed to get here but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Of Monsters and Moose || Arthur and Kaden

TIMING: 2 months ago, during Sand and Glass POTW LOCATION: Moose Caboose  PARTIES: @arthurjdrake and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Bloody Mary decides to pay Kaden and Arthur a visit. AKA Sometimes your pixie roommate sets you up for a really bad blind date

The message on his phone was a surprise. Arthur wanted to meet him at Moose Caboose of all places for lunch. Kaden wasn’t certain why, especially there of all places, but he figured he’d find out. He had to figure if he was reaching out, there was a decent reason. It’s not like they were close but he had proven to be trustworthy. Enough. Kaden was thoroughly certain that Arthur was not just a man but a phoenix despite his denial. Maybe he’d have a chance to prove it. Subtly, of course. It’s not like he really made it a point to hunt phonexies. For one, they were rare as shit. And two, they weren’t usually the type to harm humans. And three, they weren’t exactly easy to kill if what he’d read in books were true. He wasn’t sure if they just sprung back to life from the ashes like a flaming zombie but he didn’t particularly want to find out and get on the bad side of a fire wielding bird, fragile as they were supposed to be. He took a seat at the restaurant and waited and wondered. Ever so often he noticed a flash or two of something out of the corner of his eye. Likely just people moving back and forth. “Hey,” he said, spotting Arthur as he took a seat. “What was it you wanted to discuss? It sounded sort of urgent. But uh, I guess only so urgent if we’re meeting, well, here.”

The moment Arthur’s phone had pinged with a message from Kaden Langley suggesting they meet at Moose Caboose two thoughts initially crossed his mind. The first: suspicion. After all, the last time they’d spoken Kaden had been rather accusatory regarding his own theory that Arthur wasn’t as human as he appeared to be. He was right of course, but that certainly wasn’t something that he particularly wanted to confirm. The second: surprise considering he really didn’t get the impression Langley liked him enough to even be interested in meeting up to discuss pie. But as ever, curiosity would kill the cat - or bird. Arthur glanced at his phone re-reading the message he’d received from Kaden while walking towards the booth Kaden was seated in, framed by a stuffed moose surrounded by pickled pumpkins with varying degrees of scarily carved faces. Grey eyes lifted as Kaden arrived accompanied by a look of puzzled interest. “Sorry? I wanted to discuss? I’m not sure--” he paused looking back at his phone and turning the screen towards Kaden to show their last conversation several months back followed by a more recent conversation initiated by an obscure message from Kaden earlier in the afternoon. “But I guess I was wondering the same thing.”

“Yes, you. You’re the one who invited me here.” Kaden thought the other mean was supposed to be smart, what had happened? Did he really not remember? He showed up, he had to know something. Kaden’s brows furrowed as he looked at the phone. ‘Meet me at Moose Caboose, pie man. We need to talk.’ The fuck? That was his name and information. But he had never seen that message before. “I didn’t send that,” he said, shaking his head. Part of him wanted to grab the phone and scroll through, check it closer, make sure it wasn’t a lie or a trick or magic but that seemed like a bad move. What if he just grabbed it and shook it? No, still bad. He sighed. “Well I got a very similar message from you so I don’t know what to make of that.” Kaden pulled out his phone and went to show him the message only… It wasn’t there. “Putain?” He scrolled through it furiously and there was nothing, just the conversation from months ago. “Ah, putain,” he repeated when it sunk in what probably happened. The pie comment. “Rumpleskuffs,” he said, grumbling. “Pretty sure my p-- my roommate sent that. As a joke.” He sighed before noticing another strange glint in something nearby. Odd. “Guess you might as well stay,” he said gesturing to the seat in front of him. “I’ve had worse company. How’s the girl? Was it Kat? She alright?”

“You didn’t? Weird…” but Kaden seemed genuine in that statement and his apparent confusion. He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other wondering just what Kaden was playing at here scrolling through his phone for some kind of evidence? Arthur blinked twice, “I’m sorry Rumpleskuffs?” Kaden had a room-mate called Rumpleskuffs? “Uh… Oh. So you didn’t want to talk about pie.” Well, that made this an interesting situation then, glancing between Kaden and the empty seat there was a half-a-second pause uncertain which way that remark should be taken. Folding his hands on the table, Arthur gave a small nod in confirmation. “Katherine? Yes. Fine, still suffers with some nightmares but talks a lot about the brave prince charming that came to destroy the evil monster. Kids… Pretty resilient huh?”

“We can talk about pie if you want, I guess. I’ve been making a lot but I’m not sure why you’d care.” Kaden was fairly sure that Arthur didn’t need to know why he was making so many, either. He didn’t love talking about feelings and bullshit with people he was close to let alone with near strangers. “Yeah, Rumpleskuffs, he’s a-- it’s a nickname. Weird guy. Likes pie a lot and messing with me.” He wasn't sure why he was worried about the likely phoenix knowing about his pixie roommate but he was. Maybe he just didn’t want to explain it or be judged for it. Wasn’t sure. Also felt like a bad thing to announce in public. “I don’t know how possible it is to grow up in this town without nightmares,” he said. “Glad to hear she’s otherwise okay.” He gave a small smile. “Not sure I should be anyone’s prince charming, though. Warn her about that one.” His brow furrowed as he noticed something moving in his glass of water. Odd.

A part of Arthur wanted to point out that really he didn’t care all that much but the rational part of his brain recognised that antagonising a hunter probably wasn’t the smartest of moves to make. So opted instead to say, “oh really? Is there another pie contest or something?” Rumpleskuffs? He rolled the name around in his head a little bit, “weird name that… How’d he get the nickname Rumpleskuffs? He isn’t a fae or something is he? I don’t know what their obsession with pie is… Or maybe it’s just the ones I’ve met but they all seem to share it.” His fingers curled a little under his chin in thought. “I dunno, I think if you’re stubborn enough it’s possible either that or you’re just lucky. One or the other.” Despite everything a smile edged its way onto his features, “she’s hardly going to pay any attention to me on that one plus you kind of look like that Flynn dude from that cartoon so I doubt much of anything will change that.” But Kaden was looking over his shoulder and naturally Arthur turned to glance behind him, finding only his own reflection. Weird. “Everything okay? You seem a bit- I dunno, distracted?”

“Not that I know of,” Kaden said with a shrug. Even if there were a contest, he didn’t have time to give a shit. The excess baking wasn’t for anyone else but him, not really. He froze when Arthur instantly pegged Rumple as fae. Putain. “I’m, uh, not sure. Just, it, yeah he’s a little fae. Mostly.” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to hide it. Shame mostly, to be honest. Alright, sure, he was dating Regan who was fae but that was partially because he hadn’t known initially. This was worse. Stupider, even. Maybe he should just accept his fate and get over it. Or rather is fae-te. He was a magnet for fae and fae bullshit. “Maybe so. But they’d be pretty hard pressed,” he said. This town was so full of living nightmares he couldn’t imagine skipping over all of it and coming out of this place without any scars of any sort. “Like Flynn who?” His forehead creased as he tried to imagine it. A cartoon prince who looked like him and fought monsters? He couldn’t imagine it. “Huh. Odd. Can’t picture it. I’m pretty sure no one would call me a prince either way.” He sighed and took a sip of the water the waitress left at the table. As soon as he went to take a sip, he swore he saw a figure in it, something dark and moving. “Merde!” he shouted as he dropped the glass from his hands, water spilling everywhere across the table. “Shit, shit, I’m sorry I thought I saw something in the wa--” He caught a peek at the glass and saw another flash of something and stumbled back out of his seat, catching himself on the edge of the chair before he tumbled to the floor. What the fuck was that?

For a hunter it seemed to strike Arthur that Kaden wasn’t the most apt at concealing his discomfort in a situation such as being caught in a lie or an omission of fact. “Not sure?” there were several ways to test whether Kaden’s apparent flatmate was a fae, but Arthur didn’t feel that right now was the best time to comment on it. “Perhaps, either that or find a decent enough spellcaster versed in the whole sphere of memory magic. That would usually clear up any issues considering if you can’t remember an event it can hardly give you nightmares hm?” But if the kid was happy enough and relatively untroubled then who was Arthur to interfere with how her parents - his great great times seven or something of the sort grandson chose to raise her. “Flynn Rider- Rapunzel- The- You don’t know? Oh huh…” he trailed off shaking his head “yeah okay probably better you don’t then.” Yet his attention was promptly diverted by the sudden commotion of water being spilled that had Arthur jumping to his feet in a flash at the same moment Kaden almost tumbled onto the floor. He peered at Kaden’s line of sight fixed on the glass and blinked as something seemed to shimmer and shift in the reflection “Oh bloody hell- Not again.”

Kaden did his best to act like nothing strange had happened, that he hadn’t just nearly fell from his seat, startled by a fucking glass of water of all things. “Sorry that was, I thought I--” It was then that he noticed Arthur was standing. He’d jumped away from the water like it was acid. If he was what Kaden suspected he was, it was likely that it was similar. Kaden didn’t get a chance to narrow his eyes or even question it further. “Not again? What do you mean not again?” he asked, brow furrowing. The reflection in the glass seemed to answer for him. As he looked into it, he saw a woman with a knife. Then felt a sting of pain across his cheek. “Putain!” he shouted, and clutched his face. He felt the blood running along his palm. What the hell? He pulled it away to examine his hand. Yeah, that was real alright. Real and red and painful. Kaden dared to lean in, get a closer look. “Murderer,” the spirit growled. The creases in Kaden’s forehead deepened and he saw a knife push forward towards him out of the reflection towards him. “Shit!” he shouted as he dived out of his chair, finally hitting the floor. “What the fuck is she talking about?! What’s going on?!” he asked Arthur. By now the whole restaurant had their eyes on them, there were whispers all around and lots of confusion. Kaden didn’t exactly care. But he did wonder if now was the time to tell people to leave.

Too many things happened at once, the accusatory glare and the sign of something strange lashing out of the upturned glass of water. A twisted ghostly visage one Arthur had seen not several weeks back in his very own kitchen attempting to drag Freyja down the stairs by her hair. “Oh shit” the panic was clear, though now really wasn’t the time to explain. “NO DON’T!” he yelled out instinctively as Kaden leaned in to inspect the glass right as another swipe of the knife followed one that could’ve certainly taken an eye if not for Kaden’s speedy reaction. “The reflections, she’s in the reflections” it was right as the words left his mouth that he saw the same figure manifesting in the glass panelled window, immediately, Arthur shot in Kaden’s direction, moving to backhand the glass off the table into the very panel the ghost had started to appear in. The whispers were silenced by the shattering of glass, glistening fragments spilling left right and center. A baleful shriek followed the sound and Arthur moved back over to Kaden extending a hand out to where he’d fallen “I know you have fuck all reason to trust me, but I need you to listen to me now - we need to get you out of here because she won’t stop until your head’s on a platter.”

“What?” Kaden sputtered as he worked to right himself onto his hands on knees, avoiding the glass shattered around him. “Me? What about me? How--” He was struggling to piece together all of the disparate pieces of the puzzle together in his panicked state. Ghost. This was definitely some sort of ghost or spirit. Reflections. Was this-- There was no way. “Don’t tell me this is Bloody fucking Mary,” he said in a hushed tone to the professor as he took his hand, letting him help him pull him off the floor. “Murderer,” rang out again, from over his left shoulder. Kaden looked back and saw the same woman in the mirror, ragged and dark and angry. Her knife reached out and this time Kaden ducked, putting his hand over his head. “What the fuck does she want with me? She’s got to be really fucking mistaken because I’m not a goddamn murderer.” There was chaos in the restaurant now, customers watching them and looking around them for the source of the commotion. A few of them had seen the reflection and pointed towards the mirror. Some of them seemed to think it was a show. Most of them were annoyed for the interruption. “Excuse me, we’re going to have to ask you to l--” the waiter started. “Way ahead of you,” Kaden said before ducking out. “How the fuck do I avoid all reflections? It’s nearly goddamn impossible.”

“Not now,” Arthur answered with a shake of his head as Kaden righted himself glancing at the hunter. For a moment there was a strange and sudden urge to laugh but no sound escaped him, only a grimace of acknowledgement and mild determination while backing up. “Would it make it momentarily better if I lied and said no?” But further words were cut short as the ghost swiped out from the window seemingly keen to totally ignore Arthur’s presence in the room next to Kaden. It sparked an idea, and Arthur shifted between Kaden and the next window using himself to block the ghost’s reach for Kaden. The waiter that had served them but moments prior looked as though he were about to have an aneurysm on the spot at the shattered window panel and it was the least Arthur could do to offer an apologetic look and passing remark of “sorry, I’ll pay for that later yeah? Claustrophobia, my friend doesn’t do well inside.” Eventually they made it outside but the parking lot posed an entirely separate issue and Arthur had to run through through options. “The park, open field right? Just round the block… If we get there we can probably wait her out… I don’t think you’ll be able to do anything to her… She’s not a normal ghost.”

Kaden wanted to be annoyed at the bullshit explanation to the waiter, but he didn’t have much of a chance. It’d have to fucking do because they had to get the hell out of there. “A park?” It made sense, he had to admit. There shouldn’t be a whole lot of reflective surfaces surrounding him there. He’d just have to avoid any water nearby. And if his suspicions on Arthur were correct, he’d be just as keen to avoid that as well. “Okay, park. That’s-- Go, let’s go.” He reached into his wallet and shoved a twenty dollar bill on the table before running out, ducking and dodging like it might help. “I know who the fuck Bloody Mary is! I’m a--” He stopped short, didn’t want to scream it out in the middle of the street that he was a hunter. Seemed like a bad fucking plan. “Just trust me, I know.” He started running in the direction he indicated, past the cars and show windows. Shit, fucking shit. He tried not to look but he had a feeling it didn’t matter one way or another if he checked his reflection. “Let’s get to the fucking pa--” His words were cut off by something grabbing at his ankles and dragging him back along the concrete. Kaden screamed and tried futilely to fight off the invisible, intangible object pulling him and scraping him along the sidewalk. He tried to grip the edge, keep from going any farther, but it wasn’t doing much good. Putain.

Arthur’s mind in a spur of the moment decision making process felt that a rather bullshit explanation seemed perfectly reasonable in comparison to telling their rather human waiter from what he could see that bloody goddamn Mary was here to try and kill them. Not them. Kaden. What was it about almost every instance they ran into one another that ended up in something going absolutely sideways? Breaking outside Arthur took off down the street high-tailing it after Kaden with half a mind to smash the windows of the cars they passed. After all, what was a bit of public property damage compared to sparing someone from meeting a rather bloody end at the hand of an equally murder orientated spirit? “Okay! Okay right-” and so they set off, Arthur mainly focussed on running; moving his feet one after the other even as the beginnings of a stitch started to cramp his side. Who knew that a lifetime of office work and preference for milk chocolate brazil nuts during a marathon of Clone Wars did not an athlete make. It was such complainant thoughts and panicked interspersed contemplation regarding what the hell they were going to do next that almost caused him to trip over Kaden as the man crashed to the sidewalk being dragged in the complete opposite direction.

“Oh shit- shit! Hold on!” Park. Right. Grass, bushes… Rocks. Rocks! With little other thought Arthur dove to a nearby bush rummaging around in the vain hope of finding- There his fingers curled around the rough texture of a rock about the size of his fist before scrambling back to the street and hauling his arm back to lob the rock straight through the nearest window of a smart looking mercedes. The glass shattered and its alarm blared but Arthur was already grabbing a piece of glass, little care for the jagged edge cutting into his palm as he brandished it towards the spirit speaking with a courage he didn’t admittedly feel right there and then. “Let him go Mary. He isn’t deserving of your wrath.”

White glass like eyes belonging to a gaunt face framed by stringing black hair snapped away from their intense focus on Kaden for but a moment before returning to the hunter with a snarled hiss, the shrill sound akin to nails scraping down a chalkboard “murderer.”

Kaden could feel skin scraping off his palm as he tried to wrap his fingers around any piece of concrete he could grab onto. He felt some release, the dragging stopped, but it was in exchange for the familiar sounds of glass shattering, the sharp pain of car alarms blaring in his ears. Still, he wasn’t going to complain too much about having a chance to scramble up from the ground. “Why does she keep saying that?” he said, voice laced with panic and confusion. Of course he wasn’t deserving of her wrath. Did she really think all killing made him a murderer? He wasn’t. That wasn’t how this worked. He’d never killed a human. Not once. Fucking spirit had to be mistaken. Even then, he felt like he should cover himself with his jacket, just hide. Like it might eliminate his reflection, make this go away. “We have to get out of here,” he said, grabbing Arthur’s arm and leading him towards the direction of the park, crouching behind the other man as best he could, hoping it might shield him from the spirit’s wrath. They had to leave. If not just because of the spirit but because he wasn’t looking to pay for this fucking broken car window. Somehow he didn’t think Alain was up for doing him any favors as of late. A wail rang through the night as black hair and a glint of silver flashed in the reflection of a shop window followed by a flash of pain along his arm. “Repent,” it bellowed. Putain de merde. “Repent for what? I’m not a murderer. You have the wrong person. Leave me alone!” That park had to be close. It had to be.

“Because that’s what she thinks you are and she’s not-” Arthur didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence as the spectre wailed; seeming to grow frustrated with the constant interruptions of this interloper. The frustration grew even more apparent as Kaden moved behind Arthur out from its line of sight and reach.

“You protect the guilty,” the accusation was harsh and grating and punctuated by a wild advancing slash that Arthur tried to block, but instead slid off and caught his shoulder clean, rending flesh and causing him to cry out in pain.

Stumbling back a step but keeping Kaden behind him he caught himself trying to ignore the stinging ache of his shoulder and where it was fast staining his jumper crimson. Arthur stared back at the spirit with a mixture of defiance and pain but also using the time to keep walking backwards. Just keep it talking. Use the time until they got to the point they could make a final run for it. “So what if I do? Bit hypocritical wouldn’t you say? You’re no better than them in the end.” The ghost lunged again but he was more prepared this time; dodging to one side and glancing behind him in the process towards the gate that was about ten metres away. Just a little further and they could run.

