#and his race pace was really strong even though circumstances…he couldn’t show it

[werezmastarbucks]

golden hour hill roll

pic credit

masterlist

word count: 1395

The police paid them a visit the next day. Tyler took Sam to the basement and showed him all his whimsical little musical instruments; he had a very old guitar and a shaky keyboard standing on three thin legs; had a set of drums with differently colored drumsticks. Sam despised all of that; the instruments were the opposite of what the boy craved, which was peace and quiet. Instruments produced music. Music was noise.

Kai spoke to the policemen who weren’t much concerned with their parents’ month-long absence. Kai held on to the door and listened to the two officers, both of them with protruding teeth, like they were brothers. They said the little boy’s body has been discovered in the sewage tunnel under the road, three houses away from where he lived. It took them two weeks to locate the body, and in the water, and in the company of rats, little Teddy became barely recognizable.

“Uh-huh”, Kai nodded, “awful. Who would’ve done anything like that to a child?”

“We’re only disclosing the circumstances of his discovery for you guys to be cautious. It’s the third body in the last two months in your neighborhood. You’ve seen anything concerning?”

“Officer, my two brothers are very special, I see concerning every day. They are… both… challenged”, Kai said and immediately started chewing his lip. He caught the smile at the very last second and instead pretended to be fully distressed.

“Be careful. If you see anything, call us immediately”.

“You think there’s a serial killer?”

Kai could see a neighbor, the bitch from the fourth house to the left, pacing the street behind their backs in the distance. She kept an eye on them all the time. Pretended to be looking out for the boys while the parents were away. Constantly judging them, the religious fucking fanatic. Her daughter though. Ruby Summers was, as they say, a real piece of ass. Aaand she liked Tyler.

He failed to hear the response to his own question and now stared at the cops with the same worried expression on his face.

“Is there any way we could chat with your brothers, mister Parker?”

“Samson is very ill…” he said slowly, “and Tyler is at work, so…”

They nodded with understanding. Sheer angels, these guys.

As they were leaving, Kai caught Mrs Summers’ eye. She turned away and started walking again as if she hadn’t been sniffing for the details. Will they grab him? Maybe she hoped they’d shoot him where he stood. Evil or not, Kai had to admit Summers suspected something. She couldn’t really put her finger to what. But, like an animal, she sensed something was off. Maybe she would be the first to finally figure out that he is trying to spell his name with bodies under the ground. But it would be too early. The five bodies he put in the sewer only made the bar in the first letter, K.

He shut the door with an energetic swing. Sam raced up the stairs back into the living.

“It’s a good thing. It’s a good thing Tyler took me down, because when I heard your guys’ voices, I started talking about Teddy out loud”, he nodded several times. “I heard the question, where have you been on the fourth, and started answering, because I knew you would lie to them. It’s a good thing Tyler took me away”.

Kai ruffled the youngest’s hair knowing full well Sam hated it.

“Keep low today, I also lied that you’re terribly ill”.

“Why?”

“So that they don’t want to question you”.

Sam went pale as if he immediately took to making himself ill.

Kai went down to Tyler’s room, also known as basement, and found the brother sitting on his little thrashed sofa prepped against the wall. His neck was all black. Tyler slowly tilted his head left and right. Kai could tell he was in pain even from just looking at him.

“Worse?”

Tyler was silent. They made peace yesterday with sandwiches and boardgames. Kai won by cheating which sent Sam into a crazy fit that lasted for thirty minutes. Tyler had such a strong headache he threw up in the living room. By all means the night went great.

He fell on the sofa next to Tyler confidently.

“Are they gone?” the middle one asked in hollow voice. When he was like that, he looked just a little dangerous which Kai liked.

“Yeah. Start getting concerned”.

“So maybe that means you should stop”.

“You know what else we should stop doing?”

Tyler had put up old towels, thrifted rugs and carpets on the walls of his so-called music studio. But nothing helped quieten his screams when he started recording. The shrieking was so blood-chilling that sometimes it seemed like he was being eaten alive.

Tyler was only able to turn his head a little. Kai could see the dry tear lines on his brother’s cheeks and didn’t like that. As opposed to earlier.

“What?”

“Stop lying to Sam about parents. Sooner or later his anxiety will take over and he’ll run to the neighbors or start shouting from the rooftops. Or just figure out himself”.

Tyler stood up and started walking towards the only holy place in the basement: industrial size refrigerator, always full of ice-cold soda. He would take out a can and press it hard against his aching head, and it would help a little. He wasn’t responding yet.

Pink, orange, neon blue, acid green, he had it all. Sprite, Pepsi, Fanta, Mountain Dew, Dr Pepper, Zima, A&W, it was Kai who stocked and restocked the wonder fridge of salvation.

“Which one do you want?” he asked.

“Dr Pepper”.

He took two cans: red and blue, and brought them back to the sofa.

Kai’s sly eyes were watching him. It was enough just to see that Tyler has registered what he said. That he started fidgeting around.

They drank sweet, gum collapsing soda in silence for some time. The fridge hummed its monotonous melody, Tyler’s black fingers were tightly wrapped around the cold thin metal of the can. The migraine subdued a little, and he could see colors again. He watched his black-and-white brother, so black-and-white that he was almost bloody. Kai’s face was so pale, you could take a tiny pin and prick him a little, and this skin would burst like a tightly strained balloon; and he would explode in blood. And the blood would be sugary sweet.

Wednesdays were the hill days. Samson needed to get out of the house at the golden hour once in a while. It was a little ritual of theirs; perhaps the only wholesome one. Three streets away, fifteen minutes far from home, the road suddenly dropped down off the majestic hill. The road was always empty on Wednesday evenings when they came rolling down, they didn’t know why; maybe it was luck. Empty cars parked neatly on the sides of the road, clenching on the asphalt at the steep angle with their tires. No people peeking out, it was like the street would become desolated for an hour that they spent there until the twilight came. They usually stood on the top of the hill; Tyler and Kai with their boards, and Sam, with his bicycle, and looked at the orange world getting ready for the night. The road went on and on, and beyond, an ugly world continued again. But here, on the tilted surface of the hill, their world was just the clean asphalt.

They would roll down in complete silence. Tyler sometimes undertook attempts at teaching Kai to lose speed in order not to let his board wiggle; but they were never fruitful. Sam always rode clenching the handlebars of his bike like his life depended on it. And still, he was always the impulse behind going there; he loved this golden hour hill roll. Shirts flapped around their waists, and Tyler’s migraine ceased just for an hour. They never fell on that hill, not a single time, and were perfectly happy there. The ride, and the wind, and the silence kept them satisfied. They would roll down in line, Kai always speeding up eventually, and then make their way back up the hill, and go down again, and repeated the process until the sun went down. And then the ugly world would overtake once again.

[maranello]

Do you think tomorrow Ferrari will still be 7th, 8th or 9th in qualifying or even lower? Because this week there were articles in which they said that Ferrari is going to turn up their engine and today was a disappointment:(

Ferrari has a habit of running different programs than every other team on the grid on Fridays ngl, many a practice session they have looked lacklustre but it’s usually some kind of data collection and they do well by the time quali and race rolls around. (I have to read more experienced fans or journalists usually to tell what the hell they’re doing or if it was actually a positive session despite the timings.)

They were allegedly running the older engine today actually, and if that’s not true, they also have been really conservative with the engine on Fridays because well. you gotta remember reliability is also important for an engine and PU4 has ran at least, what, 6-7 races already. They’ll save most of the engine life for when it matters (qualifying and race).