Shit, she was attacking Arthur now, too? That-- He wasn’t a murderer, then, was he? Kaden would have to figure that one out later. Honestly, she was clearly fucking confused so he wasn’t sure it was worth conjecturing one way or another. “Come on,” he said as the two of them backed towards the gate. “Any day now.” He didn’t like the idea of giving this bitch of a spirit any more opportunity than they had to. They were close, almost there, when she lashed out one more time. Arthur dodged and Kaden tried to duck, too, but he caught another edge of the blade slicing into his back. He screamed out but he turned on his heel towards the gate anyway, pushing past the pain. He wanted to make sure that was the last of it. He could manage it once he was something closer to safe. At the sight of the gate, Kaden practically slammed into it with his shoulder. It gave way without much protest and he kept sprinting into the middle of the field. Once he was pretty damn sure there was no shot of his reflection betraying him, Kaden collapsed to the ground and winced at the pain across his cheek, along his back, the various cuts from the various shattered glass. It took him a moment to catch his breath, collect himself enough to form words. “Thanks,” he managed to say, looking up at Arthur as he pulled himself up off the ground. “Your shoulder. You need first aid.”

There was no putting it off now and as the gate hinges squealed and grated open, Arthur legged it after Kaden into the middle of the grassy expanse of the field breathing heavy when they both finally came to a stop and took stock of their situation. Finding nothing malicious stalking them Arthur turned and sank down onto a nearby bench grimacing a little as he picked at where the fabric stuck to the slash; roughly several inches long but not too deep, “it’s not too bad.” And in all honesty it wasn’t, certainly wouldn’t kill him. Instead, Arthur looked back to Kaden assessing the damage the spirit had managed to do in their escape down the street. “Are you okay? That spirit seemed… Kinda intense in wanting to get her hands on you.”

“I’m fine,” Kaden said with a grunt as he pushed himself up off the ground and onto the bench next to Arthur. “That spirit seemed fucking confused is what she seemed like.” He winced a little as he felt the cut on his face. It stung, but it might not even scar, more surface level than anything. Which was nice. “Going after me. Going after you. Isn’t she meant to target murderers? Putain de merde. Someone fucking lied, I guess.” He shook his head and looked back to his companion. “You sure you’re alight, though?”

“Confused?” Arthur echoed side-eyeing Kaden for a moment trying to process the logic behind where the other man was coming from considering what they both knew Kaden was. A hunter. Someone that rather literally existed to balance the scales of existence of supernatural beings. “I mean there’s a fair justification in her going after you... Not that I’m saying she should” he added quickly “just… like you do mur- uh- kill people that aren’t human. Which is murder...” Leaning forwards Arthur rubbed his hands together. “I think she also goes after people that just get in the way of her target ‘cause I’ve never killed anyone in my life.” Or more correctly, in this life. “Uh yeah, though I’m not sure how we’re meant to get back home unless we just… Wait and hope she goes to chase someone else or something.”

“Killing monsters isn’t murder.” The words left his mouth like a mantra, without thought. Kaden wasn’t sure he believed it or not. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to think about what those words even meant anymore or if they held any weight in any shape or form. Either way, he had to hold onto them. If he didn’t-- He just had to. “Guess so.” Must have meant Kaden got in the way of someone else. Right? It had to. There was no other option. He couldn’t be a murderer. That wasn’t something he could live with. And so he wouldn’t. “Seems like that’s the. Guess I owe you dinner, huh?”

“Even werewolves or people that just so happen to have less normal aspects of themselves? Not all supernaturals are monsters - Regan’s a good example of that no?” How many times had Arthur had this conversation with hunters or slayers over his lifetimes? Too many to count but it always boiled down to the same gritted determination of belief that monsters of all shape and size were evil and that somehow their deaths was justified lighting it under the simple guise of monstrosity. It was interesting in a way, seeing how some people tried to justify their actions in their own mind to help them live with the actions and decisions they made on a daily basis. “If an evening out with you is always gonna end up with one of us almost dead or mauled by some beast… I think maybe next time we stick with an afternoon drink - lessens the chances a fraction hey?”

“We’re not talking about Regan right now.” Hell, Kaden was barely talking to Regan right now. And the less he thought about whatever was happening in those woods with Deirdre, the better. And he wasn’t going to try and sort out his feelings on the matter or the growing list of exceptions he was making while sitting on a park bench nursing his wounds after running from a fucking spirit that was trying to kill him through a goddman mirror. Not going to happen. It was bad enough he broke down with Morgan in the woods after that shit with Alain and the bugbear. He was not going to have another fucking moment like that on a park bench. No, thanks. “Spirit must have been mistaken,” he said flatly, with a tone that indicated he wasn’t debating this. Kaden sighed, trying to let go of some of the tension he was harboring. “Worth shot. Even if I’m not sure that all the monsters of White Crest take a break while the sun is out.”

[t100ficrecsblog]

an interview with @changingthefairy-tale​

What are you working on right now? Right now, I’m focused on BellarkeFic-for-BLM (I just got an amazing canon prompt I’m really excited to finish). I’ve also been participating in this round of the Chopped Challenge, which has been fun and challenging. In between prompts, I’ve got two WIPs that I’m slowly cranking through. Shoutout to every single reader who’s been incredibly patient while I’ve been so slow on those updates — though, reminder that you can donate to a BLM organization (even a $3 donation works) and request an update to get those higher on my prio list while I’m focused on that initiative.

What’s something you’d like to write one day? My absolute dream job and the ultimate goal is to become a showrunner for a prime time TV show. I love TV shows — I love the way actors and directors and crew take a script and breath life into it, I love how you take a general idea for a story and mold it into something amazing as you go, I love how a series gives a story more time to be fleshed out and explored, I love the concept of a writers room and collaborating on a story. It’s a different ballgame from fic writing (which I do for fun) and travel writing (which I do for a living), but I’m determined to make it happen. JRoth, I’m coming for your job, babe. 😉

What is the fanwork you’re most proud of? I’m still really new to fic writing, especially compared to some of the powerhouse writers in this fandom. And I’m sure one of my WIPs (when finished) will probably supersede this. BUT, my one-shot about Madi calling Bellamy on The Ring (She called you for 2,199 days) is something I’m really proud of. I’m a long-winded writer, so one-shots have never come naturally to me. This one just…clicked. It’s got some good lines in there that I’m proud of, and based on the feedback I’ve gotten, it really made readers feel something and connect to the story. It’s not my longest story or my most thought-out. But it shows my growth as a writer these past few months, and I’m proud of that.

Why did you first start writing fic? I started writing fic as a creative outlet for my writing. My day job is writing about travel and credit cards. And while I enjoy that, it’s just not as creative. My dream is to write for a TV show though, and I was craving a way to flex my creative writing muscles in a low-stress way. I started watching The 100 when it first came out, but I didn’t really get into the fandom until I came back to the show during the S5/6 hiatus. That’s when I started reading fics and reblogging stuff about the show on Tumblr. During the S6/7 hiatus, I had this idea for a Greys Anatomy AU, and my sister (who is also a major fan of the show) was like, “You literally write things for a living. If you want to write a Grey’s AU for t100, there is absolutely nothing stopping you.” I published my first chapter on that The Choices We Make in Dec. 2019, and the rest is history.

What frustrates you most about fic writing? For me, I think that the most frustrating thing isn’t even about fic writing itself; it’s the fact that it’s a side-hobby and not something I can dedicate my full attention to. When you write all day for your day job, then do some for your freelance gig, and then turn around and try to write for a few hours every night for fic… that gets hard sometimes — especially since starting quarantine where I’m not traveling, going out with friends, getting a break from it, etc. Fic writing is a creative release for me, and I absolutely love crafting and writing these stories that involve some of my favorite fictional characters. And I love interacting with other writers and fic readers, I love talking about ideas and exchanging headcanons and fangirling over my favorite writers’ works. But (because there’s always a but), sometimes I just don’t have the mental energy or capacity to write at the end of the day when I’ve turned in 3 deadlines for work. I’ve got all these ideas floating in my head, but only so much time and mental energy I can dedicate to it.

What are your top five songs right now? Oh boy. So I live alone, which means I’ve got either music or Netflix on in the background 24/7 because ya girl doesn’t like silence. I have a different playlist for different moods. I’ll share my fav song from each of those playlists. Lol Fvck Somebody by The Wrecks (On my “Summer state of mind” playlist for when I wanna dance it out in my kitchen like an idiot)

Don Quixote by Drapht (On @talistheintrovert​’s “My Good Bitch Murphy” playlist for when I’m feeling *edgy*)

that way by Tate McRae (On my “Pandemic Jams” playlist bc I like angsty music and this song is a Bellarke MOOD)

Washington on Your Side from Hamilton (On my “Feeding my Broadway Obsession” playlist for when I wanna sing show tunes and plot overthrowing the government)

Tea by Noah Davis (Shameless plug for Noah bc it’s a bop and I literally dated Noah’s older brother in junior high — so proud of this kid for making his dreams a reality)

What are your inspirations (books, songs, other fic, really good cake)? All of the above, except I like pie more than cake. lol But really, I kind of use everything around me for inspiration. “The Choices We Make” is inspired by my love of Grey’s Anatomy. “Intertwining your soul (with somebody else)” is inspired my the first draft of my YA novel (though the setting was adapted to a grounder canonverse AU). “The Day He Shut That Rocket Door” and “She called you for 2,199 days” were inspired by @historyofbellarke‘s headcanons that were brought up in S7 speccing conversations (shoutout to her for enabling my angsty ass). My most recent WIP “There are some things written in the stars” that I started as part of Chopped (but will continue because I’m obsessed with the idea) is inspired by my love of Timeless. And I have an entire Notion database filled with fic ideas — some one-shots and some multi-chapter fics — that are inspired by quotes, songs, conversations with friends, books I love, shows I adore, random HCs that pop into my head while I watch, my own life experiences, etc. I take inspiration in any form it decides to come in. 💕

What first attracted you to Bellarke? What attracts you now? I’m a ho for enemies to lovers — the idea that you can put your worst foot forward and show someone all the ugly parts of you… and that they’ll see that and somehow look past it to see the good stuff too, falling in love with your whole self instead of just the pretty parts. Yeah, it’s my favorite romance trope. And that tension is what originally drew me to Bellarke. Now, it’s a combination of things. I love each of these characters in their own right. I relate to Clarke in a lot of ways, and I aspire to be her level of badass. I straight adore Bellamy Blake (flaws, stupid decisions, and all) and would marry him in a heartbeat if he were real — I’m not even kidding. lol But I also love their dynamic. They are partners, best friends, perfect compliments to the other. They see each other in a way no one else does, and they are the one person the other constantly risks everything for. They are both so driven by their responsibilities to their people, yet that all typically goes out the window the moment the other is at risk. I don’t believe in soulmates in real life, but it’s nice to get to believe in this fictional world that they are just made for each other.

BESIDES Bellarke, what character or pairing do you like best on t100? My favorite character besides Bellarke is John Murphy. His arc has been BY FAR the best on this show, going from that little shit in S1 to this “asshole we love” in the middle to now a true hero in this final season. And through it all Richard Harmon has been amazing to watch on screen.

My favorite pairing besides Bellarke is Linctavia. Yes, that ship is problematic in a lot of ways, but I still loved their dynamic. Lincoln helped Octavia navigate this new world that she was so desperate to be apart of while being mindful of her safety. And I thought they were a good match — he helped tame her fire without putting it out, and she helped challenge the way he was raised. Given time, I think they could have become one of the most stable and loving relationships on t100. Of course, that couldn’t happen because Jason needed Bell’s actions in 3A to have heartbreaking consequences, O to spiral for her own character journey, and whatever mess happened off-screen between Ricky and him. But they still remain my favorite ship aside from Bellarke.

Why did you decide to start writing for bellarkefic-for-blm? The second I saw that Sam was planning on doing this, I reached out to ask how I could help/write/be involved. The BLM movement is so important, and this is an amazing way for me to contribute while pursuing my passions. It’s a way for the fandom to get involved and do something good. And ultimately, this helps organizations that need donations. Shameless plug for everyone to please go check out the Bellarke Fic for BLM page — check out the many amazing writers and artists we have participating, and send in prompts. Most of us are allowing WIP chapter update requests, and there are a number of us (myself included) who are matching donations made! No donation is too small, and you’ll be supporting a movement that is a necessity in the U.S. and beyond.

What’s your writing process like? My mind is literal chaos, so I plan and outline like hell in order to make sense of everything. When I get an idea for a fic, it goes on my Notion database. Within Notion, I write down my inspiration for the idea, and a pretty in-depth summary of where I want the fic to go — dialogue ideas, any feelings/emotions I want to invoke, literally just a brain dump of all my ideas. From there, I’ll arrange that brain dumb into an outline. If it’s a one-shot, I’ll generally write the whole thing in the Notion doc. But multi-chapter fics will get a checklist within Notion for me to keep track of progress, and I’ll actually write the fic in Google Docs. I generally start writing from the beginning of a story, but if I get stuck or have an idea for a later scene, the fact that I’ve outlined heavily allows me to jump around as ideas come to me. I’ll read each one-shot or chapter after I’m done to make sure it flows before publishing. I post chapters for my WIPs as I write them, which I should really stop doing. lol For my readers’ sakes, I should work ahead and publish on a schedule rather than making them wait for my slow ass to finish chapter to chapter. But right now, that’s my process!

What are some things you’d like to recommend? Oh goodness, too many fics to possibly name. Instead, I’ll link to my AO3 rec bookmarks (which isn’t all-inclusive of the amazing fics I’ve read in this fandom, but it’s got some good favs in there) and shout out all of our awesome Bellarke Fic for BLM writers. Y’all should check out their work (and send in prompts)!

Where’s the best place to find you (twitter? tumblr?) I’m @changingthefairy-tale on Tumblr and @changingthefairy_tale on AO3! My ask box is always open for anyone who wants to scream about the show, ask about specs, talk about my fics, etc. Come say hey!

[jennygirl2014]

Just Deserts-Chapter 2

(It’s finally here!  Sorry for the delay! I didn’t proofread or edit yet, so please don’t hate me, I will fix it up later. I just wanted to get it up.  Thanks for reading!)

Chapter Summary: Tawney goes over to Ransom’s for the first time, hoping to keep it professional.  But of course the arrogant asshole has to try and get under her skin.) Warnings: language, some mild racism.

Chapter 2

“This guy could be a murderer.” Kira’s voice carried over the kitchen.  She was busy getting her station set up for the day, having just arrived.  Meanwhile, even though it was only a little after ten in the morning, Tawney was cleaning up her mess for the day.  “Or a rapist. You don’t know.  Call him up and tell him to shove his deal up his ass.”

“And how else do I pay to have the car fixed without insurance?” Tawney replied as she placed the last of her dishes in the industrial dishwasher.  “He was gonna call the cops!”

“We could have a bake sale. You know people love your desserts. We could raise the money somehow.” Kira walked over, wiping her wet hands with a rag.  

“Cupcakes aren’t going to fix this, Ki.” Tawney finally looked her friend in the face.  “Besides, I don’t even have his number.”

“Even more reason not to go!” Kira fussed, “Seriously.  You’re signing up to be some creepy stranger’s house maid.”

“It’s just cooking and baking.  How else can I pay to have a freaking Beemer fixed?”

“A Beemer?  Fucking rich dickhead…” Kira scoffed.  

“If things get creepy, I’ll leave.”

“You better.  And you better not let him talk down to you.  If he does, slip something extra into a pie or something.” Typical Kira.

              Tawney knew her friend meant well, and she had every right to be concerned.  The truth was, Tawney really was nervous about the whole thing, but she didn’t see any other options at the moment.  After she had managed to get home the night before, she could barely sleep, between the adrenaline, the guilt, the anxiety of the unknown, and also not having a working air conditioner.  She still managed to roll out of bed and make it into work, extra early, at 2AM, just to be sure she could leave to get to this stranger’s house by noon.  Her lack of sleep was likely clouding her judgement as well, but she didn’t have time to worry about that.  She was just grateful that her boss loaned her a spare key and that he had given her permission to go in so early.  

              She had to use her GPS to find this guy’s house, which meant keeping her phone within sight, something that she was terrified over after how using her phone while driving had resulted the night before.  During the drive she was scolding herself for agreeing to this, this guy, Ransom, was a complete stranger.  Hell, he could have been a real perv, especially after how he jumped at the idea of being paid in other forms the night before, something that was not on her mind at all.  But he was a good looking guy, he was likely used to women just dropping to their knees for him.  Well, that wasn’t who she was.  And once she pulled into the driveway and finally saw this guy’s house, she was sure he was used to having all sorts of female company.  He was secluded, his house hidden by a wall of trees, yet practically the whole house was made of glass.  So many windows, so much to see, and like there was nothing he had to hide.  Just stepping foot into this house, she was going to feel exposed.  

              Her car rattled into a spot next to his and she parked it.  The damage on his car really wasn’t as bad as hers had been, and she eyed the scratched up side of his car before she fought with the broken handle to release the door to get out.  Every foot step up to his door made her heart pound harder, and her knife bag felt heavy as it hung from her shoulder.  When she was close enough to press the doorbell, she froze, thinking.  She still had time to run away, she could turn back and race out of there without him even knowing she was there.  How would he know?  How would he find her?  Maybe she could get away with this whole thing, no service required.

              Just as she started to weigh the decision in her mind, the door swung open and there he stood, the same man from the previous night. His blue t-shirt fit relaxed on his broad frame, but it still showed off a certain physique that caught her eye.  Hell, her eyes fell right onto his chest, and she instinctively held her breath.  “Good, you found the place.  I saw you walking up.” He spoke as he opened the screen door and held it open for her. Of course he saw her, all those windows. She still stood in place, like her feet were cemented to that spot on his top step.  She had a sinking feeling about stepping past that threshold, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come in?” he grew annoyed.  She put her guard up and stepped in past him.  

              Her eyes scanned the place.  Was this the place of a murderer, or a rapist, or a crazed pervert? It seemed more like the palace of a man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, a man without a care in the world, but all of the expectation.  It was big and spacey, and it made her feel so small, like she was being swallowed up. His furniture was leather, the hardwood was perfectly polished, and the smell in the air, dark and masculine, like pine, fresh and clean.  She did not belong in that house, standing in her already stained chef coat, wearing the sweat and smells of working eight hours in a kitchen.  This was all too pristine, too high class.  She felt vulnerable.

              She turned to him, to see him in his own habitat, and she was slightly alarmed to see him just standing there, eyeing her. She gulped and wet her lips, not knowing what to say, or how to even speak in such a situation.  Luckily, he handled that first awkward moment for her. Not to her surprise, this man likely has no sense of shame.  

“You look like you came from work.”

“I did come from work.” She replied.  

“Oh.” He shrugged it off, like working a full day before going to a second job was nothing. “Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.” He walked ahead of her and led her into a large open kitchen. The countertops were marble, there was an island range and two ovens stacked into the wall on the far side.  Everything was dark rich tones with pops of stainless steel, perfectly collaborated.  This was her dream kitchen, a kitchen meant for hosting and cooking large elaborate meals, and it looked like it had never been touched.  He had no idea how lucky he was, or how much she envied him at that moment. “My maid, Maria, comes early every morning.  She just left, so, the kitchen is all ready and clean for you.” He informed her.  Tawney walked over to the island counter and set her bag down, looking around a bit more before opening up her bag and unrolling her tools.

“I clean up after myself.” She told him

“Why?  I just told you I have a maid.” He pulled out a stool and took a seat across from her.  

“Because I don’t like having other people clean up after me.” She replied as she pulled out a small notebook and a pen.  

“Suit yourself.”

“So,” she drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and then sighed. “What kind of stuff do you like?”

“What do you mean?” she couldn’t believe his casual response.

“Like…what kind of foods do you like?” she paused, “You have had a cook before, right?  I mean, you said that last night.  Clearly they must have had some recipes you preferred.”

“Okay, miss sassy pants,” he took a small jab at her before he answered, “I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy.  I like my protein.  I’m not a huge fan of vegetables or fish, but I’ll eat them if prepared to my liking.”

“Which means…?” she started taking notes down.

“Nothing boiled.  Sautéed is fine, roasted is fine.”

“Okay.”

“I like a good sandwich for lunch.  Breakfast I usually handle myself, just eggs and toast, so you’re off the hook there. At least for now.”

“At least for now?” she repeated his statement and looked up to make eye contact with him. “What…what does that mean?”

“It means sometimes I might like a nice cooked breakfast.”

“…I have a job, dude.” She reminded him.  “I have to work.”

“That’s not my problem.” He replied with a smug smile. “You damaged my car, which means you work when I need you, or I report it.  I’ll let you know ahead of time, that way you can work something out with your boss.”

“I’ll need twenty-four hours’ notice.”

“I was thinking more like a couple hours.”

“No, that won’t work.” She got annoyed.

“Okay, twelve.”

“Fine.” She gave in.

“And don’t call me dude.” He started to lecture her, “I’m not one of your homies.” That one wasn’t going to fly.

“Okay,” Tawney lifted her pen only to drop it and lay her hands on the marble as she addressed him. She wanted him to know how serious she was. “I may be young, and I may have damaged your car, for which I am sorry. But I’m here now, in a professional manner.  Which means, I show you respect,” she pointed to herself, “And you show me respect. Now it doesn’t take a detective to figure out we’re from different sides of the track, but…you will not talk to me like I’m some girl from the ghetto.  I worked hard to get where I am today.  And if you have any qualms about hiring a black girl, you can go ahead and call the cops about your car and then find yourself another cook because I won’t stick around for it.”

Ransom looked at her with wide eyes.  But then he scoffed and his expression turned to that of amusement.

“Wow.  Okay.  Well as long as we’re laying down rules,” he leaned in, “This is my house.  I don’t appreciate you showing up in a stained uniform, it looks messy.  And if you wanna talk about being a professional,” he tilted his head at her, “See what I’m saying?  So, bring a clean one.  No blasting music, no hanging out on your cell phone, you’re here to cook.  If I had guests over, I’ll let you know, but this contract is extended to them too.  If friends are here and they’re hungry, they’re going to get fed.  Got it?”

“Fine.” She felt like he was just trying to even the score some.  

“And I don’t have any qualms, just so you know.” He tossed that last part out there for affect. There was a moment of silence between them, like they were measuring each other up.

“We got off topic.” Tawney changed the subject back, “What do you like?  As far as food.” She clarified again.

“Italian.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard.”

“If you expect respect, then you’d better start giving it too. Missy.” He warned her.

“My name is Tawney.”

“That’s right, I forgot.” He rubbed his chin, “What kind of a name is Tawney, anyway?”

“Family name.  What kind of a name is Ransom?”

“You know I’m starting to regret not having you address me as Hugh.” He countered as he cut his eye at her.

“So, Italian,” she came back to topic, “What else?”

“Chinese.  Not a huge fan of Mexican.  Never been a fan of collard greens or chitlins.” He started to push her buttons again.  Tawney realized this was going to be a never- ending battle.  He thought he was being funny.

“Dessert?” she refused to let him see her get worked up.

“Oh yeah.  I’ve got a real sweet tooth.” When he finished his statement, she caught his eyes scanning her again.  

“Custards?  Cakes?”

“Cookies, pies, brownies…”

“Is that another cheap shot?”

“What?  Saying I like brownies?” he sat back and held his hands out in defense, but the smile was still sporting nothing but amusement. He knew what he was doing.

“What am I making today?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought that far.  But Maria brought groceries this morning.  Take a look around and see what you can come up with.” He stood up from the stool.  “Call it an audition.” He turned to walk away, but stopped and turned to her again.  “One more thing, don’t go snooping around the house.  The kitchen is on this floor, there’s no need for you to go upstairs.”

“Why would I go upstairs?”

“Exactly.” He paused, “I mean, unless you’re invited.”

Dick.

“I’m just fine right here.” She abruptly closed her notebook and turned to get to work.

              Ransom walked off into the living room while Tawney marched over to his fridge to figure out something.  She figured she would make enough food for him to last two days, he has said three days a week the night before, so maybe she could get away with not having to come again the following day.  She found some ham and roast beef for sandwiches, different cheeses, some ground beef, a couple tomatoes and a couple other things.  Then she went through the cupboards next, finding pasta, different spices, but not a whole lot.  She wondered what his previous cook had been doing, or how long he had gone without a cook. It was clear this guy wasn’t much into cooking for himself.  Then of course she had to come up with a dessert, since he had mentioned having a sweet tooth, and really, why not do one? There wasn’t a lot available, but she could figure something out.

“When was the last time you had a cook?” she called out to him.

“It’s been like a month I guess.” He replied from his couch, where he was sitting on his phone.  She wondered what rich people did during the day, by the looks of this guy, not much.

“What was your last cook’s name?” she asked another question as she found a bowl in the cupboard and pulled it down.  

“Tim…something…can’t remember his last name.  He didn’t stick around long.” Then he added, “They never really do.” His statement made her heart sink, she felt like her goose was cooked before she even had the chance.

“I’m going to need more things from the store, eventually.  There’s not a ton here.”

“Make a list, I’ll have Maria get them tomorrow.”

“Where does she shop?”

“God you ask a lot of questions.” He turned his head from the couch to shoot her an annoyed look.

“Never mind then.” She retorted and went about her business.  “Prick.” She muttered under her breath.

              Within a couple minutes, she had prepared him a sandwich with apple slices and some chips.  She arranged everything on a plate and called out to him when it was ready. He came over, took it from her, grabbed a can of soda from his fridge and went back to his spot on the couch to watch TV.  She figured if he didn’t like ham and cheese, he would say something, and when he didn’t, she figured everything was fine and she was ready to move on with tomorrow’s sandwich.  She caramelized some onions for a roast beef sandwich with swiss, and she made a garlic aioli and toasted the bread to keep it from going too soggy.  Next came a lasagna, which she threw together with the cans of tomato sauce he had in his pantry, but it was lacking without any fresh herbs.  Ransom saw this as he placed his plate in the sink.

“You’re using canned tomato sauce?”

“Well you don’t have a ton of fresh tomatoes or herbs, so…” she trailed off, keeping her eyes on the meat she was browning.  When she noticed that he wasn’t walking away she looked up at him. “I can’t make herbs appear out of thin air.”

“Just put it on the list.” He quickly reminded her of the list and walked away.  Tawney’s eyes went wide with annoyance, but she maintained her composure.

“How was the sandwich?” she genuinely wanted feedback.

“I like fresh tomato and lettuce on my sandwiches.  I would hope that a cook can dress up a sandwich…”

“I’ll put stuff on the list!” she snapped at him before he could finish.  The man shook his head and walked off.  She puffed out her frustration and rolled her shoulders.  He wasn’t making this easy.  

              The lasagna came out as best as she could manage without the ingredients she would have hoped for.  What was most annoying about all of this was that she knew how to make good food, and she wanted that good food on her own table, but she couldn’t afford to live like that.  The lasagna with canned tomato sauce was something she would whip together for herself, because it was cheaper.  Here he was complaining and it was out of being lazy.  Every minute in that house and every minute in Ransom’s presence reminded her of how different their worlds were.  The food still smelled good, and it would still taste good, but he was just looking to find fault in all of it.  Matters were made worse by the fact that she was exhausted, and that she was starving.  Her stomach was rumbling and starting to hurt.  It was almost like being teased, making so much food and not being able to eat. When Ransom came over to get a glass of water, he happened to hear her stomach growling.  She swallowed her embarrassment and looked away as he eyed her.

“Hungry?” he sounded like he was mocking her.

“I haven’t eaten in ten hours.” She defended herself.  Ransom leaned against the counter with his glass of water, watching as she washed up the dishes she had used.  

“Aren’t you going to make a dessert?”

“Yeah, I’m just cleaning up a little.” She tried not to make eye contact with him, but he lingered there.

“You can eat something if you’re hungry.” He offered.  Tawney was surprised by his suggestion; he didn’t seem the type to allow her to eat.

“I…I didn’t think you would…you know…” she didn’t know how to word whatever it was she was trying to say.

“I don’t care if you eat.” He snapped at her as he walked out of the kitchen.  It was odd, like he was angered by her assumption.  How else was she supposed to interpret his attitude? She settled on eating an apple and getting back to work.  

              The lack of ingredients made it difficult to think up a good dessert, but any dessert would have worked at that point.  She would have to settle for the idea of wowing him with a dessert another time.  The most curious part about making a dessert for this man was trying to figure out why she cared.  He wasn’t the nicest guy, and she was there to settle a debt, so what did it matter? It had to have been her love for baking that made her so consumed with the idea of making something special.  Afterall, she was in her dream kitchen, and not on a time restriction, she had the chance to make something special.  Maybe that was the silver lining in all of this.  Yeah the guy was a complete asshole, but she could really flex her culinary muscles in this kitchen.  She could perfect a couple techniques that could maybe lead to a better job one day.  Maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

              It was about half past four when Tawney finished cooking and baking.  She was exhausted and ready to call it a night, but she made sure to clean up and leave a detailed list on the counter.  As she was putting away her knives and tools, Ransom came back into the kitchen.  He looked around, inspecting the space.  The lasagna was sitting on the stove and a plate of cookies was sitting neatly on the counter.  He then turned to Tawney, as if waiting for her to explain herself.

“The lasagna just needs to be reheated, you can either cut a piece and put it in the microwave or reheat it in the oven.  It’s up to you.  I made a roast beef sandwich for you for lunch tomorrow.  It has swiss and caramelized onions and—"

“You’re not coming tomorrow?” he interrupted her.  Tawney managed the coolest face she could muster at the moment.

“You said three days a week. I made enough food that you shouldn’t need me tomorrow.” She explained to him.  He huffed and turned to look at the cookies. “These are lemon ricotta cookies. I figured there was leftover ricotta, and you had a lemon, and I couldn’t think of much else.  The glaze is lemon flavored with a little zest.” She described the dessert she had made.  Ransom reached out and snatched a cookie up from the plate, and he eyed her suspiciously as he bit into the soft cookie.  Tawney kept her gaze on him as well, trying to get a read on him.  It was like some kind of standoff, like he was trying to think of a reason to make her stay longer or come over the following day.  She was worried he may have hatched something in his mind, but when he looked down at the other half of the cookie in his hand and nodded to himself, she figured that was him expressing his satisfaction.

“Not bad.” He gave the closest thing to a compliment she was going to get.  Screw him, she knew those cookies were amazing.  

“The list is there on the counter.  Anything else?” her tone sounded triumphant, and why shouldn’t it?  She was proud of herself.  

“I guess not.” He sighed, “So Wednesday?” he confirmed.

“Yes, I’ll be here.  And in the meantime, please try to come up with a list of go-to recipes.” She politely requested.  Ransom dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone.  

“I still need your number.”

“Right,” she proceeded to give him her number and he shoved his phone back into his pocket.  

“I guess that’s it.” Ransom excused her, and she wasted no time in grabbing her bag and heading for the door.  She was beyond grateful to be leaving.  The thought of a shower and a full night of sleep sounded like heaven.  She hurried to the door, where Ransom opened it for her, and as soon as she stepped out, he closed it loudly behind her.  

              Tawney managed to stay awake on the drive home, probably because she kept her foot on the gas and the music blasting.  She felt like she could breathe again, like the air was fresher and clear once she left his place.  And she relished the fact that she wouldn’t have to go back the following day. She was hoping she wouldn’t hear from him, that he would just ask his maid to go shopping and that would be the end of it.  Her phone chimed in her pocket, and she was sure it was Kira making sure she was still alive and in one piece, but she wasn’t going to answer it until she got home.  Lesson learned.  Once the car was in park and she was only moments away from stepping into her muggy apartment, she reached into her pocket to retrieve her cell phone and read the text message.  It was from a new number, someone not in her contacts.  

You left some crumbs on the counter. Thought you were going to clean up after yourself.

              She could have thrown her phone out the window. Was this man hell bent on getting under her skin?  She didn’t even bother texting him back, there really was no need to.  He could be mad about it if he wanted to be, but she wasn’t going to waste her time with his nonsense, not while she was off the clock. But still, that message was another reminder of what she was getting herself into, and likely warning of what was yet to come.

“Asshole.” At least she didn’t have to hide her true feelings for him while she was out of his house.

Previous chapter here.

Next chapter here.

[cherry3point14]

I am Sam, Sam I am

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Sam!Dean x Reader (brief) Warnings:Crack, crack, crackity crack. Also kinda sweet in the beginning. Imagine dipping your crack in sugar? Word Count:2,773. Prompt/Summary:You and Sam are secretly dating behind Dean's back. And that’s all fine until one day you see who you think is Sam, alone. (Prompted by @hoeofnjadaka on Ao3 - I mean I’m just assuming your username is the same here. If not, sorry friend!) A/N: ANOTHER BODY SWAP?!? Yeah, yeah. I know. Played out much? Get off my case guys it’s Sam x Reader this time and also kinda different. Don’t look at me like that, just appreciate this pure, uncut crack for what it is. 

Ao3 if you prefer

You’d just finished killing a pack of werewolves. It’s never an easy task and even with the three of you, it had been an evening full of close calls. You’re surprised none of you are injured beyond some minor cuts and grazes. But since no one is injured Dean goes into town to pick up some food, read: a woman, and that leaves you and Sam alone. The lights are low and the beers are cold. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders and you’re curled into his body, only a little. It’s just comfortable, that’s all. He’s so long anyway, perfect for you to hide away inside his tall frame while you watch movies. Friends definitely do that. Friends sit this close and breathe deeply enough to taste the smell of him in the back of your throat. Being attracted to him had been an accident. You’d just always been close, a leaning post for each other. When he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, talk to Dean you were there. And when you had trouble opening up, or were afraid of losing another friend, he was patient. Over weeks, months and years you’d kind of become each other’s everything. Or at least, he’d become yours. There’s nothing remarkable about tonight. There’s no big conversation or argument that sparks action. It's not a straw that breaks the camel's back. It’s the normal quiet you have during movies. Comfortable and calm. The Zodiac Killer, the film from the seventies, is playing on some late night horror channel and Dean isn’t around to tease Sam about his 'serial killer thing'. So, Sam is safe to lean in and tell you facts about the real case. Parts that the movie got wrong and parts that he’s surprised they got right. Every time he does you’re watching his lips, how carefully they sound out his words. He always speaks precisely when he cares about a topic, never wastes a syllable. “Sam?” He stops mid-sentence and turns to you more fully. Where before he’d been whispering facts while still looking at the screen now he’s looking right at you. Even in the dark, you can see the intensity of his eyes as the light from the TV continues to flicker in them. He has no idea what you’re going to say, you have no idea what you’re going to say, and yet he’s looking at you with the same concentration he does an important book. As if whatever you might say is gospel. “Yeah Y/N?” You don’t know what pushes you except you’re wondering if he’ll kiss you as carefully as he speaks. It’s not the first time you’ve thought it but it is the first time the question has consumed you so completely. It’s a risk. It could ruin your friendship. It could ruin your entire life. That’s if he rejects you and things become awkward. For some reason tonight confidence outweighs doubt. Maybe he’ll kiss you back is louder in your head than you’re just his friend. You slide an arm around his neck, pulling him into you and once you make contact with his skin everything speeds up because there’s no going back now, even if you saw disgust on his face you’d have to go through with it. How would you write this off as anything but trying to smash your face to his? Then your lips touch and that’s the call to action Sam apparently needed. In the blink of an eye, he’s kissing you back with a depth you hadn’t expected. There’s nothing slow or patient about this kiss. It’s fast and dirty. It’s bruising and when his tongue swipes over your lips you imagine it’s as much to soothe them as it is to ask for entry. He rolls you both as his tongue slides into your mouth, he has a hand on your hip and he’s leaning on his other arm, the perfect amount of Sam weight pressing you into the bed. You’re not sure if you kiss him for a second or a lifetime but eventually, he pulls back, keeping his forehead on yours, both of you panting and this smile on his face. It’s wide and happy and utterly heartstopping. You quickly accept that you’ll do anything for this smile as if you wouldn’t have done anything for Sam already. “So, um, you agree?” You ask with your own grin that you’re sure is breaking your face. He laughs down at you, “completely.” And then he’s on you again, kissing the little air you managed to capture straight back out of your lungs. There’s a scream as the zodiac killer begins to kill a woman. It’s a stark enough contrast against the muddling, quiet dialogue of the film that you break apart like it’s a case. Laughing some more when you realize it isn’t and ultimately breaking apart completely when you hear a key in the door. Dean had to have been drunk. It’s the only explanation for why he doesn’t see how red and swollen your lips are, or how tousled and messy your hair is. He confirms his state when he falls messily onto the other bed. You’re somewhat frozen in shock, luckily Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “Dude, where’s the food?” Sam’s voice is convincing enough that even you believe he’s hungry. Dean waves a hand in the air like he’s batting a fly, “her name was Gina.” “Considerate of you,” you finally catch up enough to chastise him. Not that it makes a lick of difference considering quiet snores that start coming from the Dean shaped mass on the bed.