Today, they’ve been mostly doing long run/higher fuel simulations so the times should be more reflective of race pace than quali. And Charles was running some aerodynamics test on the rear in FP1 because Ferrari wants to try some solutions there for this track. It’s alright if they’re still finding the right set up as long as they find it! Never say die until you actually are dead and have no chance of being resurrected! Plus, I think Charles’ faster runs were compromised by traffic or got deleted because of track limits 😅

And honestly, I think Ferrari and Charles in particular has the ability to pull it together in the last minute. I’ll be more concerned if they do quali sims in FP3 and they are slow. However, in this season, we’ve seen Charles have a not so great FP3 but somehow Ferrari delivers the car he needs and Charles manages to build up his confidence in the car again during qualifying and delivers a great result (like Saudi Arabia!) As a team, too, they’ve taken a turn from being blistering in qualifying but eh in a race to focusing more on fixing their race pace, and I think the work has paid off over the season and with the last engine upgrade. And Abu Dhabi is not a track where track position is everything.

So, frankly speaking, I am expecting them to do better when it matters (provided that luck doesn’t shoot us in the ass….)

[monocaelia]

realizing they’re in love headcanons [childe, diluc, kaeya, zhongli]

warnings: slight spoiler for the geo archon quest (though i feel like now it’s pretty obvious but like... just in case)

childe

childe, to me, is someone who is attracted to someone who is not only strong physically and can take him in a fight or sparring session, but also to someone who can surprise him and keep him on his toes

he finds excitement in not knowing what to expect from another person and would get bored easily if that weren’t the case

he’d fall in love with you the moment you’d finally pin him down during a sparring session

the two of you had been sparring with one another for a while as a way to train the both of you to become stronger fighters (and also to get closer to each other subconsciously)

for the longest time, you’ve never been able to defeat him. he’d always pin you down or be the last one standing at the end of your sparring sessions and honestly? it pissed you off that you couldn’t do anything to one-up him

childe thought that you would give up the first couple of times, but to his surprise you always came back for more and he found that amusing. you? little you trying to pin down childe, also known as tartaglia no. 11 of the eleven harbingers? how cute

he found your frustrated face, all scratched up and scuffed up from your earlier sparring session, adorable and funny at the same time. he couldn’t help smiling after each session and laughing to himself when you never accepted the hand he offered to help you up and then watching you stumble

you were so stubborn, it was so cute

but the day you finally outsmarted him and pulled him underneath him would be the day he realizes that maybe... maybe there’s something about you that makes his heart race

perhaps it was the way you grinned above him, or the way your hands had his wrists pinned up above him. maybe it was the way you leaned close to his face to brag, noses nearly brushing against each other and your grin turning into a smirk. regardless, you’ve got both his body and his heart pinned underneath you. not like he’d ever complain about that

diluc

personally, someone who is kind and patient yet brutally honest would be a perfect match for diluc

he’s not really one for someone who beats around the bush, but it takes a while for him to fully open up about his past or whatever is bothering him. he’s a secretive man but only because he’s someone with a heavy history and doesn’t really like to talk about it

diluc would realize you’re the one for him after one of his duties as the darknight hero

he would come home injured after a serious scuffle with a couple of abyss mages that were lurking outside of mondstadt. normally they would’ve been a piece of cake for someone like him, but they had caught him off guard

you and he were friends, and you always offered him a place to stay if his duties as mondstadt’s darknight hero ran way too late in the night and he didn’t have the energy to get back to the winery

and boy were you surprised to see the bloodied and bruised man in front of you

you scolded him harshly, telling him how reckless he was and how he nearly scared you to death by showing up at your door like he was the one at death’s door. your hands worked quickly to clean up his wounds and make sure they were all bandaged properly

something about the way you nagging him and slapping his arm (lightly) as a punishment every now and then made his heart swell and he would’ve laughed if he could. despite your frazzled appearance, he found you ethereal in the warm glow of the lantern in your room

he gently grabbed your hand and called your name, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles as an apology for his actions and worrying you

he’ll keep your scoldings in the back of his head the next time he went off to do his darknight duties. he wouldn’t want to worry you even more, now would he?

kaeya

kaeya would be attracted to someone who could keep up with his flirty and witty remarks. he finds someone who can do that extremely fun to be around

though, someone who could catch on to his manipulative tactics and lies would also catch his eyes (or rather... eye)

kaeya fell in love with you in a peculiar circumstance, one that no one would’ve expected to happen

everyone either hated kaeya, as they should considering he was mischievous and had connections to the bandits and criminals that lurked outside of mondstadt and overall had a pretty suspicious nature about him, or they feared him and what he could do to them

and yet, you looked past all of that and remained friends and close to him.

kaeya was surprised, not being used to being treated so kindly even though he was known for lying and causing unnecessary problems. you would look past that despite the charming words he threw your way and his warnings of how he could hurt you

“you wouldn’t do that though, would you?” you told him, throwing him off guard. “even if you could, you wouldn’t. you’re a lot nicer than people give you credit for.”

he laughed, not expecting you to say that of all things about him. he hummed and brought a finger to lift your chin up to look at him

so innocent... so cute. there was something about the way you defended him and weren’t fazed by his flirty words and unfavorable reputation that made him enamored with you

he wouldn’t necessarily call it love just yet, but he sure was interested in what more you had to offer him

zhongli

as stated many times, zhongli is a traditional man and someone who shares his traditional views and way of life would be an obvious fit for him

but i also feel like someone who is just so... open about what they feel and their emotions is someone who will grab his interest and keep him enamoured 

zhongli would fall in love with you when you’ve stopped to appreciate the view and reminisce about simpler times

zhongli wasn’t someone who knew human emotions and a human’s way of life; he was an archon and lived for thousands of years. being human or paying attention to mortals hasn’t necessarily been on his to-do list for a while now

but he’s entranced by how beautiful you look as you gaze out at the beautiful, flowering fields that surround qingyun peak. you looked so peaceful and at ease from where you are, but the faint sadness in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by the archon

he found you absolutely stunning with the wind blowing through your hair and the somber expression on your face. he wanted to know what you’re thinking about, what was causing you to feel such emotions when you thought back on it

his heart lurched when a tear falls down the side of your cheek. before zhongli could even think about doing anything, his hand had found the side of your face and brushed away the tear from your face. you stared at him, wide eyed, before blood flushed to your cheeks

you apologized for getting distracted, but he assured you it was okay and that he didn’t mind. he felt his heart begin to pick up its pace when he saw you smile and nuzzle your face into his palm

he wanted to hold you into his chest and shield you from anything from hurting you, both physically and emotionally. he wanted to see you smile again and again, just between the two of you.

was this what humans called “love”? what a peculiar feeling.

[yandere-daydreams]

Scenario of Kageyama and Oikawa sharing an s/o. I can’t get this dynamic out of my head oml

I’d say they’d be competitive, but I don’t think I can sum it up as simply as that. Hopefully, a general scenario like this is enlightening enough to the complexity of their dynamic.

Title: Equivalent Exchange

TW: Unhealthy Relationships and Implied Abuse.

~

“Your boyfriend’s awfully talented.”

You stiffened as soon as you heard his voice, gritting your teeth and pressing your back against the undecorated drywall as those steady, measured footsteps began to approach. Your eyes were shut, they had been since you left the stands, but you didn’t have to see to recognize that smug tone, dripping with so much confidence, it nearly hid the insecurity brewing just below. It was instinct, by now, a necessary reflux to your survival. Moreso for you than most, considering your circumstance.

“I know,” You mumbled, half-heartedly, your voice doing little to alleviate the anxiety beginning to gather in the pit of your stomach. “Better than you could ever be, Oikawa.”

You opened your eyes, glancing towards him, if only to see the faux-hurt spread across his features, a hand rising to press against his heart as he came to a stop in front of you. It was a practiced motion, a playful tease so over-used, even a complete stranger would be able to tell Oikawa had abused the gesture far too thoroughly to ever let an ounce of truth penetrate his act. Still, that rarely stopped him from whining, and you doubted he’d make an exception now. You wondered if his persistence was meant to make you feel special, sometimes, but dismissed the thought quickly. He’d take any excuse he was given to be this dramatic. 

“You’re so mean, babe, it’s like you don’t even care about my feelings anymore.” There was a pause, a pout, and slowly, he took a step forward, eyeing the rest of the hall for any bystanders. You were alone, unfortunately. Anyone who wasn’t on the court was watching those lucky enough to play, leaving you and Oikawa as the only ones still wandering the arena. “Karasuno’s changed you. I knew I couldn’t trust those kids with your safety, not when they let you get so-” He scanned over you, his neutral smirk fading into an earnest, cruel sneer. “-cold.”

“I have every right to be cold, especially towards you.” You couldn’t help but cross your arms, narrowing your eyes towards his feet. An alarm went off from somewhere further into the arena, a referee soon yelling something about the score. You listened intently, refusing to give Oikawa the satisfaction of having your full attention. “Aoba Johsai was never the problem. You made my first-year hell, and you would’ve ruined my second year, too, if I hadn’t transferred. The people at Karasuno are nice, and Kageyama is--”

“Tobio is currently playing a match you aren’t watching. Why do you think that is, (Y/n)?” He hummed, a single finger coming up to tap against his lips in thought. As rehearsed as the rest of his speech. “Is it because our favorite little cheerleader doesn’t quite like the team they’ve sided with? Do you think he’s going to lose? Or, is it that you’re tired of him?” At that, his grin returned, toothy and self-satisfied. You grimaced, and he took that as a sign to continue. “Oh, c’mon, I treated you like an angel, it’s only fair that you’re unhappy with someone who looks at you like a piece of meat. Maybe it’s karma. It’s not like you ever appreciated what I did for you.”

“You isolated me.” It was a weak counter, one that barely fazed him. You went on for yourself, rather than him. It wasn’t like he was listening, anyway. “I wasn’t allowed to make friends because you couldn’t understand that I might need someone else. I was miserable, and you were delusional. Kageyama’s… He’s distant, but he doesn’t try to control me. That’s more than I had when I was with you.”

You turned on your heel as you finished, but Oikawa was quick to catch your wrist, keeping you in place with little more than a vice-grip and a sharp pull. “There’s no ‘was’,” He hissed, under his breath, the words barely audible. “We’re together, and we’re going to be together, whether or not you try to hide with your second-rate team. As soon as I graduate, you’re going to see how much of a brat you were. If your boyfriend wasn’t so clingy, I’d be tempted to drag you to the locker room and show you how grateful you should be, or--”

Oikawa stopped, suddenly, pursing his lips and letting you go as abruptly as he’d taken hold. You opened your mouth, not trusting his swift change of heart, but you could hear it too, in a moment. Footsteps, approaching at a feverish pace. A witness Oikawa didn’t care for.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, stunning you momentarily and giving Oikawa time to take his leave while you were distracted. It didn’t take long for the intruder to show themselves, a mop of disheveled black hair lingering in the corner of your vision as Kageyama pressed his chest against your back, leaning against you like he couldn’t bear to hold up his own weight. He seemed exhausted, labored breaths making themselves apparent as he struggled to draw you closer, but it was only appropriate. From the glimpses of the match you’d caught, their opponent hadn’t been a benign one. It was nothing Karasuno couldn’t handle, though.

He answered before you could ask, his face soon buried in the crook of your shoulder. His favorite place to be, judging by how often he chose to make your skin his home. “We won.”

“That’s great, Tobio.” You tried to make up for your lack of enthusiasm with a smile, reaching back to run your fingers through his messy hair. “I knew you would, you’ve all been working too hard to drop out this early. But, doesn’t Daichi want to--”

“You weren’t there.” The interruption was rash, careless in a way that gave you the impression that he’d done any listening he planned to do. He spoke hurriedly, stumbling through his thoughts with all the grace of a man deprived. Whether it was due to exhaustion or haste, you couldn’t tell, and you certainly didn’t care to ask. “After the first set, I couldn’t find you in the crowd, and I wasn’t sure where you went… I asked you to stay, right? I remember asking you to stay.”

“I just got a little overwhelmed,” You explained, deflating slightly. Kageyama’s grip only tightened, as if to make up the slack. “I’ll be there next time, alright?. I saw Oikawa and I panicked, I wasn’t thinking. I’m really, really sorry.”

“You will be.” You cringed, reaching down to rub soothing, measured circles in Kageyama’s wrist, but he was shaking his head before you could speak, rejecting your attempts at comfort as adamantly as someone so desperate could. His back straightened, and without hesitation, he pulled away, taking you by the hand and beginning to drag you forward, in a direction you weren’t quite sure of. Not towards the court, though, and that was enough to fuel the steady pressure now pressing down on your chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. You almost wished it would finish the job. “You’re always talking about Oikawa, like he’s the one your dating, like he’s the one that matters, right now. This was supposed to be special, but you had to run away because you were too busy thinking about someone else. It’s unfair. I need you to see that, before I can forgive you.”

Another pull, this one rough, unforgiving. You winced, then crashed into his side as he paused, fiddling with the handle of a plain, white door, giving you just enough time to read the sign lazily tacked onto the metal panel. The painted-on letters were chipped and fading, but its sentence as deadly as any other.

He was taking you to the locker room.

The panic was familiar, your heart beginning to race and your blood rushing past your years as you realized what he intended, and yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be surprised. The dread was there, but the shock wasn’t. It couldn’t be. 

Not when Kageyama suddenly looked so much like Oikawa, from behind.

[frenchlangdon]

what is it you truly want

Gif creds to @michaelsapostle

Haven’t written for this lil story in a couple of months so thought I’d try and revive it. I have a few ideas but truly don’t know where this’ll go, which usually makes for a great story right? 🤣🤣

You held his hand as he looked into your eyes, “Do you trust me?” His gaze fixated on you. “Not fully but I will, as long as you don’t hurt me in any way.” He pulled away and scoffed. “What Michael?”

“You do know that's inevitable, right.”

“I mean intentionally. I know that.” You sat back down on the couch, he watched your every move. Michael only watched you like hawk because his mind had convinced him you would flee, that you would soon leave him and never come back and it terrified him. He just wanted love and he knew you were the only one who could give it to him. He trusted you wholeheartedly, he loved you with every fibre of his being. That's why the war going on in his mind was draining him mentally. He thought about what you said to him earlier, about ditching his father’s plans and living a normal life with you. He wanted it so bad, to just focus on you, build a beautiful and strong relationship with you. But how is it possible to drop everything, he thought. “I’m in too deep.” He muttered out as he paced in front of you. He looked at you when you didn’t respond, he saw the confused expression drawn on your face. “My fathers plan, it’s too late to stop. I’ve already made plans with people. I’ve had meetings with the cooperative.”