Four Weeks Later  

There’s something nice about having the place to yourself, although you’ll never admit that to Sam and Dean. You may just break their little hearts. There’s a peace in it though. You can cook whatever you want without Dean barking at you to make sure you clean up properly this time. You can read any of the books in the library without Sam reminding you to put it back in the right place. Wait, were you a nightmare to live with? Whatever. The boys are gone and life is good. You know Dean is going to find some mess when he gets back, there was an incident with the blender that you’d rather not talk about and you know he’ll sniff out a stray drop you’ve missed like the bloodhound that he is. So, you’ve preemptively baked him an apology pie. It’s only Pillsbury pie crust, you’re not that good a baker, but you made a pretty great apple filling all by yourself, which should earn you some pretty sweet brownie points. And Sam? Well, he may or may not find some books missing from his room and you may or may not have lost his place in every single one. Although you had some very different ideas on how to make that up to him. Ideas that may require sending Dean away somewhere. Especially since he doesn’t know what you do with his brother at night. Gun to your head, you probably couldn’t coherently explain why you’re still keeping it a secret. That first night everything had happened so quickly and then Dean came back before you could really talk to each other. The day after you’d both gone on a food run first thing in the morning if only to share a lot of sheepish smiles and blushing cheeks. It was all ten tons of adorable considering all you had to do was close your eyes to be reminded of his weight on top of you. At first, you agreed to the secrecy because he’s your best friend and if whatever you were doing didn’t work out it would surely be easier to recover in private. At least that sounded reasonable. Now it’s fairly obvious that you have something. Maybe not wedding bells and Christmas cards but it’s lasting at least. It’s just, well, now the secret thing is freaking hot. We’re not just talking a quick roleplay and move on with your lives hot. It’s all you can do not to jump him at breakfast. It’s every forbidden relationship you’ve never had rolled into one. And it’s not even forbidden. You’re fairly sure Dean would be happy for you both, you hope anyway. But now the longer you keep it a secret the more wrong it feels. The time apart has only made it worse. They’ve only been gone two days. Two days! You’ve taken longer naps. And yet here you are sitting at the map table on your laptop and looking up an excuse for you to leave with Sam immediately upon their return. Turns out, you needn’t have bothered. The door to the bunker is heavy and booming so even if you hadn’t have been right there you’d have heard it pretty quickly. However, you are there with a perfect view of the entryway, just as Sam ducks down to come in. The problem occurs when he doesn’t duck his head quite enough and slams his forehead into the thick metal door frame. “Son of a bitch!” He shouts with a strange inflection at the end. It’s familiar just, not from Sam. You're distracted by his injury and you jump up from your seat to meet him at the bottom of the stairs, “show me, you big baby.” Not once does it occur to you that Sam has walked through that door a thousand times without injury. Not when he leans down to show you his slightly red forehead and you ghost your fingers over it, gently feeling for a lump and at the same time running your fingers through his hair. “You’ll live. Where’s Dean?” “Dean? He jumps back from your touch and creases his brow, apparently shocked and offended by your innocent line of questioning. “He’s, erm, at the library! Yeah, I- I just dropped him off.” You have a library. It’s quite literally right behind you and has more lore books than the local one. That’s not taking into account that Dean is the one at the library and not Sam. None of that matters because that’s not what you decide to focus on, “um, are telling me that he’s not here?” “That’s what I said.” “We have the place to ourselves?” “That’s what Dean is at the library means.” Your voice drops into something akin to the verbal equivalent of velvet and you lean into him, looking up through your lashes. “Then why am I not already naked?”

Before he can react you slide your arms around his neck and bring him crashing you meet your lips. The kiss is different, softer, for all of the second it lasts before Sam has his hands on your shoulders pushing you back. He keeps you at arm's length as he splutters, “Y/N, what the hell?” “Oh come on, you said yourself you just dropped him off which means we have some time.” You slip past his hands, fingers nimbly unbuttoning his shirt and lips pressing kisses against the taut skin of his chest as it’s revealed. “Wanna see how many times you can make me...?” “Woah, woah, woah!” He pushes you back again, shirt half unbuttoned and your ego significantly more bruised than his forehead. “Are you and Sam…?” He raises his brows questioningly and makes a hand motion involving one finger sliding into a circle made with his other hand. You don’t know what's worse, the rejection or the anxiety suddenly eating at your stomach. “Sam, what’s going on?” His face pales of color and he scratches the back of his neck while he avoids looking directly into your eyes, “see, funny thing about that. I’m kinda not Sam.” “What?” The sickly feeling is climbing from your belly to your throat but you still need to hear more words. “Well, me and Sam kind of switched bodies. Accidently and it was no ones fault so let’s not go pointing fingers at anyone, and he is really at the library, my body anyway…” “Dean!?” The guilty look on his face is all the confirmation you need. “Oh my god!” You take a step back with a scandalized look on your face as you clutch your shirt to your chest as if it’s your buttons that are half undone. “Don’t give me that! You’re the one who’s- who’s…” he wags a finger through the air between you and him, or Sam’s body anyway. “You’re the one who jumped me like a damn spider monkey. And since when are you and Sam? You know!” It’s as clear as day now that this is, very much, not your Sam. In fact, it’s so obviously Dean that you almost want to slap yourself for being so blind. You’re far more tempted to slap Sam though. Or Dean anyway. “That is frankly none of your business. Why the hell didn’t you say something sooner? You’re the one who said you dropped Dean off!” “Technically I did. He’s got my good looks and my ID anyway, that makes him Dean Winchester!” An epiphany hits you sideways and you finally ask the most obvious question, not knowing it answers everything else, “wait a second, how did you get like this? You weren’t even hunting a witch or anything.” Suddenly he’s defensive. You’ve finally asked the right question, “we may have been doing a spell to track the pair of vetala and I might have, maybe, got some of the wording wrong. And two of the ingredients. And we might not know exactly how to put ourselves back.” You rub your forehead in frustration and let out the angriest sigh you can muster. “I guess I better start doing some research.” You turn on your heel an stomp into the library. Dean calling after you with Sam’s voice, “don’t think we’re not gonna talk about the fact that I can still taste your tongue down my throat!” “It’s Sam’s throat genius!”

Sam, in Dean’s body, sits down next to you with a large book in his hands. “I heard someone isn’t talking to Dean.” “He’s an idiot.” You grumble, not taking your eyes off the page. “Yeah, but we should probably cut him some slack since we didn’t tell him about us for, like a month.” Your shoulders roll back involuntarily but still tense. It doesn’t make him any less right, “I get that. But I kissed him! And I tried to- let’s just say I was happy to see you.” He opens his book not really looking at the page and for the first time, you turn your head to look at him. It’s Sam and you know it is. Not just because he told you so but his facial expressions are still his and he shakes his head like he’s expecting to have more hair. Hell, when you saw him walk over out the corner of your eye he walked across the room like he’s four inches taller. “You technically kissed me you know.” This time he’s pretending to read and not looking at you. “It’s unbelievably weird to hear Dean say that you know?” “Yeah,” he chuckles and it’s a little too Dean, “it’s weird for me too. Did you know he’s got this backache that just doesn’t go away?” You let out a laugh at that since you know how sensitive Dean is about his age. “Ok, noted. I’m so saving that information for when you two are back in the right bodies.” “Glad I could help make you smile again,” except as he says it he reaches out for your hand. It’s not unusual since he would sometimes squeeze your hand under the table or when you’re out sight. But now it’s Dean and even though you know it’s Sam you still recoil from his touch, “no offense but that’s super weird.” He's in Dean's body and yet he retained those damn puppy dog eyes in the switch. “Dean gets to kiss my girl and she won’t even hold my hand?” You sigh. He’s right, obviously. It’s a fairly innocuous thing and it’s not like Dean is repulsive, it’s just weird. It’s weird and messy and an extra slice of more weird. “First of all, I didn't know it was Dean when I... anyway how about this? Instead of holding your hand there’s a pie in the kitchen that we can tease him with?” He allows you to distract him and his face falls with a sudden horrific realization. If you didn’t know any better you might think it was another apocalypse, “do not let him near pie while he's in my body!”

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters  @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23

[let-it-raines]

Another Bad Christmas Movie (1/2)

Summary: Emma Swan’s life is not a Christmas movie. Sure, there are some aspects of it that are similar, but that’s true for everyone who has a pulse and has ever heard All I Want For Christmas is You (don’t lie, you probably sing along to it). So maybe she’s a little frustrated and annoyed with some holiday traditions, especially the cheesy ones in the movies, but Killian Jones is going to help change all of that. 

Rating: Mature-ish to err on the safe side but mostly just holiday fun. 

Also found on ao3 | here |

Part Two will be posted tomorrow or on the 26th since this was too long to just be a one-shot. But it’s a gift and Christmas, and I’m not leaving everyone hanging as much as usual. 

Surprise @searchingwardrobes I’m your @cssecretsanta2k18! 🎅🏻 I got my little message with your name and immediately thought, huh, I got another Southern girl! I have no idea how much you knew about me to begin with, and it was so, so hard trying to be anonymous without giving too much away but still letting you know me a little. I’m sure you figured it out anyways. Getting to know you has been an absolute joy, Melanie, and I hope you have the merriest of Christmases! I also hope that you enjoy this story! You were pretty broad with what you like, but I may have done some stalking on you during this last month to help guide parts of this story! I think you’ll find some little Easter eggs (or more appropriately Christmas ornaments) just for you.  ♥️🎄🎁

Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic  @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma 

“I think Christmas magic can heal everything,” Annabeth swoons to William, her body wrapped up in a festive red and green coat with a white dress underneath. She takes a step closer to William, her hand tentatively and appropriately placed on his shoulder, fingers squeezing the slightest bit. “I think it can even heal someone like you who doesn’t believe in Christmas.”

“You know, Beth,” William smiles, his own festive hat on top of his head shielding him from the snow falling down, “I think you’re right. But it’s not just the magic of Christmas.”

“No?”

“No,” he shakes his head, the smile on his face growing brighter, “it’s the magic of your love.”

“I love you, too,” Annabeth grins before pressing up on her toes and chastely pressing a kiss against Willian’s lips before the camera zooms out to show all of the townspeople milling around town square, white Christmas lights strung between the buildings with William and Annabeth somehow standing alone right next to the oversized Christmas tree. Right before the screen fades to black, the star on the top of the tree flickers before the credits roll.

“That’s a load of crap,” Emma groans, throwing a piece of her popcorn at the television screen like she’s Reese Witherspoon in that one scene in Legally Blonde where she calls Brad Pitt a liar. Emma’s always related to that scene more than most of that movie, and if anyone were to ask her, she’s only seen the movie once or twice and not dozens of times.

“You only say that because you’re the Grinch of Storybrooke, Emma,” her mom chastises, and isn’t she too old to be chastised by her mother?

“That’s not true,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking further into the couch, wondering if she can just disappear and somehow get out of this conversation she’s very clearly just walked herself into it. Maybe she’s a bit of a Grinch. For tonight at least.

“Yes, it is, sweetheart. This movie is romantic, and yes, it’s a little bit cheesy but that’s part of the appeal.”

“First of all, it’s November, so why the hell is Hallmark even showing Christmas movies? Shouldn’t they be showing Thanksgiving movies or something like that?”

“What’s a Thanksgiving movie?”

“A movie where they romanticize the Thanksgiving holiday.”

She’d like to see a movie where they fall in love over preparing a turkey. They pull all of the innards out together and then that little tag thing at the end. It’s disgusting, and not nearly as aesthetically appealing as baking perfectly done Christmas cookies or making pies that are family recipes that date back centuries. Excuse her if she doesn’t believe that Annabeth’s great great grandmother was making a blueberry pie with snowflake shaped pie crust and Bluebell ice cream one hundred years ago.

“Thanksgiving just doesn’t have quite the appeal of Christmas. I mean, look at this. There’s snow covering the ground as the two of them fall in love again over hot chocolate and baking together. Isn’t that the dream?”

“Oh, yes. I’d love to fall in love with my high school boyfriend again, Mom. He was a gem.”

Mary Margaret smiles at her, and Emma already knows the words that are going to come out of her mother’s mouth. Yeah, she definitely walked right into this one. She has no excuses other than the inability to not shut her mouth.

“I’d like you to fall back in love with him, too. Wouldn’t it be so nice to be with your first love? It’s like your father and me. There’s nothing quite like it.”

“Mom, I get that you romanticize everything, but you have to stop romanticizing my relationship with Neal. He was, still is, an asshole. Just because your first love worked out, doesn’t mean mine has to. I don’t know why you can’t understand that first loves aren’t who you have to end up with. I swear it’s like we have this conversation every time you see him in town.”

“Emma, I’m – ”

“Save it.” She gets up from her seat on the couch and goes to wrap herself in her jacket, fluffing out the hair that gets stuck under the collar. “I’m going to the Rabbit Hole. I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy the next movie.”

As soon as the front door slams behind her and she feels the first gust of cold wind hitting the bare skin of her face, her ears reddening already as her entire body shivers, she knows that she’s messed up when it comes to her mom. She’s just too stubborn to open up the door and go back in to talk about it like the adult she is, instead wandering down the street from her parents’ house to get something to drink and then go home to the quiet paradise that is her apartment. She loves her mom. She really does, but some things she just can’t stomach anymore. Her high school boyfriend, Neal, was a cheater and a liar and an all around horrible human being, and her mom constantly thinks they should get back together because “they were so cute together.” It’s sickening sometimes to see someone so idealistic about the world, and while Emma knows that all Mary Margaret wants is for her to be happy, she’s got to stop pushing her together with people who she doesn’t want to be with. If she wants to find love…well, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. But it’s not going to come from her mother’s naïve pushing.

It’s freezing tonight, and she wishes she had something other than her red leather jacket to keep her warm. She needs something made of wool along with her gloves and her beanie, but she wasn’t exactly planning on walking through the late night air to go to a bar by herself. She doesn’t usually go into the Rabbit Hole. It’s…seedy at its best, and if she goes, she never goes alone no matter how crime free Storybrooke usually is.

All thanks to Sheriff David Nolan, of course.

When she opens the beaten down wooden door, a rush of warm air hits her that allows her entire body to practically sigh in relief as her boots cause the hardwood floors to squeak and one or two men at the pool table to look over at her. A different kind of shiver runs through her body at their stares, and even if she can handle herself, she hurries to one of the many empty seats at the bar. It’s quiet in here tonight, more bare than she’s ever seen it before, but she’s also never been in here on a Tuesday this early.

“What can I get you, lass?”

“A whiskey sour and an explanation as to why the Deputy Sheriff is serving me a drink tonight.”

Killian laughs before turning around and quickly fixing her drink, sliding it over to her before propping his arms on the bar counter and scratching behind his ear as his lips quirk up to one side.

“It seems that my brother has come down with a cold, and,” he motions to the practically empty bar, “he couldn’t give up all of the potential business that he guaranteed would come from tonight.”

“Yeah, it’s super crowded in here. Really a booming business. Everyone must be out committing crimes because the Deputy Sheriff is otherwise occupied with all of these bar goers.”

“Ah, ah, love,” he chuckles, inching a bit closer to her before flashing her with one of his grins that she knows so well, “your father is on parole tonight, and no one pulls the wool over his eyes. So our lovely little town should be crime free, especially since two of my five customers are Will and Leroy.”

“That’s a very good point.”

“So tell me about all of your woes, darling.”

“I’ve never told a bartender about my woes before. I think you watched too many movies before coming in here to fill in.”

“Aye, but you look like something is bothering you. I’ve known you long enough that you’re a bit of an open book.”

“I am not.”

“You are. Also, not to take away from Ruby, but we both know I’m your best mate. You’re going to tell me your woes sooner or later. Might as well do it now.”

He makes a good point. She was going to call him after she got something to drink. She probably should have called and asked him to come get something to drink with her, but all she wanted was to be alone for a little while. Then she saw his face behind the bar and was thankful for this little stroke of luck at already having him here. They might as well do the whole cliché bartender thing where she fills her body with alcohol and spills her guts to him. Yet here, in this situation, the bartender already knows most of her woes. He’s been there for pretty much all of them, and she can’t lie to him if she tries. She might have her superpower with lying when it comes to, well, everyone, but Killian Jones has one when it comes to her, something that happens when you’ve known someone since you were five and he was seven.

That’s…twenty-three years of personal information.

“My mother and I got into a fight because she thinks that my life should be a Hallmark movie like hers.”

Killian leans forward again, propping his chin on his fist and changing his soft smile into a cheeky grin before shrugging his shoulders. “Is your life not a Hallmark movie? A beautiful woman living in an idyllic seaside town working as a freelance artist and living down the street from your Sheriff of a father and elementary school teacher of a mother who are the perfect examples of good and kind people. That sounds a bit like one of those movies to me.”

“You forgot the biggest part.”

He raises his eyebrows, waggling them like he’s done ever since she can remember. How does he even do that? She can move hers ups and down but not like that. It’s some kind of weird facial thing, and he’s always used it to his advantage to make her laugh or tease her.

“I didn’t forget. I just think there’s more to your life than having a man love you. It’d be nice, and that’d be the luckiest bastard in the world, but it doesn’t define you, love.”

“Yeah, well, my mom doesn’t see it that way. She’s got this fixation that I should get back together with Neal.”

Killian raises an eyebrow (there he goes again) in shock or confusion or something. “Why the bloody hell would she suggest you get back together with the man who slept his way through town while he was still dating you?”

“Because my mother is an idealist who thinks that your only love can be your first love.”

“No offense to your darling mother, but that’s rubbish. I wouldn’t get back together with my first love for all of the money in the world.”

“I’m glad someone in this town is sensible. Even Neal tries to ask me out sometimes, and I just don’t understand that. He betrayed my trust, and he thinks that just because ten years have passed, I’m going to jump back into bed with him? Like, what the hell?”