“You can just say you need more time, to make sure everything is perfect. Or just kill them. Everyone who has power in this thing. Erase their minds or something. Anything, Michael.” Your mind couldn’t figure out a solution to his problem mostly because it could barely wrap around the idea of everything that Michael. “As dumb and idiotic as they are they would notice, they’d catch on.” He sat next to you and let out a loud sigh as he rubbed his face.

“What if you told them it wasn’t time yet? That your father told you to wait a little while longer.”

“I could do that...” His arms were crossed as she stared at the wall adjacent to him, deep in thought. You smiled as you grabbed his face to make him look at you, “You can do this, we both can. I’ll help you in any way I can.” you leaned in to kiss him. His arms snaked around your waist pulling you into him. You were mesmerized by his lips, how they fit so perfectly against yours. His touch felt like heaven even though they were designed in hell. You so desperately hoped you could pull this off, drop the devil completely and live out the rest of your life without the world ending. Now that you were aging again you had to make the most of your life, peacefully at least. You were over the mourning and being miserable, you realized you were focusing your time on something you couldn’t fix and deep down you knew you couldn’t ever see him again. So you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind because Michael was here and he loved you, you knew that of course but before you didn’t care. “I need you. I’ll always need you by my side. I can never let you go.” He pushed a strand out of your face, his touch tender and sweet. “I’ll never hurt you again, y/n. I promise to never let anyone else hurt you either. I’ll keep you safe. You’re my everything. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in life.” A tear rolls down his cheek as he confesses.

His one wish finally came true. He found that thing people rarely come across, the thing people hope and wish for and never receive. Something he will be forever grateful for. “Don’t cry.” You smile sweetly at him as you brush away the other tears that followed. “You have nothing to cry about, Michael.” You kissed his both cheeks. His eyes closed as he savored each kiss. Your lips against his cheek made his heart flutter. He was never showered in love or affection, which he so desperately craved. Every child needs love and attention and he never got any of it. “I um, when I was a kid, my grandmother never showed me any love. She never really cared for me. I’ve never felt love or adoration or even wanted.” His voice was low and soft as he told you, you could feel the hurt in his voice. “T-Thank you” his voice almost sounded relieved at the feeling of your touch

The look in his eyes broke your heart, he looked at you like a broken little boy. “You deserve it, you know?” You said. “You deserve love. You deserve everything. You don’t have to thank me for that. You know, it’s not like you chose the path you’re on. You were just thrown into it. You're not a bad person. I’ll never believe you are. You’re good, I see good in you. You helped me cope with my death when I was trapped in redwood. You listened to me when I needed to talk. You’ve done so much for me Michael. So much that I’ll never be able to repay you and a thank you would simply never be enough for that. You are such an amazing person and you don’t even know it and I’m so sorry for how I’ve acted so horrible towards you. It wasn’t right of me.” You kissed him slowly, your hands still cupping his face. “If you let your father go you could be so much happier. Without all of this stress. You can live such a simple life. We’d be together, we could live in Oregon, surrounded by trees. We can go to Colorado and live in the mountains. Or somewhere by the beach. I don’t care where we are as long as it’s just us. Just the two of us.”

“They’d come for me. They’d kill us both, there’s no way out.” Michael’s heart longed for the two of you to just be together. “If circumstances were different-.”

“If the circumstances were different I’d still be dead. I’d still be at redwood and you wouldn’t know I even existed.”

“Can we just try please?” Your voice cracked as you were losing hope as quick as you gained it. You were on the verge of crying as your mind swarmed with thoughts of having to witness the world burn to the ground. “Listen Michael, it’s gonna be hard but you can do it. If you can end the world, then you have the power to not let it happen. You have an opportunity to stop this, to not go through with it. Take it. Please, just take this chance, for us.”

He exhaled softly as he stared at you for a moment, scrambling his thoughts together. For a moment he thought about the future you could possibly have with him if he quit what he was doing with the cooperative. How beautiful life could be with you.

Within seconds he stood up and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” You got up as you watched him. He stopped and turned towards you, “I’ve got to start somewhere don’t I?” He gave you a smirk before leaving. He left you with your heart racing and your mind running a million miles.

Was he really gonna stop this whole production of ending the fucking world? Was it actually gonna happen?

[meaningofmotorsport]

Hungarian Grand Prix Review

Apologies for not producing any content over the weekend, I was away with family, and I thought that missing Hungary wouldn’t be that big, as it turns out though, it was the worst weekend to miss!

What a race for Alpine! Absolutely bonkers result, that was undoubtedly lucky, but you have to make the most of your luck, and they certainly did that! Ocon made his way out of the Lap 1 chaos in 2nd, behind Lewis, and when Mercedes slipped up, he took the lead, and held off Vettel brilliantly, despite being in a slightly slower car! Does this make up for an otherwise disappointing year for the Frenchman? Not quite, but either way it will be an amazing feeling to achieve your first win, and could boost him for the rest of the year! An equally incredible drive may go to Alonso, who held off a storming Hamilton for around 15 laps, which was crucial in allowing Esteban to get the win! That battle was perfect, with both drivers pushing the limits without going over it, as Lewis said after the race! For Alpine as a whole, this will be an injection of hope for the team, who have fallen back recently, and could secure their future in the sport for the longer term!

It was another topsy turvy day for Mercedes, as Bottas made a slight error into Turn 1, which had massive consequences! Behind the dirty air of Norris, he couldn’t brake as well, so ploughed into him, who then hit Verstappen. Obviously, it was not on purpose, however, with contract renewals on the horizon, that could hurt his chances of staying in the team! After that 1st Turn, it looked as though it could be the perfect day for Hamilton, yet one slight error in not pitting on the formation lap for the restart, meant it was a fighting day for him from there! He drove well, picking his battles, and finishing 2nd after all of that, should be satisfying for the team! Through circumstances, mostly caused by Mercedes, they find themselves back in the lead of the championship, however, Red Bull have a very strong car under them, and will come back strong!

Leclerc was unlucky to be caught up in the chaos at the start, as he was in the ideal position to capitalise on this kind of day! Despite Sainz getting on the podium, Ferrari will likely feel they should have got more from today, as they had better pace than Alpine. The crash for Carlos in qualifying really hampered his progress in the race, although you could argue if he had been with Charles, he could have been crashed into too! With McLaren basically out of the running, they needed to maximise the day, but being stuck behind slower cars, such as Tsunoda, rather ruined their day! The same can be said of Gasly, who was best of the rest in qualifying, but went to the outside in Turn 1, which was very costly. The drive back up to 5th yet again shows how well he is performing right now! The decision to swap the drivers when Pierre closed on Yuki, may not have made much of a difference today, although it shows the teams mindsight right now, with Tsunoda still not able to get the most out of the car! This double points score will be a real help in the championship for them!

There are two types of teams in this race, those that maximised the day, and those that missed out on a huge opportunity! Another team that maximised their day, and may be happier even than Alpine, is Williams, who got 10 points from a single race, to solidify themselves in 8th in the constructors! For a while it looked as though, yet again, it would be Russell’s teammate who scored points for the team! That being said, Latifi showed some great qualities in that race, and had equal pace with George! However, with Verstappen and Ricciardo struggling to climb through the field, and then the DSQ for Vettel, it meant it was a fairy-tale for both sides of the garage! George tried to be naughty in the pitlane on the restart, by overtaking some parked cars, which he wasn’t allowed to do. Russell’s weakness is still the starts, and if he is to be brought up to the main Mercedes team, he will need to sort that out! Either way, this could be the start of a great new era for Williams!