She ends up staying to talk to Killian for the rest of his shift, keeping him company into the late-night hours. She doesn’t drink any more than her one glass, and by the time it’s two in the morning, she’s completely forgotten about her fight with her mother and her distaste for Hallmark movies. She hadn’t seen Killian for a week, something unusual considering how he lives in her building and works for her father, so they used the time to catch up, telling tales of the adventures of his work at the station as well as the weird things people ask her to paint (she is not going to do a nude portrait of Granny no matter how much the woman offers her…maybe a lifetime of free grilled cheese sandwiches and onion rings…maybe). Of course, as they always do, they fall into reminiscing on their childhood, tonight getting caught up how much trouble they got in when they were in elementary school and prank called residents from her dad’s phone at the station. She’d been eight and Killian ten, and it was the first time either of them had gotten grounded.

Now, though, she’s twenty-eight to Killian’s thirty, and they don’t get grounded for any of their shenanigans, mostly because the most they do is each eat their own box of pizza while drinking rum in one of their apartments.

But also because they’re adults.

After locking up the bar and making sure that Will and Leroy get home safely (a police officer is never off duty, love), Killian walks her to her apartment – okay, so hers is two floors up and a fire escape away from his so he was going that way anyways – his arm wrapped around her shoulder and his beanie on top of her head to keep her warm. His little elf ears are tipped in red from the cold, his new shorter hair cut showing them off, and she has to stifle her giggle so as not to laugh at them. She thinks a lot of the cheesiness of Christmas is crap, but if every elf was like her best friend, maybe it wouldn’t all be bad.

“G’night, love,” he whispers after getting her inside her apartment door, the coolness of it after a day of nonuse almost as bad as the chill outside. “You bringing your dad lunch tomorrow?”

“I am before I have to go buy new paints.”

“Good,” he takes a step back, snatching the knit hat off of her head, “I think I’d like a toasted sandwich with some of that tomato soup from Granny’s, if you’d be so kind.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say that he can buy his own damn lunch before he’s jogging down the staircase at the end of the hall and heading to his own apartment. She hears a few muffled curses before she closes her front door, and the goofball most definitely just tripped on the stairs.

Her week passes quickly, a surprising amount of people asking her to take last minute Christmas card photos or commissioning her to edit the photos they’ve already taken and making them into themed cards. She mostly deals with painting because that’s what she loves, but she’d go broke if that was the only thing she did. Storybrooke isn’t exactly an expensive town to live in, but a girl’s got to live in some place other than the shady apartments down past the docks or with her parents. So she takes photos to live. She’s done everything from weddings to Christmas cards to family portraits to portraits of pets. That last one is her favorite. If her apartment allowed dogs, she’d get one, no question. She had a border collie growing up, sweet Wilby, and she’d love to have another precious companion like that.

Maybe someday.

She’s just finishing the edits of Anna and Kristoff’s Christmas cards, the two of them wanting a bright, colorful card while Anna’s sister Elsa wants a card of whites and icy blues, when she hears muffled curses and a loud bang out on her fire escape.

It’s either a burglar or…

Killian.

Sighing, she rolls back in her desk chair and goes to her living room window, unlocking it and lifting up the glass pane to see Killian’s head pop up through the gap for the ladder, his black hair covered in a red and white Santa hat, and when he pulls himself up on the metal platform, she sees that he’s got several brown paper grocery bags.

“What are you doing, Killian? You know I have a front door? And you have a key to it, by the way.”

“Aye,” he grunts, scrambling to his feet and through the window, handing her the grocery bags so that he can more easily get inside, “but Ms. Roberts is sitting on the staircase, and I’d rather not get roped into her trying to set me up with her daughter again.”

“Why don’t you want to date her again?”

“Well, she’s seventeen for one, and I find myself liking adults.”

“You make a valid point.” She takes the bags and walks them the few feet to her kitchen counter. Her apartment is basically one room with a bedroom and bathroom down the hall in the back, and she can get to anything she needs in just a few steps. Shuffling through the bags she sees sugar, eggs, milk, icing, sprinkles, everything one would need to make…cookies.

“Killian, did you get a sudden urge to make cookies? You don’t even like cookies that much.”

“Eh,” he protests, reaching up to scratch at his ear before moving down to rub at his scruff, “I like them on occasion,” he pats his stomach, “but I do like to keep in shape by avoiding a lot of sweets.”

“So why the sudden penchant for baking?”

“Because, darling, I was thinking – ”

“That’s never a good idea.”

Killian rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue. “You’re being awfully cheeky, Nolan, when I’m about to change your entire world.”

“With your baked goods?”

“Is that an innuendo?”

“How could that possibly be an – ” she slaps his chest when the realization hits her, and he simply waggles his eyebrows and gets and cheeky grin plastered across his face as well, “ – you’re so gross. So how are you going to rock my entire world?”

His left eyebrow raises even higher, and it only takes her a few seconds to realize where she’s messed up. “I mean change my world. How are you going to change my world?”

“I’m going to make you believe in the wonders of Christmas!” She peers into the bag again, her skepticism rising with every moment that passes. She gets frustrated baking with the cookie dough that comes pre-cut. She can’t imagine how annoyed she’ll get having to make them from scratch. How the hell does Killian even know how to make cookies from scratch? And how is it going to make her believe in the wonders of Christmas? She already believes in the wonders of Christmas. She just doesn’t believe in some of the overly cringe-worthy Christmas activities they do in Hallmark movies where the people somehow fall in love in a month. It’s unrealistic.

“Through cookies?”

“Cookies, among other things, aye. I was thinking about our conversation at the bar the other day, and while, no, life isn’t a Hallmark movie, there are some things I think we could learn from them. So you and I are going to partake in as many cheesy Christmas traditions as we can.”

“What the hell? Why?”

“Because I was thinking that you deserve to love Christmas, Emma. I know you don’t hate it or anything, but not every tradition is bad. And I don’t want you to be so bitter about your relationships in the past that you can’t have fun.”

“Aren’t most of these activities romantic? I mean, that’s what those movies are about. I’m not bitter by the way. I was just pissed at my mom.”

“Aye, but they don’t have to be romantic.” Okay, so he’s just ignoring her protests then, unpacking all of the ingredients and placing them on her countertops. “Come on, love. It’ll be fun. I’ll make it fun, and it’ll be so much better than us slopping around in our apartments doing nothing.”

Killian has apparently never once made cookies from scratch, so it takes three hours and five batches before they finally get a cookie sheet full of oddly shaped (he brought Christmas shaped cookie cutters to really round out the fun, and they do not work in the slightest) sugar cookies. Her entire apartment is going to smell like sugar for days, and she’s pretty sure that their super is going to yell at them for how much trash they put down the shoot. Killian also yelled at her for trying to sneak a cookie fresh out of the oven, so it’s really just par for the course at this point.

“They have to cool, darling. We’re decorating them.”

“Do you know how to decorate cookies?”

“No, but you’re a painter. You can figure it out, can’t you?”

It takes a trip to the grocery store (and a detour for Granny’s grilled cheese) to get piping bags and more decorating tools, and another three hours later, her kitchen countertops are all filled with highly festive Christmas cookies. She may have gone a little overboard and made hers look like something you see in stores while her rejects and Killian’s look more akin to something a child would make, smeared icing and mixed colors that make what’s supposed to be a white angel look more like a greenish-gray blob.

If she puts a side by side comparison of their decorating skills on Instagram, no one has to know.

Okay, so all of her followers have to know. She’s pretty dang proud of her cookies.

And a little bit proud of Killian’s, too.

“You know,” Killian muses as he takes a bite of that very same greenish-gray blob of a cookie, the two of them sitting on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets with her jeans completely covered in flour, “just because something is ugly on the outside, doesn’t mean it tastes bad on the inside.”

“Is that supposed to be philosophical?”

“It’s supposed to a point about how my cookies taste just as good as yours.”

“That’s what she said,” Emma mumbles under her breath before reaching up on the counter only to pull down one of Killian’s cookies. This one is definitely very green and very much a Christmas tree. The ornaments on it, however, are a different story. At least she thinks they’re ornaments.

“Darling, you know I love a good innuendo,” he purrs, his voice lowering so that she has no choice but to look over at him only to see his dark brows dancing across his face while his lips twitch, “but you and I both know that we would not have the same type of cookies. You’d likely be a ginger cookie, sweet but a little snappy, while I’d be more like a yule log.”

“A yule…” she slaps his chest again as laughter bubbles inside of her own. He’s an idiot, but he’s a damn good friend. “You’re such a weirdo. An inappropriate weirdo.”

“Aye, that I am. I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the cookie-baking team.”

“Why would that upset me?”

“Well, maybe because you enjoyed your time partaking in a cheesy Christmas tradition.”

She did, but she’s not going to admit that to Killian. At least not yet. He’d be far too smug for his own good if she told him that, so she simply shrugs. “Keep thinking that, Jones.”

He helps her package all of the cookies up, and she doesn’t fail to notice when he puts some of the more neatly decorated ones in his Tupperware container instead of simply taking the ones he decorated himself, the thief.

It’s not How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

It’s How Killian Stole the Christmas Cookies.

Okay, okay, so maybe she’s as bad at naming movies as the people in charge of the Hallmark channel are as well.

Eventually Killian has to leave, citing her dad making him work the night shift tonight, and she sends him off with his travel mug of coffee (one sugar with the tiniestbit of milk) and his container full of cookies. He’s still teasing and taunting her, telling her to just admit that she had a good time this afternoon, but she won’t simply because Killian wants her to. Then, right as he’s about to step out the door – and not the fire escape – he reaches forward and swipes his pointer finger over her lips, the sensation causing her cheeks to tingle.

“You’ve a bit of icing on the corner of your lips, love,” he explains, and when the man licks the finger with the offending icing, his tongue flickering out as he hums, her stomach starts to flutter, the pinpricks matching the ones in her cheeks.

She doesn’t know what’s happening, what this unfamiliar sensation is, but she doesn’t like it.

“You and icing, Nolan, a batch made in heaven.”

And then Killian walks out of her front door, leaving her, but those pinpricks still remain.

Emma thinks that the cookie incident is going to be a one-time thing, that she and Killian are going to go back to normal and just drink beer and eat pizza while binging Netflix shows far into the early hours of the morning when Killian doesn’t have to work the next day. But no, he sticks to this whole little scheme of making her enjoy the very things she complained about at the bar.

That’ll be last time she ever spills her guts to Killian Jones…okay, so she knows that’s not true.

During the first week of December, they go shopping for decorations for her apartment, Killian loading up the shopping cart with red, white, green, and patterned ornaments as well as several boxes of colored lights.

“I don’t have enough space for all of these lights.”

“Trust me, love. You’re going to have space.”

“I don’t have a tree for any of this either.”

He winks. “We’re getting there.”

After her apartment looks like some kind of winter wonderland – well, one that’s still packaged up – with various Christmas scented candles, including her personal favorite Mountain Lodge. She doesn’t know what it is about it, but when it’s lit, the wick gently flickering and the scent permeating throughout her apartment, it makes her feel like she’s wrapped up in something comforting, like her father’s hug or one of Killian’s sweatshirts from the police academy, the frayed edges falling across her thighs. It’s ridiculous, but her life is nothing but ridiculous at this point.

Killian drags her to a Christmas tree farm, one filled with evergreen Douglas Firs and Blue Spruces. There’s apparently a few other kinds, but she can’t remember the names of them now. She didn’t even know the first two until Killian told her. She just kind of thought they were all Christmas trees, not really realizing there were so many different…breeds. Is breeds the right words for Christmas trees? Is it the same as dogs? Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

Okay, so it apparently matters to Killian.

Snow hasn’t quite hit Storybrooke yet, surprisingly enough. The white powder is usually coating the town at this point of December, usually even during November if the stars align, but there’s only the slightest dusting of snow, more like ice than anything else, causing the air to be brisk enough for the need to be wrapped up in warm clothes to go outside. So she and Killian trudge through the rows of trees, passing families all bundled up in their puffy jackets and knit hats, little pom poms bouncing of their heads that likely match the one on Emma’s beanie. Emma may be the so-called Grinch of Christmas (which, so not true, Mom), but at least she dresses festively (and practically). They’re picking out a Christmas tree, and Killian is in his normal head to toe black, the only concession he’s making to his red and gray plaid shirt, unbuttoned of course, because God forbid Killian cover up his chest hair.

“Aren’t you cold?” she ponders as the trees start to get taller, almost to the point of what she knows is her ceiling’s capacity.

“I’m from London, darling,” he concedes, running his hands along the green limbs, little bristles falling with each of his touches, “this Maine weather is nothing.”

“First of all, you haven’t lived in London for twenty-three years. Second of all, you’re a liar. The tips of your ears are red.” She stands on her toes to grab at his ears, wiggling them, and they’re like ice underneath her touch. “Where’s your beanie?”

“In my coat pocket.”

She presses down on her feet, the dried grass crunching underneath the heels of her boots before she reaches into his pocket and pulls the gray knit hat out, the material soft against her fingertips. It only takes her a moment to press up onto her toes again and pull the beanie over Killian’s hair, making sure that his ears are covered before pulling back and patting him on the shoulders.

“There. Now you won’t lose your ears to the cold.”

He smiles at her, a small little closed lipped thing that causes his eyes to crinkle and her breath to unexpectedly catch, the white puffs not passing through her lips for a moment. “I’m made of tougher material than that, Emma Nolan. Not all of us have to be bundled like we’re in the arctic.” He reaches over to pull at the fuzzy ball at the top of her hat, tugging it before patting her head like she’s some kind of child, and all of the pent-up breath releases in an exasperated sigh. “Let’s go get you a tree.”

It takes several hours, a shocking amount of cursing passing through Killian’s lips, help from Leroy, who apparently works at the tree farm and Belle – the poor woman passing them as they tried to get the tree into the entrance to the apartment – but they do eventually get the tree inside, positioning it in the small space next to her bay window. They’d had to move her furniture around, making everything cramped, and cut off a little of the tree, but now she’s got a fully decorated Christmas tree lighting up her apartment, making everything glow in the reflection of the multi-colored lights.

Sighing, she flops down onto the couch, propping her feet up in Killian’s lap while his are propped up on the coffee table.

“So, Jones, why didn’t we get one of those for you too since you’re the great holiday elf?”

He’s messing with her socked toes, the mismatched polka dots and stripes bright against Killian’s dark jeans. “Figured I didn’t need one.”

“Why the hell not? I thought we were experiencing all of the magic of Christmas.”

“Aye, love,” he squeezes her foot before resting his head on the back of the couch and smirking, “but I’m over here more often than I’m downstairs. Figured there wasn’t a need for two. Plus, what fun would it be getting the tree into my flat when we had to walk it up four floors for you?”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you’re trying to torture me with all of these activities?”

“Exactly.”

The next week Killian is busy at the station while she seeks out last minute commissions for Christmas gifts, walking around town and asking everyone she knows if they’d like Christmas cards, personalized stationary, any paintings for gifts. Storybrooke is a small town, one of those places where you know almost everyone, and it’s likely the only reason she doesn’t have to pick up a regular job, though she will occasionally fill in for Ruby at the diner. By the end of her first day seeking out extra jobs, she had enough to keep her busy for the week – or the entire month though she doesn’t have that long to work on them – and for her rent to be paid with enough left over for Christmas gifts.

The week isn’t filled with as many Christmas activities, and Emma wonders if maybe Killian will calm down on his quest and realize that he doesn’t need to be doing all of this just because she was frustrated with her mom and the Hallmark channel on one night.

On Thursday night she’s just snuggling under her comforter, the fluffy white blanket keeping her warm as the temperature continually drops to almost unbearable levels. As soon as she boots up her laptop, scrolling through emails to look for discounts to buy her mom some new sweaters, she hears her front door slam. Her body tenses, self-defense mechanisms kicking in, and just as she starts to throw the covers off of her legs, Killian comes barging into her bedroom, his cheeks red and his chest heaving.

“What the hell?” She tosses her pillow at him, her own chest heaving as she tries to regulate her breathing. “Why are you barging in like that?”

“It’s snowing.”

“And?”

He doesn’t answer, instead rifling through her closet and throwing sweaters at her along with some of her sweatpants, before moving through her drawers, only hesitating when he gets to her underwear drawer and turns to look at her.

“Nolan, you have a hell of a lot of red lace in here.”

“Shut up. Why are you even looking in there?”

“I’m looking for the socks that go with your wellies.”

“Bottom drawer.”

He closes away her underwear drawer (her face is now undoubtedly as red as that lace) before rifling through the bottom drawer to find her socks and tossing those at her as well.

“Get dressed, love. We’re going on an adventure.”

“Are you bringing snacks?”

He rolls his eyes before putting his hands on his hips and tiling his head to the side while he stares at her. “I’m not an idiot. I dare not force you out into the cold without providing you with food.”

“Good.”

She and Killian make their way to the docks, passing all of the boats (“some are ships, love”) only to climb the stairs of the lighthouse, her legs burning and her breath heavy by the time they reach the top. When Killian nudges open the door, having to push his shoulder against it while she pushes to get the rusty hinges open, she’s suddenly hit by a rush of chilled air and a view that she’s never seen before.

Storybrooke looks enchanting, the roofs covered in white with red and green lights reflecting off the streets, the snow only making it brighter. She can see a few people milling around the Rabbit Hole, the neon lights reflecting off the snow from it glaringly obvious compared to the Christmas lights adorning the roofs of the neighbors. She wonders if Liam is working tonight. She’s sure that he is, and that Graham will most definitely get a call for drunk and disorderly conduct. She might not work at the police station, but between her dad and Killian, plus days working there as a teenager, she may as well be a deputy. Everything else is closed down, Storybrooke not a place to stay up past midnight, and she thinks that she’ll have to come back to look at it all when some lights from the houses are turned on so that parts of the town don’t seem blacked out.

Twisting her body, she looks out at the ocean, the waves crashing against the snow-covered sand that matches the crests of waves that are slowly rolling in. There’s not a soul to be seen walking along the shore, a place riddled with more memories than she can count – some she’d care to remember while others she wishes would wash away and sink into the depths of the ocean – so the snow and sand remain untouched, like a perfect white blanket next to the deep blue of the water. There’s one ship near the horizon, the lights from it making it visible to her eyes, and her heart constricts looking at the sheer beauty of Storybrooke from above. She’s lived here for the entirety of her life, minus the one year she moved to New York because she needed to get away until Killian brought her home, but she’s never seen her home look quite like this.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Killian agrees before wrapping his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in closer so that his warmth envelops her, but an unexpected shiver still runs through her, her entire body lightly convulsing so that Killian’s arm tightens around her shoulder and his chin rubs against the top of her head.

“How did you know to look up here?”

“Simple. It’s the highest point in town, and I knew that you’d like the landscape view.”

She hums before pulling herself further into Killian and resting her head against his shoulder. He’s warm, and it’s freezing out. She loves the snow, loves the way it looks, but it’s cold and wet, often turning into mud and causing more issues than it causes beauty.

��So you said something about snacks?”

He rustles around in his coat pocket with his free hand until a foil package is placed in her eyeline, what’s obviously grilled cheese now obstructing her view of the town.

Or possibly making it better.

“God,” she groans, just thinking about how good that’s going to be even without being hot, “you’re the best.”

“So I’ve been told.”

They stay up at the lighthouse for a few more minutes before a chill wracks her body and she can’t be outside for much longer before she freezes to death. Killian’s body heat helps, but it’s not exactly enough, so she has to beg him to go home. Walking down the lighthouse steps is a hell of a lot easier than walking up, but by the time they’re at the apartment and she sees the staircase leading up to her apartment, she doesn’t think her legs can carry her any longer.

“I’m not doing it,” she whines, sitting down on the bottom set of stairs while Killian takes two at a time and is already at the first landing.

“You’re being pathetic.”

“I’m tired. I went running this morning, and then you made me climb so many stairs. It was so manystairs, Killian.”

Killian bounds down the stairs, his footsteps heavy until he’s squatting down in front of her, this stupid annoying look on his face while his eyebrows dance across his forehead. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“Would you really do that?”

She normally wouldn’t do this, but her legs feel like they’re on fire and about to turn into very heavy weights. Plus, she doesn’t think Killian will actually do it.

“Up to my apartment, but that’s it.”

Oh, so he will do it. She’s so distracted by that fact that Killian’s about to carry her up the stairs so that her next words slip out without her thinking. “Fine then. I’m sleeping with you tonight.”

“Well, love,” Killian grunts, pulling her up off the stairs before hooking his hands under thighs and picking her up like she weighs nothing, “I’ve been waiting for that for years.”

“Shut up, you goofball. I meant I’m just going to crash at your place.”

“I know, I know.” He takes the first few steps before loosening his grip around her so that she almost falls, her shriek so loud that she probably woke the neighbors, before wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing so hard that she’s probably choking him. He deserves it for making her think she was going to fall.

“What the hell was that?”

“You have to lay off the cookies. Couldn’t hold you up.”

“Yeah, well, when we get in trouble for waking up the neighbors for being too loud, I’m blaming it on you.”

“I’ve always wanted to wake up the neighbors because you and I were being too loud.”

He’s absolutely impossible, and she’s absolutely not going to dignify that with a response. He’s being cheeky, and all she wants to do is go to bed. So he continues to carry her upstairs, this whole charade ridiculous, and after unlocking his door, he walks her inside and drops her onto his mattress, the springs moving underneath her. She doesn’t bother getting up, shucking her boots and socks while Killian ruffles through his drawers and throws her a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt while he heads into his bathroom to change clothes.

This is a routine they’ve done one too many times for her apartment to be upstairs, and after she’s changed her clothes and brushes her teeth with her toothbrush, she settles underneath Killian’s comforter, pulling the blankets around her body and keeping them to herself even as Killian slides onto the other side of the mattress, only tugging over the slightest bit his comforter.

She knows he’s not asleep by the way that his breathing is irregular, so she turns on her side, rolling a bit closer to the middle and throwing some more of the comforter this way.

“Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”

“Me too, darling. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Sorry that I’ve made your legs useless.”

She chuckles into her pillow before stretching out of leg and running her foot against Killian’s calves, making him yelp before rolling away from her and off the bed.

“What was that for? Why are you an icicle? You just made me scream at bloody two in the morning.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve always wanted to wake up the neighbors because you and I were being too loud.”

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

21 Supernatural Questions

Thanks to @sammit-janet for helping me procrastinate tonight!

1. When did you start watching Supernatural?

Early December, 2014. I’d been sick for a month, already, and had run out of other shows I wanted to watch. I decided to watch that show that Misha Collins was on that my goddaughters used to watch. I got through 9.5 seasons by Christmas. That first hellatus was awful, and it’s how I got into the fandom. I needed more, found con videos, then fan fiction, and the rest is history!

2. Who is your favorite in TFW?

It depends on the day. I usually say I’m Winchester-sexual, angel-curious!

3. Who is your least favorite in TFW?

Ugh. I don’t dislike any of them (though I miss BAMF early-seasons Cas who didn’t bleed much and could do things regular hunters couldn’t like see demons’ faces). If I had to rank them, I probably obsess over Cas the least.

4. Tag your top 5 Supernatural blogs.

You’d ask me who my favorite children were, too, wouldn’t you? Not falling for that!

5. Who is your favorite character (not including TFW)?

You’re killing me. You’re really killing me. I CAN’T PICK. Chuck? Donna? Jody? Rowena? I love John and Mary, but I don’t get squishy when I watch them on the show. Charlie? I literally squealed and frightened my husband when we saw AU!Charlie the first time. Ellen? There are too many and you can’t make me pick!!

6. Who is your favorite woman in Supernatural?

Donna. She kicks ass and calls it butt.

7. John or Mary?

Gonna quote @sammit-janet directly, cuz she said it well: “Both.  I know people hate one or the other, but you cannot look at these parents with real-world glasses.  John had the mother of his children burned on the ceiling and he had no fucking clue about the Supernatural until then.  Once he did, he was on a mission to find whatever killed his wife.

“Mary made a deal to save the man she loved.  She would have stopped Azazel that night in the nursery too, but Michael erased her memory.  Now that she’s come back, well, don’t you think it’s a little disorienting to spend 32 years in heavenly bliss and then get thrust back down to earth and find out her children are living the exact life she didn’t want them to?

“Also, don’t forget, EVERYTHING was stacked against them.  Heaven made 100% sure that they got together just so Sam and Dean could be born and play out the apocalypse.”

8. What were your first opinions of Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack?

Sam: Tall, but the hair, and he’s a baby, I feel like a pedophile.

Dean: Older, still tall, wiseass, heart of gold, if he loves pie, I’m a goner!

Cas: HOLY FUCK.

Jack: If he’s good, I will hold him and love him and squeeze him and call him George. If he’s evil, I will cut him down with the flames of a thousand burning suns.

9. What’s your favorite season?

I really don’t have one. I have seasons I love more, and seasons I love less, but none are my favorites. The writing in the beginning was tighter, and felt like there was an end coming, which made it more electric. But I really love watching the boys grow and change and make better, smarter decisions, or make stupid decisions for bigger, better reasons. I dislike the degradation of angel powers, though. I mean, remember when Cas could smite an entire diner of monsters or demons with just a bright light, but this season he was beaten to pulp by a demon gang? And now that Heaven’s gates are all open, can Cas fly, again? I mean, they couldn’t fly because the closed gates cut them off from Heaven, but now the gates are open, so LET CAS FLY, DAMMIT.

10. What’s your least favorite season?

Season 7, although that season does have an inordinate amount of things I like about it, so it makes no sense. Story-wise, I get it. They had to systematically take away everything the boys valued in order to leave Sam the destroyed mess he was when Dean and Cas disappeared. I don’t like it when my boys hurt, but I understand why they did it. On the other hand, season 7 gave us Charlie, and Frank, and Garth, and Kevin, and numerous dick jokes, and Sam tied to a bed, and Cas naked on Dean’s car covered in bees. So torn, but when I rewatch the series, I take a deep breath when I start season 7. (During my most recent rewatch, I also took a breath when Toni Bevell came onto my screen, so I guess I now put 12 in with 7.)

11. Opinions on Destiel?

Canon - Dean is straight. He’s said multiple times he doesn’t swing that way. I wouldn’t object if the writers decided to change that, but I respect Jensen and the writers in their decision not to go that way. There are more and more diverse characters on our screen every year, and I’m okay with letting Dean be a cis het white male who loves women of all kinds. I would love if they did a Human!Impala episode and the Impala turned out to be John Barrowman, though. On the other hand, Cas is completely unconcerned with gender and sexuality, so I wouldn’t mind seeing him have a romantic thing with a guy. Pretty sure that would break the fandom, though, so not holding my breath.

Fanon - Holy cheeseballs, that boy swings harder than an old-time saloon door, and I love reading about him being so open to everyone. Give me all the guys banging Dean like a screen door in a hurricane. Dean is all the door metaphors and memes, including the memes about Cas loving to destroy doors. Show me these two idiots falling in love any way you got it. They were roommates, you say? YES. There was only one bed, you say? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP. Dean’s a fireman and Cas is a nurse? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME??? BRING IT.

12. Do you believe Supernatural queerbaits?

Not intentionally, or maliciously, but I can see why some folks might think that, sometimes. It’s a fine line the show writers have to balance on when it comes to scenes with Dean and Cas because of the fandom’s obsession with Destiel. They want to show the love between the two characters as brothers, but it can’t be too much love. (However, I sometimes wonder about certain things. I would love to sit down with Jensen, Jerry Wanek, and Robbie Thompson, show them certain moments, and ask why certain decisions were made regarding framing, editing, props, and such. If they weren’t thinking Destiel, what were they thinking??)

13. Seasons 1-7 or 8-14?

You’re asking me to pick my kids, again. 1-7 is Kripke writing, 8-11 is Robbie Thompson writing, NO NO NO YOU CAN’T MAKE ME DECIDE.

14. Favorite villain (plot wise)?

Crowley

15. Do you think they should end the Lucifer plot line?

YES. I’m cool with watching Nick progress into a big bad, but keep Lucifer in The Empty. (I just had a wild thought about The Empty, Lucifer, and The Shadow coming for Jack. Lord, I hope I’m wrong.)

16. Who do you think has gone through more trauma (Sam, Dean, or Cas)?

Quoting Sammit again: “Sam.  He found out he had demon blood in him, was one of Azazel’s “chosen”, died by being stabbed in the back, went to hell for 100 years, lost his soul, was driven mad by Lucifer, almost died doing the trials, was possessed by Gadreel…did i leave anything out?”

Dean and Cas have also had their share, but if you want to quantify it, I think Sam has had more. 

17. What’s your favorite Supernatural episode?

Baby, Dog Dean Afternoon, Don’t Call Me Shurley, most of the other episodes writing by Robbie Thompson, too.

18. Do you like case episodes?

They are a nice breather in between the episodes where I can’t sit back for  moment.

19. Who do you relate most to in TFW?

I switch back and forth between Dean and Sam. I relate to Sam wanting to go to college to get away from his family, I relate to Dean’s eating habits, I understand why Sam’s done all the stupid shit he’s done, and I understand Dean not wanting to delve into things because it’s hard. Oh, and I say awesome almost as much as Dean. Cas, though, is a mystery to me. The only time I relate to him is when he’s confused by pop culture references.

20. Why do you like Supernatural?

The characters. They’re just so fucking interesting, you know? And (with some notable exceptions) the writers have managed to keep them from getting too far away from who they were in the pilot, while showing them growing and changing and improving. I love the world, I love the fantasy, and I love how universal they all are. I mean, if you took characters from another show and put them in a Beach AU, I wouldn’t be able to see it like I can with these characters. They’re awesome.

21. If you could bring back one character and kill off another who would they be?

Keep Lucifer dead, bring back Frank. I also want to see more of Linda Tran. Or Ellen, though I don’t know what they’d do with her with Mary around. I’d say Crowley, but I know that will never happen, and I understand why, so I’m letting him go.

Tag yourselves!

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

"i know you can’t cook for shit so i’ve been bringing you dinner every night, just, y’know, to keep you alive" w/ hidge please i'd die and also draw you fanart of it

THIS WENT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED BUT IM HAPPY 

Here’s the fanart:

Her mother always said a girl had to learn to cook. Ofcourse, Pidge had insisted she had more important things to do, and she wasn’tpart of gender stereotypes anyway. Anyone could survive off of dinner invites,fast food, and microwave dinners.

Except she didn’t want to. When she’d been dating Hunk, he cookeddinner every night and made breakfast for them every Saturday. Her personalfavorite was his breakfast fried rice with Spam and breakfast sausages. Healways  let her sleep in and gave her acup of coffee when she woke up so she could join him to eat on the couch asthey continued whatever show they were binging.

They’d broken up on… somewhat amicable terms. She didn’thate him. And he didn’t hate her, at least she didn’t think so. She did have todrop off anything she had of his at the apartment he was rooming at with Lance.He still talked with Matt from time to time, but they worked together. Still,even Matt didn’t seem to be able to villainize Hunk.

It was a complicated breakup. They didn’t have time for eachother at all. Pidge was busy with school and work, exhausted by the time shegot home. That only made her cranky, and she’d nitpick at anything Hunk did ordidn’t do. She knew she was doing it, she just… couldn’t stop.

Then Hunk had met someone else through his cateringbusiness. He’d mentioned her as an offhand comment, a new acquaintance. ButPidge noticed he was on his phone more, that he didn’t bug Pidge to find morefree time anymore. Which on the one hand was good, but on the other… well notso much. She hadn’t gone crazy or anything. She didn’t check his messages orstalk his social media. But she noticed he was happier.

She asked him about it. And Hunk, who never lied to her, andswore he never would, told her the truth. There was nothing more than afriendship between himself and Shay. But he was ashamed to admit he had to becareful to keep it that way. That he’d nearly made mistakes in the times he metup with her. But he’d never acted on it.

Pidge had simply nodded, kissed his cheek, grabbed her keys.She claimed she was going to get a coffee to clear her head and energize herfor her studying. Which she did. But on the way back, she couldn’t stop thetears that had come out of nowhere and had to pullover. A cop had stopped forher, asking if she was okay. When Pidge explained she was just a littleemotional, the officer had offered to escort her home. Pidge thanked her anddrove home with a cop tailing her.

She’d gone into her home to find Hunk asleep on the couch,in the same spot she’d left him. She’d woken him up, tears threatening to spillall over again.

“This isn’t healthy,” she whispered. “I think… we need toend this.”

He’d protested, but Pidge made points out of their lack oftime, Hunk’s already wandering eyes, the fact that she knew she could beinsensitive when she was stressed. She didn’t want him to start hating her, andshe didn’t want to risk hating him. Not when she loved him so much.

And now, here she was, nearly a month without a singlehomecooked meal, attempting to make pancakes. It shouldn’t be this hard. Therewere instructions on the damn box, she was an engineer for crying out loud. Butshe couldn’t make a stupid fucking pancake.

She cursed as the smoke alarm went off again and stared atthe burnt piece of- God she couldn’t even call it a pancake- on the pan. Shesighed and decided if she and Hunk were supposed to be friends still, it wasokay to ask him to help her. Right? She needed food. Healthy food. Not KraftMac N’ Cheese or Stouffer’s one-person lasagna.

She bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

***

The consistent chiming of his phone was what woke Hunk up.He groaned and sat up, fumbling for his phone. He was a little confused whenthe phone showed “Katie” because he didn’t know a Katie. Except he did… he wasjust used to calling her Pidge. He unlocked his phone and scrolled up.

The last message had been about two weeks before when shelet him know she’d left a box of his things at the door. And he’d told her totake care.

Now there were more.

So uh, this is alittle weird… but I’m super hungry but…

There was a picture of something black and charred in a pan.

I KEEP BURNINGEVERYTHING!!!

Pls help me. I’mstarving & haven’t had a homecooked meal in weeks.

I just want somefucking pancakes.

Hunk laughed to himself, feeling something fond in his chest.He typed back, telling her he’d be there soon.

Thank. You. So much.

He smiled at his screen and shook his head as he got up toget dressed.

A half hour later, he was knocking on Pidge’s- Katie’s door,holding his breath. It would be the first time they see each other since theybroke up almost two months ago. The door opened and he saw Katie wearing anoversized yellow sweater and sweats, her hair pulled into a small ponytailwhile the smaller strands fell out messily. She looked embarrassed, and keptpushing her glasses up, only to pull them back down the bridge of her nose.

“Uh. Hey,” she greeted.

“Hey Pi- uh. Katie. Good morning. I was told my culinaryservices were needed.”

She grimaced and opened the door further. “You’ve beenwarned.”

Hunk laughed and walked in. “Come on, it can’t be that-Whoa.” He cleared his throat and took in the kitchen. There was a messeverywhere, and it smelled of burn… something. “You weren’t kidding when yousaid you burned everything.”

“Nope,” she answered. She looked over at him, her expressioncompletely blank. “Fire alarm went off. Twice.”

Hunk suppressed a smile, but failed because she nudged himand groaned. “Okay, well, first thing’s first,” he said, opening the fridge.“When’s the last time you went grocery shopping?”

Katie looked around as though the answer would be somewherein the kitchen. Hunk chuckled and grabbed his keys, nudging her gently towardthe door. “Oh this should be fun,” she grumbled.

***

Arriving at Wal-Mart felt… nostalgic. Hunk got a cart andPidge walked beside him, comforted by their height difference. While the carride had been comfortable because of horrible singing and laughter, being atthe store felt different. Pidge felt nervous.

“So how’ve you been?” she asked as they started for the backwhere the frozen things were.

“I’ve been okay. It’s holiday season, so everyone’s callingin for catering.” She nodded, recalling how busy he could get during theholidays. “I’m saving up to open a restaurant. They have an empty building nearthe optometrist you go to. So I’m trying to lease it.”

“No way,” she said with a smile. “Seriously? You can startthe restaurant there?”

“Well, I know a lot of chefs. Shouldn’t be hard to getwaiters and waitresses. I’m not missing much.”

“Hunk, that’s… really incredible, oh my God.”

Hunk smiled at her and raised an eyebrow. “You seem sohappy.”

“I’m happy for you! I know how long you’ve wanted to dothis, and it’s gonna come true for you!” Hunk held her gaze and smiledappreciatively. Pidge cleared her throat and chuckled as she saw a hat displayin the clothes section across from the food section. “Look!” She grabbed alarge sunhat with edges so wide they seemed to scream “Personal space please.”

“Oh boy,” he laughed, leaning against the cart.

“Put one on,” she said.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Hunk!” He chuckled and looked at her. “Well,” she said,putting on a southern belle accent. “You’d never believe what I heard Susan sayduring Sunday’s mass.” Hunk hummed and raised an eyebrow. “She said hercasserole was better than mine!”