Been a very difficult two races for Red Bull, although what happened this weekend, could be seen to be karma for their words and actions after the British Grand Prix, in some people’s eyes! There was nothing Max could do about the crash with Norris, it was just one of those things! Surely the luck will turn around soon! Having lost all of his right side bargeboards, the race from there was pretty much lost, at least in terms of big points! He did all he could, and 2 points limits the damage done by Lewis! Perez didn’t even finish the 1st lap due to the damage, so it was a demoralising day for the team! They need to reset over the next few weeks, the car underneath them can win the title, their main issue is how they cope with adversity. The aftermath of Silverstone was pretty bad for the team, and showed weakness, which Mercedes will pounce on!

Kimi was able to pick up the final point, once Vettel had been DSQ’d. It was still a net loss though for the team, who have dropped behind Williams in the constructors. It will not be easy for them to get 7 points over the rest of the season, and finishing 9th will be underwhelming for a team of their quality! Haas couldn’t get near points, even with all the chaos going on, Mick has been doing well in previous races, but in Hungary he struggled more. Mazepin was unlucky with the pitlane incident, which was not his fault at all!

McLaren had a disastrous day, as Norris was punted into Verstappen at Turn 1, ending his race, whilst Ricciardo got caught up in the incident with Leclerc and Stroll. Daniel was in a similar position to Max after that, so did well to keep up with him during the race! On the results it looks very similar for Aston Martin, but it could have been so different. Vettel was pressuring Ocon all race, and was faster, yet just couldn’t find a way through. He and the team didn’t nail the pit stop, which halted any chances of overhauling Alpine! Then, the much bigger error, was in using too much fuel during the race, and so not having enough to provide a fuel sample post-race, leading to a disqualification. It may be harsh, and I wish he had kept it, but the rules are rules, and this one has been around for ages, it is a very silly error to make! Meanwhile Stroll, much like Bottas, misjudged his braking on Lap 1, and despite taking evasive action, could not avoid hitting Leclerc, ending both their races!

2021 is turning into a classic year for F1, I just hope that this summer break doesn’t halt all the action we have been seeing up until now! Red Bull will likely come to Spa still angry about these two races, and if they can channel their anger into speed, it could be hard for Mercedes to hold them off! In the here and now though, it is awesome to see a driver who we thought may have left F1 for good in 2018, come back and climb to the top of podium for the first time ever!

-M

Thank you very much for reading this article! To keep up to date with when they go out, and to see my reactions to races and other news, follow me on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/MeaningofMotor1

Also, if you want to support me, I have a Patreon Page at: https://www.patreon.com/meaningofmotorsport

[catxmendoza]

a girl named chiqui.

self para. a prison in southern texas, six hours away from olympus.

tw. anxiety, death, grief, imprisonment, prison, mentions of murder, drug use

**ooc. any reference to mexican culture has been thoroughly researched, and the mun has also spoken with latinx, mexican and tejanx individuals to verify that references are handled in a respectful manner. of course, the mun is always open to suggestions, criticisms and directions.**

Her road trip was almost spontaneous.

She hadn’t been able to sleep since the explosion. Most of her nights in the past month had been spent tossing and turning until the sun came up and gave her a reprieve from her own head. Boxing didn’t help, neither did smoking or drinking or running. Her mind raced with thoughts, what ifs and memories she believed she had buried years ago. Every time she closed her eyes though, they struck her like lightening. Her mother’s smile, the smell of her abuela’s quilt draped over their couch, the sound of birds outside their kitchen window, even her father’s voice teaching her his many lessons about life. A waking dream, a nightmare, she wasn’t sure what she was suffering through, but that explosion had rattled her in more ways than one.

The memories became suffocating faster than she thought they would, until every other thought was drowned by her life from before it was ripped apart. Every memory was tied up in a chest-clenching feeling of anger and grief, shaking her to her core. There was no escaping it, no running or smoking or drinking it away until she was left numb. 

Cat hid her dilemma well enough, she thought, but behind closed doors she paced the floor with a joint in her hand just thinking. Her mother’s altar, situated in the far corner of her living room, seemed to mock her. It was ironic, considering she had set up that altar herself, and lit candles donning Jesús Malverde image just that morning. But every time Cat looked at it, she swore she could practically hear her mother’s voice whispering to her/

Go see him.

He would be worried.

He must be worried.

What are you afraid of, mi amor?

Everything. Catalina Mendoza, who marched around Olympus like she had hell on her heels and relished in it, was absolutely terrified. Of what, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she could feel it in her bones. Olympus was ripping itself apart and she had a feeling -call it a hunch- that when all was said and done, there wouldn’t be anyone to truly watch her back. No family to fall back on, no friends close enough to understand- mierda, not even her uncle would take her back after the shit she pulled. Knowing him, he’d let her get killed just to be done with it. There was no one... except him.

It was that thought that propelled her to her room, pulling out a duffle bag and some clothes for a couple days away. 

Cat was on the road to Texas the next morning. The first few hours were spent singing as loud as she could with her playlist - “ Amor prohibido murmuran por las calles!” - however the closer she got to her destination, the deeper the pit in her stomach became. She had been there once before, right after the funeral. It had been nothing but vicious words -from her- and silence -mostly him. She had sworn it would be the first and last time, and yet here she was, pulling up to a desolate looking building surrounded by towers and barbed wire lined fences. 

It probably wasn’t smart to walk into a prison, what with her activities in the past year, but she was mostly free of suspicion. If they were going to arrest her, they would have done so back in Louisiana. There was also the possibility that he just didn’t want to see her. She wouldn’t blame him. She sat in her car for a good twenty minutes staring at the entrance marked Visitors, trying to calm her racing heart and the swell of emotions in her chest. There was the strong urge to say fuck it and drive her six hours back to Olympus, Louisiana and forget about this entire thing, but something else, something just as strong, grounded her to the moment. Cat took a deep breath, and gave herself a determined look in the mirror.

“Get your shit together, Mendoza.” 

And she did. She got out of her car and walked into the prison before she could tell herself to turn around again. The sign in process was as brutal as she remembered it- metal detectors, pat downs, the bleak and stark reminder of her current circumstances. 

They herded her and a few others into the visitor’s hall, where plastic round tables sat with with two chairs on either side. Guards were stationed at every exit, and she could see cell bars from her view of the door where they kept the prisoners. She felt strangely exposed sitting there waiting, only idly listening to people reconnecting with their loved ones around her. Cat tried to tell herself that it was only a few minutes, but a part of her was already convinced that he wasn’t going to show up. He had made it clear the last time she visited that it should be her last, that he didn’t want her coming to see him for one reason or another. Those words had cut deep, especially considering she had just buried her mother. The one person she needed most in the entire world simply... gave up on her, and everything else for that matter.

Just when she was ready to get up and leave, the door opened once more and he appeared. It struck her how familiar his face was, yet he had changed. He was a little skinnier, and weathered. There were wrinkles and gray hairs that hadn’t been there the last time she saw him, and a full beard that only served to make him seem older. But he was still her Papá. 

He stopped short when his eyes landed on her, as if he had seen a ghost. There was no expression on his stony face, and she tried her best to keep hers still as well as she observed him. The orange jumpsuit was such a stark difference from the dark green overalls he used to wear whenever he worked on his truck, but then again, he was a different man than the person who came sit before her.

It was silent between them for a moment, with him staring at her and her staring at him It occurred to her that in the many nights that she had sent thinking about this visit and the hours she had driven there, she hadn’t once thought about what she would say when she finally sat in front of him. Hola didn’t seem appropriate, nor did It’s nice to see you, because frankly it wasn’t. There was so much she wanted to say, all flooding to the surface, she couldn’t decide which words mattered more. 