“Don’t blame her none, Miss Katie, you probably burned yours.”

Pidge’s jaw dropped, and she swatted at his arm as shelaughed. “I mean you’re not wrong,” she said in a normal voice. “I love thesehats. They’re so ridiculous.” She put the hat back and gestured to a different aisle.“I’m done with frozen. I can’t have another Marie Callendar’s pot pie.”

“Okay, well, what do you want to eat?”

She sighed and shrugged. “It’s hard to want to make stuffwhen it’s just me, you know? Right now I just really want pancakes and hotchocolate. And like, I know the hot chocolate is just hot milk and the packet,but it still doesn’t taste like you make it.” She looked away and busied herselfwith boxes of cake and cookie mixes set out for Christmas celebrations.

A few seconds later, Hunk said, “Okay. So today we make chocolatechip pancakes from scratch. When you want to make something else, I can helpyou out again.” Pidge looked back at him, dubious. “Come on, Katie,” he said witha smile. “Get into the cart.”

“In the cart?” he nodded and she clambered in, cross legged.Without warning, Hunk began racing between the aisles, making Pidge gasp andlaugh nervously. “Whoa-whoa! Oh my gosh!” she laughed and held onto the sides,wincing as they narrowly missed a few displays. “Hunk, you’re going too fast!”

He came to an abrupt stop and she held herself in place,laughing breathlessly as she looked up at him. “That was never a problembefore.”

Pidge’s eyebrows went up, her cheeks reddening. She turnedand kept her eyes on him refusing to back down. “I’m hungry. Now is not the timefor sexual innuendos.” She sat and pointed. “To the chocolate!”

Somehow, the search of a few simple ingredients took themnearly two hours, and Pidge had forgotten she was hungry in the first place. Bythe time they got back to her place, it was past noon. But she still wantedpancakes.

Hunk began listing the different measurements andtechniques, but Pidge was just enjoying herself by watching the way he mixed.It was quick like he was barely even thinking about what he was doing. Heworked quickly with no mess. Pidge envied it.

He began to pour the batter into a pan, spatula in hand andPidge sat herself on the counter beside the stove. She was in charge of passingthe bowl of batter to him. She bit her lip and rested her head on the cabinetsbehind her.

“So…. Shay’s cool with you doing this?”

“Sh-Shay?” he questioned, looking over at her.

She smiled and shrugged, looking away. “Uh, Lance told meyou guys started dating.” Hunk pursed his lips and looked down at the pan. “It’scool. Just… don’t want to cause any problems.”

“Things with her didn’t… work out.”

“Oh?” Hunk chuckled and shrugged, placing a couple ofpancakes on a plate. He gestured for more batter, but Pidge didn’t notice. “Why?Did something happen?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, gesturing again.

She shrugged and swung her legs. “I’m just wondering. If we’refriends, we can talk about this stuff, right?”

Hunk sighed and stood in front of her, hands on either sideof her on the counter. “You’re supposed to be learning. Not gossiping.”

It was one of those rare moments when she was at eye-levelwith him. “Oops,” she breathed. Hunk smiled slightly and Pidge bit her lip. Sheprobably seemed nosy.

“She’s not you,” he whispered. Pidge looked at him in shock.

“But… you said-”

“I know what Isaid, Pidge.” She took a sharp breath at the sound of him using her nickname again.“But just because she was pretty…. That’s not enough. She was nice and funny,but a lot of girls are. But you’re…. You’re so insanely smart, and beautiful anddetermined and strong and…. No one comes close you. No one ever will. You were morethan just my girlfriend. You were my best friend.”

Pidge let out a shaky breath and gulped. She leaned forward,her arms over his shoulders and very slowly tilted her head. Hunk shut his eyesand leaned forward to meet her lips. It didn’t last as soft and innocent.

They’d been without each other too long. Starving for eachother. Pidge was shaking with how badly she’d been craving him. To hold him, tolean against him, to feel his warmth, his lips. Hunk’s arms wrapped around hermiddle, holding her tightly.

She only pulled away when she needed to breathe, forehead pressedagainst his. “I never should’ve let you go,” she choked past the knot in herthroat.

“And I never should’ve left.”

[bun-bun-bum]

Can We Talk? - Chapter 1

A 3 am Klance fanfic. I’m gonna post this on Ao3 but I have to wait to get an account so here it is. Do I know what direction I’m taking this in? Nope. Are my writing skills the best? Nope. But hey hey hey am I still gonna continue this? Nope Maybe!

Chapter 2  | Chapter 3

Lance sends Keith out of all people a video at 4 am, along with 57 messages that get increasingly more and more worrisome. Something is wrong.

“I'm not really sure how to start this,”

Keith smiled. Was Lance ever sure about anything?

“There's just so much I want to say...”

Lance always had too much to say.

“...I hope this doesn't get too long.”

Wait. Keith paused the video and checked the length of it. 30 minutes?! He rolled his eyes and sighed. Typical Lance. Might as well get comfortable, he thought as he reluctantly got up out of bed and tiptoed towards the kitchen to grab a 4-am snack.

He opened the fridge and tried to pick between leftover pie that Shiro had put a sticky note over that said “Mine!” or leftover pizza that Pidge had put a “Touch this and die” note on top of, but his heart was just not into it. All he could think about was the video that Lance had sent him. It wasn't like Lance to be up at 4 am, the guy had to get his so-called “Beauty Sleep”. Plus he was at home, no way would his mom let her little “Lancy Lance” be up after 12. But nonetheless, he had sent him a text in the dead of night that read, “Keith Whatever-Your-Middle-Name-Is Kogane, you better watch this video or so help me God I will fly to Texas and kick your ass”.

Keith had rolled his eyes and laid back into bed to go to sleep but found himself lying awake for 10 minutes, pondering the explanations behind the text. It wasn't like Lance didn't text him often, he did daily to mostly send him pictures of disgusting images and say “Hey it's you” and other immature jokes since he couldn't do them in person. But this time, something was off.

Maybe it was because, for the 10 minutes where Keith lied trying to sleep, Lance spammed him with 57 messages that got increasingly more and more worrisome with each buzz.

It started off the way Lance usually spammed Keith:

Keith

Keith

Keeeeeith

Keef

Beef

Hey

Man

Dude

Buddy

Bro

Pal

Chum

U there?

Don't tell me you’re sleeping

Laaaaaame

Sleep is for the weak

But it started getting...different?

Keith

I know u’re up

U probs pulled an all-nighter again

You can take a break and WATCH THE GODDAMN VIDEO

U r such a dick

Just watch the video it ain't hard

Omg I'm talking like u now

C’mon Keith

Are you mad at me?

And then:

Please

Keith please

Don't ignore me

Please don't ignore me

Are you mad at me?

Please don't be mad.

I’m sorry I'm spamming you.

I just

Need you to watch this video right now

It can't wait until the morning

I need a response Keith

Keith

Please watch the video

I have no idea what I’m doing

It's important

To me anyway

I guess you can live without knowing

But I can't

You’ll probably hate me afterward

I did a bad thing

A really really bad thing

Like

I fucked up man

And

I don't know what to do

I'm crying right now

No joke

Please

Can we talk?

Keith

Help me

And then ended with this final message:

I'm sorry.

Keith immediately knew something was up, Lance never said “please” or “sorry”. Something was very wrong.

He walked back into his room, juggling his plate of pie and pizza along with his phone and glass of almond milk. Balancing them all on his bedside desk, he flopped back into bed, wrapped himself in his blankets, and helped himself to pizza and milk before pressing play.

Lance’s usually cheerful face looked nervous and downcast today.

“So...you’re probably wondering why I sent this video. The reason? I'm dead.”

Keith choked and spat out his milk. No. No no no no no no no. That was more than impossible, how could Lance have been spamming him for the last 10 minutes then? Not possible. Unless that wasn't Lance.

Keith had almost begun putting together the theory that Lance had never even existed when Video-Lance laughed.

“Ah, dude I'm obviously joking.”

Dang.

“The reason I made this video, the real reason is….”

Lance shuffled in his seat awkwardly, the desk lamp shining upon him reflecting the trickles of sweat forming on his forehead. The background of his video was unfamiliar, very different from what Keith was expecting. When Lance was home, whenever he Skyped his friends he always did it in his room, in front of his bed and behind his desk. Keith had memorized the placements of the photographs on his walls of his family and friends, the Paladin armor, and Garrison uniform that he had hanging up on his closet door, and his always open window and turned-on fan to keep his room cool during the hot summers in Cuba.

But the background was different this time. A neatly made bed was behind him, with no familiar photographs to be seen on the walls. From the direction he was filming Keith could see no windows or closet. Perhaps he was in a hotel room on vacation with his family? Keith wouldn't have been surprised, Lance’s family always did something extravagant when he came home. He was lucky.

Keith didn't realize that he had zoned out for a couple of minutes and yelped when he saw Lance rubbing his eyes. Oh no no no no no. Fuck what happened? What did he miss? Was Lance crying? Did something happen? Is he alright? Damn it, he was a bad friend, he couldn't even pay attention for more than 2 minutes. Keith mentally slapped himself and rewind the video to catch up for the time he wasn't listening.

“....because I want to talk. But like, you’re annoying and I don't want you to keep interrupting me but I still want a response in the end so I'm gonna film myself and send it to you rather than Skype or whatever.”

Keith groaned and all his feelings of worry for Lance vanished. Typical.

“...but also, I don't think I could even say this while seeing your face. Even if it's through a screen, I just….I don't know. I just can't. Maybe I'm scared? I don't know I just….don't want you to judge me.”

Keith frowned. He knew they weren't that close but he never thought that Lance would ever think that he’d seriously judge him. They were friends after all. Just barely, but they were friends.

Then again Lance had other friends. Why wasn't he talking to them?

“You’re probably thinking that I should be talking to some of my other friends right?”

Was this guy psychic?

“Well jokes on you because I have no friends.”

Lance stopped himself and rubbed his temple. “Joking again, I need to stop that this is serious. I mean, I could have talked to other people yeah, Hunk’s a great listener, Shiro gives great advice, and Pidge is real about stuff, but I can't bother them at what, 5 in the morning? You’re the only one I'd wake up in the middle of the night or morning or whatever to ask for advice, Samurai.”

Lance gave the camera his iconic little flirty smile and Keith couldn't help but smile as he scoffed. Of course, that's why he woke him up. He didn't have any other options.

“And, I really want your help right now.”

That was new.

Lance took a shaky deep breath, running a hand through his messy hair and rubbing his watery puffy tired eyes. Keith stared at them. Was he….crying before this?

“So I fucked up. Yeah, I know, not surprising, I know I know, hilarious. But seriously. I messed up really really badly, Keith. Where do I even begin….”

Lance held his arms to his chest and lowered his head. He took a shaky breath.

“Keith….I ran away.”

[dumbgopher1]

How to help a workaholic:

This is my first story I have shared with anyone, ever, so bare with it please. Input would be lovely though

Tom Hiddleston x OFC

Warnings: umm over working, sleep depervation, and anorexia. Fluff

As an a PA for the immensely successful and busy actor, Tom Hiddleston, for almost three years you would think I had gotten used to the work load.

I though I had, but apparently not, six months of 12 hour work days, on set, with late nights of preparing things for Tom, at home, had left me exhausted. I tried not to show it, I love my job and working with such talent is a lot of fun. Plus I didn't really want him to send me home early on this particular day because I would just be going home to a lonely empty apartment. Just like I had done most of my life, that day i just couldn't bare the thought of it.

So that is how Tom Hiddleston found his faithful and hardworking PA fast asleep on a stool in his trailer, when he came back during a break on set.

Her (my) laptop still in front of her on the counter running a screen saver, and her head on her arms

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tom opened the door to his trailer while looking at his phone,

"Hey Tally can you get me some tea"

... no answer...

"Tally?" He looked up and saw a hunched back and a messy head of brown hair.

He moved around and brushed the hair on out of her face, which was completely different from the grinning face that greeted him at the door of his trailer each morning, with a cup of tea. This one was exhausted, even in sleep, 'she's a better actor than me for hiding how tired she is, I had no idea' he thought as he gently picked her up and moved her to the couch. She didn't even fidget when he softly layer a blanket over her.

He brushed the hair out of her face again and kissed her forehead, before quietly leaving the trailer to let her sleep. His gentle actions showing more feelings towards his assistant then even a close friendship would generally warrant.

A few hours later, around dinner time, she appeared on set bringing him his dinner just like she did everyday, looking just as put together as always. But now that he knew to look he could see the well covered dark circles under her eyes, he remembered how light and boney she had been when he had picked her up.

"Here you go Mr. Hiddleston" she said cheerfully as she handed him his dinner.

"Would you eat with me, Tally".

"No thank you I'll eat back at my apartment" waving him off before sitting next across from him and pulling out a script. That's what they usually did at meals, she would help him run lines while he ate. But before she could start he started asking questions of her.

"Tally, what's your favorite food?"

"Like for what situation?"

"Say if your feeling down, what meal would you eat to cheer you up?"

"Hmmm probably chicken noodle soup with dumplings, my mom would always make that when I had a cold in the winter. It really warms you up and is filling"

"That sounds really good"

"It is, but as far as something that always cheers me up it would probably be pumpkin or cake batter ice cream"

"Pumpkin ice cream?"

"You've never had it?! Oh it's wonderful, like when you have pumpkin pie and ice cream but no crust and perfectly mixed together"

"Maybe we should get some sometime"

"Few places sell it, most people won't even try it thinking it will be gross, so maybe I should just make some for you."

"You know how to cook?" He asked staring at her

She laughed, "Where do you think your dinners come from?! the catering here isn't exactly healthy" she gestured over at the buffet.

He looked down at his plate, creamy cilantro Thai chicken, fresh hot rice, just crisp sautéed green beans.

He looked back up with wonder in his eyes, but she was looking down at the script flipping through the pages, "why?" He asked a little huskily.

She glanced back up at him, " it's no fun just cooking for myself, so otherwise I'd get out of practice, plus you seem to like it. I like to make things for people and watch them enjoy eating it. I get that that is a little weird." She looked down at her hands obviously embarrassed, fiddling with her rings.

He just stared at her with wonder, the he cleared his throat, "eghem, well you're a really good cook",

She smiled just a bit, "thanks"

The call back sounded and she quickly got up and cleared away his dishes.

Tom thought a lot through during the rest of the day about these new discoveries he had made of his PA that he cared so much about.

She was obviously not eating or sleeping enough

She didn't refer to her apartment as home

She can cook, really well, and had been cooking for him for a while 'when did the food get so good?'

She is embarrassed by her love of cooking for people

"Hmmmm" at this point he was driving to his own flat, done for the week. It was one of his rare free weekends, 'maybe I should do something nice for her, to show my appreciation for everything she does for me'. He soon came up with a plan.

The next morning he got up bright and early, (about 6 am) and called Tally's cell, he got voice mail, "Hey you've reached the phone of Tally [Blacke] if you are calling before 10, (and here her voice changed a bit) Whyyyy? It's the weekend! If not or even if so I'll get back to you as soon as possible..." he didn't get to hear the rest of the speech because the phone picked up and a groggy morning voice answered

"Mr. Hiddleston, I though we had the weekend off, did I miss something on the calendar?"

Tom immediately felt a little bad for calling so early in his excitement,

"No you were right we do have this weekend off, I simply wanted to know if you would like to join me in an adventure for today?"

"Sure Mr. Hiddleston, I can move my plans to tomorrow."

"Well if you have plans I don't mean to disturb them"

"No, it's nothing to important" she mumbled her voice getting steadily clearer, "I was just going to look at puppies today."

"Oh" suddenly his whole plan changed "well we can do that too if you like, it's always better to go shopping with a friend. I'll pick you up in an hour!" He hung up quickly. Very excited about helping his PA and dare he think it, dear dear friend.

While he was very excited about the plans, Tally on the other hand was in a bit of a panic, her employer and long time celebrity crush was coming over to her apartment... and it was a bit of a mess. She got dressed and ready in a record setting 20 minutes then set to work going a frantic cleaning, such as only seen when a crush or your mom is coming over unexpectedly. Things were stuffed in boxes and cloths in hampers, the kitchen (the only clean part of the place, was given a quick once over and the bathroom was scrubbed. She had just finished the dining room/living room when there was a ring on the doorbell. 'Phew just in time'

She opened the door for him, "Come in, Mr. Hiddleston"

He stepped inside looking around curiously, "Tom, please, I'm not your boss today I'm your friend"

"Alright,... Tom" she tried it out, 'goodness he did like how his name sounded when she said it' "I apologize in advance if I slip up, calling you Mr. Hiddleston is habit by now"

"Well we'll just have to break that habit won't we" and they grinned at each other. He looked around again and say a comfy apartment, it looked to be converted loft with a separate bedroom. There was a decidedly autumn undertone to the place, all warm wood, leather, and earth tones. It should have felt masculine but it didn't, it smelled like vanilla ice cream and apple pie with a little hint of chocolate underneath it all. One whole wall was a huge bookshelf, filled to the brim with books, there were also piles of books scattered around, and a chocolate brown leather couch sat facing a fake brick chimney holding a gas fireplace. "Wow, I love your apartment" he said staring at it all.

"Thanks, it took a long time to put together but without someone to show it to or share it with,.... (she paused)"

"I get it" he said to bring her out of the clouds she had fallen into " its like with the cooking"

"Ya, just like that" she smiled smalley, then perked up "have you had breakfast yet? I know a lovely chocolate chip scone recipe."

"I have had breakfast"

"Oh ya that's right (she hit her palm to her head lightly) you don't like sweet things for breakfast."

"It wouldn't be breakfast though"

"That's right (she giggled) second breakfast? Your a bit tall for a hobbit though" she moved into the kitchen area, he followed her watching keenly as she started to cook.

"You really do love cooking don't you?"

"When I'm in the mood (she grated the butter into the flour mixture she had just made) people always tell me I should have been a chef, but I don't know, the food industry is very stressful, I saw that every day as a kid when my parent owned their restaurant."

"As apposed to the movie industry which is a cakewalk" he smirked at her.