“Se supone que debes estar en mexico. [You’re supposed to be in Mexico.]” He said, quipped and to the point.

Catalina blinked at him for a moment, thrown by the statement. It had been 10 years since she had seen him, ten years without so much as a phone call to see how she was doing. And that was what he decided on? She couldn’t decide if she was angry, shocked, or completely exasperated with how typical it was of the big bad Sicario who plagued their city to demand things of her.

The drug dealer adjusted herself in her seat before she raised a brow at him. “Bueno, no lo estoy. [Well, I’m not.]”

“No jodas. [Don’t fuck around.]” He sounded tired, in no mood for whatever sarcasm would surely pour out of her mouth. She was his kid, no matter how much she liked to deny it every chance she could get. He knew her, even years later. “¿Tu Tío sabe que estás aquí? [Your Uncle know you’re here?]”

She shook her head. “No. We’re not really on speaking terms these days.”

“...Hm.”

He was silent again, looking at her from beneath scruffy brows and crows feet. She could see the remnants of laugh lines poking out from beneath his beard, remnants of a life he lived with her and her mama. She couldn’t imagine that he smiled much these days.

Catalina’s gaze went down to her hands, focusing on her dark nails and the scar that wound down around her wrist. The arm she had broken in the explosion was still a little skinny, but it was slowly returning to normal. She looked at him once more, pursing her lips. “Nosotros tuvimos un desacuerdo. [We had a disagreement.]”

He scoffed softly. “Tu Tío no tiene desacuerdos, los termina. [Your Uncle doesn’t have disagreements, he ends them.]” Carlos Luis leaned forward on her forearms, cocking his brow in a way Catalina did quite often. “¿Qué hiciste? [What did you do?]”

Of course, it was Catalina who did something. God forbid, Sebastian Ramirez ever take responsibility for anything, even when he wasn’t here. She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “What did I do? Mierda, Carlos, diez años. Diez años y todavía estás defendiendo a Sebas como si fuera un santo o un Dios. [Shit, Carlos, ten years. Ten years and you’re still defending Sebas like he’s some kind of saint or God.]”

“Hey,” Carlos warned, low and in his throat. “¿Has venido desde donde sea que estuviste para discutir sobre tu tío? ¿Perder mi tiempo, perder el tuyo? [So you came all this way from wherever you been to argue about your uncle? Waste my time, waste yours?]”

Cat rolled her eyes, anger twisting her stomach in knots. “You know what, I don’t know why I even bothered-”

She stood up, fully prepared to march out of that room and never look back. She was only a few steps away when his voice cut through the air.

“Catalina.”

Her entire body froze as his voice echoed off the walls, drawing looks from people around them. For a moment she felt like a little kid again getting caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. As angry as he sounded, as angry as he was, he could never stay mad at her for long. This? This was different.

“Wait...” He said with a clear struggle and a heavy sigh. She turned back to look at him, taking in his sagging shoulders and the  “Por favor, sit down. [Please, sit down.]”

It took her a moment more to decide whether or not to stay. He gave her another imploring look, one that was mixed with irritation at her defiance.

“Por favor, Catalina.”

Cat sighed and begrudgingly slid back into her seat with knitted brows. They were silent again, stewing in their own anger and frustration like two petulant children. Usually, this was the time when her mother would demand a truce from them both. Stubborn is as stubborn does, she would claim, and damn, was she blessed with a husband and daughter with extremely hard heads.

Her mother would want them to get along. No matter how angry they were, no matter what they said before, she would want them to be okay. Even in their circumstances.

Carlos eyed her a moment, almost as if he were analyzing him. “¿Dónde te has estado guardando? [Where you been keeping yourself?]”

“Louisiana.” She answered, without digging into specifics. “Joined up with some associates there. They treat me good enough.”

He gave her a strange look. “Louisiana? ¿Qué diablos te traería a Louisiana? [What the hell would bring you to Louisiana?]”

She could try to rebuild the bridge she burned with him, at least. She had driven far enough, she might as well have something to show for it. Cat cleared her throat, not lifting her gaze to meet his eye. “I found them.” She confessed, earning a confused look from them. “Those men. Esos monstruos que se llevaron a mi mamá. [Those monsters who took my mother.]”

Carlos frowned deeply at her, the implications of what she was saying dawning on him. His eyes darted to the guard as he leaned forward. “¿Cómo? [How?]”

“Recibí una propina, seguí y terminé un estado. [I got a tip, followed up and wound up a state over.]” Cat told him in a low voice. “Sebas didn’t agree.”

“No, he wouldn’t. I don’t blame him.” Carlos clicked thoughtfully. “Si desentierras a los muertos, seguramente atraerás buitres. [You dig up the dead, and you're bound to draw vultures.]”

“Yeah, he said that same stupid shit. Did Abuelo tell you that?”

Instead of getting angry at her crassness, he actually chuckled. Instead of a smile though, his lips twisted into an almost snarl, as if the actual pained him. “Tu abuelo era un borracho y una amenaza. Nunca dijo nada significativo en su vida. [Your grandfather was a drunk and a menace. He never said anything meaningful in his life.]

“Like father, like son.”

Again, Carlos didn’t become enraged at the blatant disrespect. He just sat there, taking it in. Cat almost felt bad about the jabs, but a part of her liked how it felt to take out her frustration on him. The part of her that implicated him in her mother’s death and still, to this day, laid blame at his feet. It was his enemies, after all, who had come to kill him in the night and instead found she and her mother. Any memory she had of that night was nonexistent, she only knew what she was told. But it was enough to stir a fire of anger in her. 

“...No estoy de acuerdo con tu tío. [I don’t agree with your uncle.]” Carlos confessed with a weary look. “If I was free, if I had the chance...” He didn’t need to say it. If he was free, those men would have been dead years ago. If he had been free, they wouldn’t have even been memories, because that was how good he was at what he did. His skill, however, led him to where he was now. Widowed. Imprisoned for life. What he would have done was inconsequential. Carlos shook his head. “Tu madre querría que te impida hacer lo que creo que vas a hacer... [Your mother would want me to stop you from doing what I think you're gonna do...]

Cat scoffed. “I don’t want you to-”

“Déjame terminar... [Let me finish...]” Carlos said, closing his eyes and shaking his head solemnly. God, he really did look so much older than he did. Gaunt, like a shell or a ghost of the man he was. “Conozco esa rabia que supura en ti. Eso es lo único que obtuviste de mí. Tu cabello, tu cara bonita, tu cerebro, lo obtuviste de tu madre. Pero esa rabia, ese soy yo. [I know that anger that festers in you. That's the one thing you got from me. Your hair, your pretty face, your brain, you got that from your mother. But that rage, that's me.]”

Catalina stared at him with knitted brows, taking in his words. It occurred to her that she didn’t have anyone else to talk about her mother with. He was the only only other person who remembered their life when it was happy and good. He was the only other person who understood how frustrated and pissed off she was at everything and everyone for what life had stripped from her. He knew, and perhaps that was why she felt the urge to visit in the first place. To not feel alone in the feelings she was stewing in.

Carlos breathed deep through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Vas a hacer lo que tienes que hacer, y no te voy a decir que te detengas o bajes la velocidad porque eso sería jodidamente estúpido.” [You're gonna do what you have to do, and I'm not going to tell you to stop or slow down because that would be fucking stupid.]” He shook his head. “But I am gonna tell you to watch your back, and when you’re finished, corre como que te sigue el diablo. [run like the devil’s behind you.]

Run. For as long as Catalina had an itch for revenge, she had always known it would end in a few ways. Death, imprisonment, maybe worse. But running? An escape plan had never been in her purview. She was perfectly content believing that the path she walked had an early and abrupt end. 

Or maybe she was simply lying to herself.

Her father didn’t run. He had stayed when the police showed, too engrossed in grief to know better. His was a cautionary tale of many different kinds, love and life being at the top of that list. If anything, she would want to do everything he didn’t. Yet, they still walked a similar path.

“¿Qué pasa si ya no quiero correr? [What if I don't want to run anymore?]” Catalina sighed, starting to sound as exhausted as she felt.

Carlos chuckled bitterly. “What, you think you got a choice? Ay Chiqui, you’re supposed to be smarter than me.”

She smiled. “I am smarter than you.” She murmured, sniffing lightly. 

Chiqui, the nickname she held when she was tiny and braver than she should be. 

She was sure visiting hours were ending soon, and they would have to part. However she thought this would end, she didn’t expect... well, an uneasy truce. It was probably in the name of people they no longer were, but in the end, she doubted that really mattered. “There are things happening in the place I’m staying in. Shit is stirring and I don’t know if I’ll be able to do anything before then, but when I do...”

“Quiero saber. [I want to know.]” He said with a twinge of a plea in his tone. 

Cat nodded. “Okay.” It was less than perfect and not at all a promise, but more like an invitation. An open door into the family they had once been. The afternoons spent boxing in their back yard and shooting bottles in the woods. The speeches about being strong and proud in the face of adversity, and the way he used to sing to her mama. It was slowly edging through the anger and resentment she had built around his name and image in her mind. The blame she placed upon him . 

And even those images fluttered through her mind and steadied her heart, it didn’t ebb away the anger. If anything, it deepened it to her soul. It was not one parent she was robbed of, after all, but two.

The guards soon announced that they should all say their goodbyes. It didn’t seem like enough time, but she supposed that was point. Catalina stared at Carlos, unsure of what to say or do. He stood and she followed, her fingers brushing against the plastic table between them. 

“Take care of yourself.” He said. 

She nodded. “You too.”

Another moment passed by with the two of them simply standing there. And then Carlos was around the table, his arms around her in a tight hug. It brought her back to when she was a kid, and those same arms lifted her high in the sky and helped her fend off imaginary monsters. Her father, her Papá, the only thing she had left on this planet. He kissed the top of her head and stepped back before the guards could warn them.  

“Ve por ellas, chiqui. [Go get them, chiqui.]

With that, he disappeared out the door he came, leaving her behind at the table. She blinked as the sting of tears swept down her cheeks, the weight that had been on her chest for weeks still prevalent, but less so. She even felt like taking a good nap. But above all, she felt a renewed spirit well in her, hungry and angry.  

She had work to do.

[screensirenfic]

Menthol Cigarettes - Chapter 5 - NSFW Warnings: Slight dub-con

“Don’t move.”

My entire body tensed up on instinct at the sound of that voice; shivers running down my spine as I felt a firm, hard body pressed against my back, breath hot down the back of my neck.

Still; I did as he said, relaxing underneath him as he kept his hand pressed firmly to my mouth with barely enough space to breathe.

“You’re late.”  

He drawled, and I tried not to think back to how Lucas had accused Mike of the exact same thing under very different circumstances.

Still; he was right, and I already knew what question would come next.

“Did you go and see Harrington again?”

I guessed right; his voice keeping a low even tone that betrayed none of his true thoughts on the matter.

Maybe I should’ve been scared; anyone else in the same situation would be practically shaking, and I was no different, though I’m certain my chills were for a completely different reason.

I struggled a little bit under his hand; opening my mouth in a silent petition for him to let me explain myself.

He loosened his grip, letting his hand slide down to cup my chin in a way that kept me looking straight ahead.

“I was dropping off the Wheeler kid-“ I panted; my heart already racing at fifty miles an hour as I felt his hips grind against my ass; already hard in his tight jeans.

“Don’t lie to me. You know I hate it when you lie.” He snapped, hand automatically going to clamp round my neck in a alarmingly firm grip that sent my heart jumping out of my chest entirely.

“Billy; stop...” I whined, reaching to pull his hand loose, because even though I knew he was just messing around, he was getting too rough; and he knew how I felt about him grabbing my throat.

He loosened his grip again, letting his hand fall to my sternum as he pushed me back into him, keeping a steady control of my body without any of the triggers.

“So; you gonna tell me where you were?” He asked again; his lips hot and wet against my neck as he kissed his way up my spine, ending with a light nip at my earlobe.

I sighed, taking a deep breath as I tried to centre myself on something other than the feeling of his mouth sucking hickeys onto my skin.

“I only saw Steve for a minute...” I admitted, leaning back against him slightly as I felt his other hand reach round to cup my chest, kneading gently against my breasts.

“But what I said was true...” I hastily continued, but he cut me off with a sharp nip to the juncture of my shoulder.

“You know I don’t like waiting around...” He warned; his voice somewhere between a purr and a growl as it fanned directly over my ear, fingers digging harshly into my breast.

“I know, but I can’t exactly come straight here; my dad would kill me if he found out...” I reasoned, closing my eyes as I enjoyed Billy’s hands’ and lips’ assault on my skin.

“Always such a good daddy’s girl. You gonna be good for me now?” He purred into my ear, hips practically bucking into me now, forcing a soft whimper from my throat.

“Billy...” I sighed, because I don’t know why he had this effect on me; having me mewling and keening before he’d even taken my clothes off, but I loved it all the same.

“Tell me you’re gonna be my good girl and I’ll let you get up...” He bartered; keeping his tone the perfect blend between soft and demanding as he let his hand on my chest trail down to my stomach, pressing down with just enough promise for me to bend.

“I’ll be good, Billy. I promise...” I sighed, giving in far quicker than I usually would, because Billy was wound up, and I’m pretty sure if I kept him waiting much longer; he might not have control of how rough he got.

He relented, moving his hands and backing off enough for me to scramble to my feet; my legs feeling like jelly beneath me after his successful attempts at dirty talk.

I don’t know what had gone on with Billy today, but he was probably the tightest wound I’d seen him in a long time; the bite in his voice just a little more feral than he usually was when we did a bit of role play.

I wondered if his dad had hit him again; though I couldn’t see any bruises, but I guess it was too dark to tell.

I mean; he couldn’t really be this pissed off about Steve, could he?

I stood up straight, turning to face him as he began methodically pulling things out of his nightstand; his calm, level demeanour only increasing my tension.

“Okay; what do you want me to do now?” I asked nervously, fiddling with the fringe of my jacket as I automatically took the submissive role, waiting for further instructions.

“Strip.” He stated; not taking his eyes away from his drawers as he pulled out his Polaroid camera, checking there was still film inside.

“Don’t you wanna watch?” I asked, surprised that he hadn’t sat himself on his bed like he usually did, letting himself sit back and enjoy the show and maybe take a few pictures for his private collection.

He just gave me a hard look over his shoulder that told me he didn’t want me to tease; just submit and listen to him for this one night.

I began pulling off my clothes, starting with shrugging off my leather jacket and letting it fall into a heap on the floor.

Billy really was tense.

I could tell by the way the muscles in his shoulders rolled every time he rifled through the drawer, stopping to pull out a bright red bandana along the way.

I pulled off my boots, hopping on one leg at a time as Billy organised his haul in a line on his nightstand, reaching into his back jeans’ pocket to pull out his cigarettes and a lighter, letting them join the queue of supplies.