"Oh don't you start (she shook a dough covered finger at him) I get enough of that from my parents, 'oooh why'd you throw away a perfectly good career as a teacher, you should have been a baker, you should have joined the military like your brother, you should have married that rancher then we'd have grandbabys by now. I made my choice!" She had been working the dough rather roughly through the rant. She stopped and looked up at him sadly "sorry.... I didn't mean to rant you don't need to hear my problems". She started working the dough more gently, rolling it out into a soft rectangle and started cutting it into sections and placing them on the baking tray.

"It's alright (he reached across the breakfast bar to place a hand on her forearm as a show of comfort) I didn't mean to hit a nerve"

She finished preparing the scones and put them in the already hot oven, "how bout some tea hmm?"

"You know how to speak to an Englishman's heart" she giggled at that and started some water to boil.

"What kind of dog are you thinking of getting?"

"I'm thinking a Husky or a German Rottweiler, I'm only considering getting a dog though, it'll be hard to train one with how much I am gone".

"You could always just bring it to set"

"I didn't know that was allowed?"

"Well if anyone asks you could just say it's mine" he smiled

"Ahh the old blame it on someone higher up play, gosh I've used that so much in my life."

"I'll make you a deal, (her eyebrow cocked up when he said this), you get to use me as a scapegoat for bringing a puppy on location, if you agree to have dinner with my, say once a week."

"Tom I'm with you at dinner almost every day!"

"No, actually eat dinner with me not read my lines while I eat"

" 'sigh' ok deal" he grinned at her excepting and stuck out his hand for her to shake which she did.

"But... not Fridays or Wednesdays." She said pointedly

"Why not those days specially?"

"Haven't you ever noticed I leave set early those days? Maybe next time I'll show you where I go." She smirked at him.

Ding the timer went off and she turned to pull the scones from the oven leaving a startled Tom gazing after her. 'So much he hadn't noticed about her for how much he had watched her. He hadn't seen so much.' He moved from his stool to her bookshelf looking over her titles. She brought his tea over,

"See anything get you like?" Offered him a scone on a light blue square plate. "There are so many" he bit into the scone, it was like heaven in his mouth. All thoughts were brushed from his mind by the softness of the scone still warm from the oven, the bittersweet chocolate setting off the buttery flavor, sweet but not to sweet he swallowed and turned to her. She was gazing at his face, watching him devour the scone, while munching satisfied on her own. Her eyes were twinkling as she took in his true opinion of her cooking before he ever said a word of review.

"So ... what do you think?"

"That is amazing" she smiled,

"Good" she smiled up at him he placed his tea and plate down before scooping her up into a tight hug which lifted her off the ground, " thank you" he whispered in her ear.

"For what?"

"Everything, everything you do for me, I never realized it, I'm sorry" he set her back on her feet and she pulled back just a little, not enough to break the hug but just enough to see his face.

"It was never about you realizing what I did. It was about just doing it, everyone needs someone to care about or for" she looked down a little sheepishly. He gathered her tighter into him so her head was on his chest, "thank you for choosing me to care for"

They stayed like that for a few seconds before she broke away reluctantly, well it's 10, the shops should be open now"

"Yes let's go find you a puppy"

~~~~~

[lynchgirl90]

@Variety COVER STORY: Inside the roller-coaster journey to get @DAVID_LYNCH's #TwinPeaks back on TV

A  red room. A dream version of Laura Palmer. An older Special Agent Dale Cooper, silent and pensive. The Man From Another Place, speaking cryptically: “That gum you like is going to come back in style.” It was early 1989, and Lynch was hard at work on “Twin Peaks.” He and co-creator Mark Frost were trying to meet the deadlines of ABC, the network that had commissioned a drama about love, pie and murder in a Pacific Northwest town. Lynch was under pressure to create scenes that would allow the pilot to be released as a TV movie in case it didn’t get picked up to series. But the filmmaker didn’t have any ideas for footage that could wrap up the story neatly enough to please a movie audience. Then he walked outside during an early-evening break from editing and folded his arms on the roof of a car. “The roof was so warm, but not too warm,” Lynch says. “It was just a really good feeling — and into my head came the red room in Cooper’s dream. That opened up a portal in the world of ‘Twin Peaks.’” That vision ended up in the third episode — but more importantly, it would lay the groundwork for the highly anticipated revival of the series, which returns May 21 on Showtime. It’s an older Cooper that anchors the series. While countless reboots of numerous series have crashed and burned, it’s safe to say few have been as intensely followed by fans as this one. As Showtime CEO David Nevins put it, “‘Twin Peaks’ as a place is a proper noun, but it’s almost become an adjective.” Since the show’s debut in April 1990, many dramas have tried to create the kind of evocative, twisted atmosphere “Twin Peaks” exuded from the first twanging notes of Angelo Badalamenti’s yearning score. And though intense dramas about murders that reverberate through tight-knit communities are now easy to find on TV, no show has come close to achieving the mix of humor, soapy drama, sincerity and corrupted purity found within the strange confines of “Twin Peaks.”

That’s because much of what’s distinctive about the drama emerges from the most unpredictable corners of Lynch’s mind — like that red room epiphany. “It comes in a burst,” Lynch explains. “An idea comes in, and if you stop and think about it, it has sound, it has image, it has a mood, and it even has an indication of wardrobe, and knowing a character, or the way they speak, the words they say. A whole bunch of things can come in an instant.” Frost describes a case in point: “I remember him calling me to say, ‘Mark, there’s a giant in Cooper’s room,’” he says. “I learned early on that it was always best to be very receptive to whatever might bubble up from David’s subconscious.” The first iteration of “Twin Peaks” lasted only two seasons — 30 episodes in all — but the show left a legacy that would help define auteur TV. “I don’t think anyone who ever saw ‘Twin Peaks’ will ever have it not ingrained in their memory and imagination for the rest of their lives,” says Laura Dern, a frequent Lynch collaborator who plays a mysterious role in the new season. Yet getting the series back on-screen was no easy feat. At one point, the revival almost fell apart before production began. It would take delicate negotiations by all parties to rescue the project. “I was an actual, genuine lover of ‘Twin Peaks’ and the world that [Lynch] created, and I knew his filmography really well,” Nevins notes. “[We said] we would take the ride with him, and that we would treat it well and treat it with the respect that it deserved. I think we did. We bobbed and weaved with him; we were patient when we had to be patient.”

Lynch and Frost began talking about returning to “Twin Peaks” in August 2012, in part because the show’s baked-in time jump was approaching — in that pivotal red room scene, Agent Cooper is 25 years older. The two men shared ideas over meals at Musso & Frank, and after the writing process had begun in earnest, they started to shop the revival around. They settled on Showtime fairly quickly, given their history with the executives. Gary S. Levine, Showtime’s president of programming, has known Frost and Lynch since his days at ABC. Almost three decades ago, he was one of the execs who heard their pitch for the TV show they initially called “Northwest Passage.” (Levine still has the memo that notes the date of the first concept meeting for the pilot — Aug. 25, 1988.) But as with everything Lynch, the agreement for the redux came down to instinct: A final piece of the puzzle, say the execs, was a painting in Nevins’ office of a little girl next to a bookcase that looks like it may fall on her. “I was making the pitch about why he should come here and why we would treat his property right, and he mostly stood there and stared at the painting,” Nevins recalls. (For his part, Lynch says the painting wasn’t the deciding factor, but he smiles at the memory of seeing it.) The deal closed in the fall of 2014, with an order of nine episodes; the following January, Lynch hand-delivered a 400-page document. “It was like the Manhattan phone book,” Frost says. Their plan was to shoot the entire thing — with Lynch at the helm of every episode —and then edit the resulting footage into individual episodes. It’s hard to imagine wrestling that 400-page behemoth into a briefcase, let alone giving notes on it. When talks broke down, however, the conflict wasn’t about the script but rather the project’s budget. In April 2015, the director went public with his growing displeasure, tweeting that “after 1 year and 4 months of negotiations, I left because not enough money was offered to do the script the way I felt it needed to be done.”

Lynch’s threatened departure generated a flurry of commentary, most of which said that a version of the TV show without him would be worse than no “Twin Peaks” at all. “I didn’t want ‘Twin Peaks’ without Lynch either,” Nevins says drily. The Showtime chief says he was out of the country when negotiations hit that difficult patch. Lynch wanted the flexibility to expand the length of the season, but he didn’t know exactly how many episodes he’d end up with. He hoped it would be possible to go longer than the 9 or 13 installments that had been discussed, but he ran into resistance from the network’s business affairs department. “It didn’t fit into the box of how people are used to negotiating these kinds of deals,” Nevins says. “Once I understood what the issues were from the point of view of the filmmaker, I was like, ‘OK, we can figure that out.’ And we did — it turned out not to be very complicated to [resolve].” Nevins and Levine went over to the director’s house. “Gary brought cookies,” Lynch recalls. And over baked goods and coffee, the three men hashed everything out. Lynch, says Nevins, has a history of being responsible. “He said, ‘Give me the money; I will figure out how to apportion it properly.’ And he did,” Nevins says. (Levine says the cost of “Twin Peaks” is comparable to that of Showtime’s other high-end dramas.) Asked for his side of the story, Lynch asks, “What did Showtime say?” Told their version, he signs off: “Basically, that’s it.” He says his relationship with the network ever since the cookie summit has been “solid gold.” (Treats never hurt: When he delivered cuts of the new season, he sent along doughnuts.)

The mystery of the first season of “Twin Peaks” was, famously, “Who killed Laura Palmer?” The mystery of the reboot is, well — nearly everything. None of the 18 episodes will be released in advance to critics, and very few details have leaked out. Though cast members such as Kyle MacLachlan (Agent Cooper), Madchen Amick (Shelly Johnson), Sherilyn Fenn (Audrey Horne) and Ray Wise (Leland Palmer) are returning, others, including Joan Chen, Michael Ontkean and Lara Flynn Boyle, won’t be back. No one will say what characters are being played by new recruits Dern, Ashley Judd, Tim Roth, Naomi Watts and Robert Forster — there’s a roster of more than 200 characters in the new season. Frost’s father, Warren; Catherine Coulson, the Log Lady; and Miguel Ferrer, who played the irascible Albert Rosenfield, all filmed scenes before they died. Nevins lets it slip that Lynch’s character, the hearing-impaired FBI Regional Bureau Chief Gordon Cole, is “pretty prominent” in the new season. “I probably said too much,” he adds. MacLachlan says that Lynch enjoys the world of “Twin Peaks” so much that he couldn’t resist putting himself back in it. But he admits that, for his part, he finds it hard to stay in character when he’s doing scenes with his director. “Unless we’re really both firmly rooted in what we’re doing, we tend to start laughing and messing up,” the actor says. Stopping for a moment, the actor reconsiders: “David, when he works, he’s very committed to Gordon. So when I’m in there with him, he’s able to really hold it. He holds it better than I do, to be honest.” For those expecting a similar structure to the original, which revolved around Laura’s death, Frost issues a warning: “It’s going to be very different this time around.” The scope of the reboot is greater, says Nevins, adding that the new installments of the drama reflect Lynch’s advancement as an artist.

“I think he’s evolved to an even more extreme version of himself, but all of the [Lynch] themes are visible,” Nevins says. “He has certain ideas about the ideal of America. Not to relate it too much to the present, but he has certain ideas about Midwestern American wholesomeness. But I think he’s also incredibly aware of the flip side of it. I think David Lynch is a really relevant voice: What does it mean when we say, ‘Make America great again?’” Given the wider scope, it’s not surprising to hear that, though “Twin Peaks” returned to Snoqualmie, Wash., for some filming, certain storylines in the new season take place outside the Pacific Northwest, and the bulk of the new season was shot in Southern California. “There are different threads in different parts of the U.S.” that eventually converge, Nevins says. “It does not go outside the U.S., but it is in multiple locations in the U.S.” One last clue from Lynch: The film “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me,” he says, is very important to understanding what’s coming May 21.

Even if “Twin Peaks” travels outside its forested Pacific Northwest setting, it’s safe to assume there’s still cherry pie on the menu at the Double R Diner. Lynch and Frost’s collaborative process is also still intact; 25 years later, the two men picked up where they left off. Lynch lives in Los Angeles and Frost resides more than an hour away, so the two men often worked together via Skype. Frost typically writes down what they come up with, and then the two trade notes and talk further to refine the story. “Getting it the way you want it to be, that’s a beautiful high and it’s a high for everybody,” says Lynch of directing. “It’s difficult to go home and go right to sleep. And it’s murder to get up in the morning.” Lynch directed every episode of the drama, which wrapped production a year ago. In a perfect world, he says he would have helmed every installment of the original series. “Not that other directors didn’t do a fine job,” he says. “But when it’s passing through different people, it’s just natural that they would end up with [something] different than what I would do.” The freedom of airing on a premium channel didn’t change his approach, Lynch says. There’s not much in the way of nudity or extreme violence in the finished product. “You don’t think, ‘Oh, I can do this now,’” he says. “The story tells you what’s going to happen.” In fact, despite the show’s reputation for being unsettling, most of what’s dark and dangerous about “Twin Peaks” comes from its mood and soundscape, not necessarily from what’s depicted on-screen. Decades ago, ABC executives were excited about Lynch and Frost’s pitch in part because it was, in many ways, relatively conventional. It fit easily into a number of existing TV categories: the classic nighttime soap, the murder mystery, the high school drama and the small-town saga.

“There certainly weren’t Standards & Practices issues at the time,” Levine says. “[Lynch’s] imagination took you to new places, not to prurient places. That was a good thing in broadcast TV.” But the otherworldly elements that Lynch layered in — an indefinable air of mystery, a surreal quality that evoked swooning, bittersweet loss — were among the factors that made the original “Twin Peaks” a ratings and pop-culture sensation. And despite that the second season was more uneven than the first, the show often effectively blended slapstick humor with dream logic, bittersweet romance, heightened melodrama and hints of violence and degradation. “He’s got both really good craft and storytelling skills, and he also creates his own reality without it violating the reality you’re in,” Levine says. “I think that was one of the great things about the original — it was a really compelling plot, but it also was this acid trip. Somehow those two things coexist beautifully in David Lynch’s world.” Lynch doesn’t question where inspirations like the red room scene come from; he simply wants to capture them with his cameras. And lest anyone think he’s overly precious about his process, Lynch doesn’t consider himself the creator of these visions. “It's like that idea existed before you caught it, so in some strange way, we human beings, we don't really do anything,” he says. “The ideas come along and you just translate them.” What might Lynch’s response be if an actor said, about a line, "That doesn't feel right to me”? “I don't know if I've ever said that to him, actually,” says MacLachlan, stumped by the question. “I mean, I would never change it. It is there for a reason.” In fact, to hear him tell it, the fact that Cooper is an iconic TV character is in many ways a tribute to the writing for the character, especially in Cooper’s debut scene. “I brought my stuff, yeah,” MacLachlan says. “But that’s one of the greatest introductions into a story of any that I've ever had — driving up the mountain, talking into a tape recorder about some of the mundane things in life, just kind of cataloguing it. Immediately, you wonder, ‘Who is this guy and what is he about?’” “When I first started with David in ‘Dune,’ I was full of questions. I would bother him non-stop,” MacLachlan says. “He always had a great deal of patience with me. On ‘Blue Velvet,’ I still [had questions], but less, and then with ‘Twin Peaks,’ even less. I've stopped having to know everything. I’ve just said, ‘OK, I see where we're going.’” “For Kyle and I, we've spoken about this incredible gift that we know what [Lynch] means” when he discusses his vision for a scene or a project, Dern says. “We have gone on this journey with him, so we know his language, or what he's inventing. We don't necessarily need to understand it or need it to be logical, but we see where his brain is taking him and we can follow.”

Dern and MacLachlan both say they relish the opportunity to work with Lynch because his vision is so specific that it gives them a detailed road map to follow — and it makes the set an efficient place. “There’s no wasted time or wasted emotions, tangents, whatever,” MacLachlan notes. “He’s very precise when we talk through the scene, and he tells me what’s going to happen. He has already thought it through, and he sees it.” Dern marvels at the rigor and enigma of Lynch’s process. “David creates these worlds, sometimes all too real and sometimes incredibly absurd, but either way, he places humanity inside them, and his dialogue is so precise, mysterious, unusual and beautiful that you want to dive into that dialogue and hopefully make it soar,” she says. Given Lynch’s penchant for secrecy, just about all Dern can say about her character is that she talks about birds, at least once. “Kyle and I had several scenes, particularly in the car, when we're talking about the robins,” Dern says. “There’s this very beautiful, hopeful poetry amidst this hellish world they've entered.” Rewatching “Twin Peaks” recently, MacLachlan was struck by how the editing of the show helps it create a series of moods, from comedic to tautly suspenseful, from romantic to terrifying. “His timing, his rhythms,” MacLachlansays. “That's what I find so interesting about David Lynch — the way he stretches things or condenses things, or manipulates time to make something either seem more humorous or less.”

 Now all that remains to be seen is how the public responds to the new adventures of Agent Cooper, that avatar of square-jawed all-American perseverance. “I believe in intuition,” Lynch says. “I believe in optimism, and energy, and a kind of a Boy Scout attitude, and Cooper’s got all those things.” The most important parallel between Lynch and Cooper is that their belief in their own intuition is matched by a purposeful, almost single-minded intent. What allows Lynch to put deeply felt images from his subconscious on the screen is a tenacious focus — one that’s cloaked in the kind of smiling, friendly optimism that Cooper typically exudes. “His vision is genuine,” Dern says. “He’s not interested in creating something so others will be impacted by it. He just sees a world and has to follow it.” Despite the passionate responses his works have created, Lynch doesn’t necessarily set out to delve into the hearts and minds of his viewers. He’s just an interpreter of something primal — a messenger for the visions that find him. “I guess, like Mel Brooks said, ‘If you don’t laugh while you’re writing the thing, the audience isn’t going to laugh,’” Lynch explains. “If you don’t cry or feel it while you’re doing it, it’s probably not going to translate.” Almost 30 years ago, TV viewers followed Lynch through that portal to the red room. Despite the crowded TV landscape “Twin Peaks” helped create, Nevins thinks audiences will take the journey again. “I think he does have enormous self-confidence as an artist — that what resonates with him won’t resonate with everybody but will resonate with enough people that it’s going to make noise in the world,” Nevins says. And if there is silence, that’s fine too. “If nothing happens, it’s still OK,” Lynch says with a smile. “This whole trip has been enjoyable.” 

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