Maybe I should’ve been more nervous; Billy was treating our tryst like an army operation, down to the strictly ordered supplies and the cold hard demeanour.

Still; it was incredibly hot, especially when he stripped out of his white wife beater, revealing stretch after stretch of hard muscle pulled tight under sun kissed skin.

I followed his lead pulling off my t shirt and shorts, before taking off my underwear, leaving me standing stark naked in the middle of his bedroom.

He turned then, walking over to me with such deliberate purpose that I could feel my nipples stiffen into peaks, and I don’t think it was from the slight breeze coming from the window.

I stood up straighter, putting my nude form on display for him as he paced around me, eyes trailing up and down me as if to check if anything was out of place.

“See something you like?” I smirked, unable to keep myself from being a little bit of a tease when he looked at me like that, pretty pink tongue peaking out to run over his bottom lip.

“Nothing I don’t own already.” He stated; unbuckling his belt with slow teasing movements, before pulling it clean from his jeans and letting it trail from his hand like a bull whip.

I know I should’ve felt intimidated; a man twice my size staring down at me like a horse for slaughter; blue eyes sinfully hard as he ran them over every peak, every crevice with near clinical focus.

But Billy was always a scary choice of lover; his brand of lovemaking far too aggressive and domineering to be seen as vanilla, but I had to admit I liked it.

Billy pushed all my buttons; sometimes ones that would better be left untouched, but I loved how he made me work for it; how every second at his mercy was a glorious rollercoaster ride between heaven and hell that I wanted to ride out in full.

After a couple more circles, he stopped to the left of me; hand reaching up to cup my chin and angle me for a kiss; mouth hard and demanding against my own.

I softened into it, allowing him to take control as he snaked his tongue into my mouth; the familiar taste of cigarettes and spearmint strong against my tongue.

He wouldn’t let me reciprocate, forcing me just to take what he gave me as he domineered the kiss; tongue and teeth working in tandem to make my head swimmy.

Eventually he pulled away, and I couldn’t help but moan, finding Billy so irresistible like this; when he was toeing the edge between aggressive and attractive.

He didn’t smile like he usually did, but I could see the hints of a self satisfied smirk peaking at the corners of his lips, reminding me that despite his demeanour; this was all a game designed to get me off harder and faster.

“Billy; please...” I sighed, committing fully to the role of belligerent sub as he let his fingers trail down my throat, stroking slowly in a way that made me gulp with apprehension.

Billy knew choking was off limits after the Byers, but it didn’t stop him from testing the waters, if only to get a reaction from my fear.

“Go get on the bed on your hands and knees.” Billy instructed, giving me the slightest of shoves that warned me not to argue with him this time.

Of course; I was tempted to defy him, to offer up some sweet pouty protests that would force him to manhandle me into position, but Billy’s eyes were hard today, and that was a dangerous thing.

Instead I was a good girl and made my way over to the bed with minimal teasing, crawling onto the mattress on my hands and knees until I was braced ready for him.

I could hear the sound of Billy pulling off his jeans, and instinctively turned my head, eager to get an eyeful of his naked form.

“Face the wall.” He barked, refusing to even give me the pleasure of looking at him in all his glory; all dirty blonde hair and hard muscle.

I sighed in protest, but kept my head straight, knowing that if I didn’t, he’d just grab hold of my hair and force me to.

I felt the mattress dip, and felt the sudden heat of Billy’s body behind me; my muscles tensing in anticipation of him just diving in and getting to it, fucking me hard and fast into the mattress.

Instead he leant over me, encasing me in that familiar scent of smoke, strong cologne and sweat that always reminded me of him.

“Do you trust me?”

TAGLIST: @lemonypink @daringvixon

[straight-into-the-animus]

(One of) Many Meetings (Modern!Arno x Reader)

This was the brainchild of people on the AC Discord Server, I’m just the humble messenger. I hope you enjoy this little fic of Arno Dorian meeting Reader’s parents!

Content: Fluff, blink and you’ll miss it mentions of nsfw behavior, parents show up, reader is gender neutral, around High School era

The problem with Arno was that there were, well, rather few problems with him. And you loved that about him, but it somehow infuriated you as well. The biggest problem wasn’t that he got along with your friends wonderfully, better than you could’ve anticipated, or that he liked to surprise you with gifts at irregular intervals (“Arno, the balloons-!” “Merde, they’re flying away!”) Oh no, the worst part of it all were your parents; they loved him.

It started the first night, as you two had been going out for a few weeks at that point and wanted to see if it was strong enough to handle A Meeting of Parents.

“I promise it won’t be so bad.” You had reassured him earlier that day, lounging half on top of him in a library armchair. “We’ll stay for maybe ten minutes, go out right afterwards, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt you, mon amour. I only hope I can keep my hands off of you for that long.” He grinned, head dipping down to kiss your neck.

“They’re my parents, you brute. You better behave yourself.” You quietly, breathlessly laughed, sharing a grin with him.

“Never.”

The doorbell rang a few minutes ahead of schedule and you all but lept out of your seat, planning to get there first to open it and gesturing for your parents to sit down. Of course, nothing was ever that simple, and you were quickly beaten to the door by your triumphant mother, who opened it expectantly.

“You must be Arno.”

The Frenchman was actually well put together, in well fit jeans that hugged him with a white button up shirt, sleeves loosely rolled up to the elbow. It wasn’t fair how effortlessly put together he was, but c’est la vie, you sighed silently, that was your boyfriend. He met your gaze for a second over your mother’s shoulder and shot you a quick wink before turning to her with a charming grin.

“And you must be Mademoiselle (Y/L/N). A pleasure.”

The phrase earned some light laughter from your mother. She let him in, and you both subtly bee-lined for each other as his arm easily wrapped around your- your shoulder. Not low on your waist like it usually was, possessive and endearing all at once.

“Well come in, come in then! You’ll have to meet my husband before you both leave, he’s been looking forward to this.”

“Just as much as I have been, I’m sure.” He readily replied, winking in your direction, and you rolled your eyes when your mother wasn’t looking.

“Would you like some cheese to go with your ham, Monsieur Dorian?” You whispered in his ear, having to stifle the shiver and small yelp that coursed through your body as his hand lightly scratched the back of your neck.

“Maybe later. We’ll see if the mood is right.” He responded in the same volume before you were both off to say hello to your father. You originally only planned for it to take around five minutes; it ended up taking ten.

And then Arno was supposed to bring you home around 10:30. He brought you home at 10:15.

-------

You later learned there was a reason he wanted to be home so early when one day you were running a little bit later than normal from some traffic problems. Your parents knew, had even texted you when they got word, and you had let them know in return that everything was fine. Or, it would be if the driver’s seat would stop vibrating from one very bouncy, nervous man in the seat.

“What-”

“They said to have you home by nine, and it’s now quarter after that time, they’re going to hate me.”

“And they know the circumstances, Arno. Really, we’re all fine. My parents are not going to hate you.” You slowly explained, as if you were calming a skittish horse. You even felt like you were petting one as you reached out and ran your fingers through his hair gently. “I don’t think that’s, like, even possible for anyone in this world.” You felt a grin start to spread on your face as a well-needed thought started to take over in your mind. “How about we find a way to pass the time if the traffic isn’t moving?”

“There aren’t many out of state license plates. Not many games to play with those.”

“Wha-” You sat back in your seat, staring at him with complete puzzlement. “Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

It was his turn to give you a confused look this time before the cars ahead of you started to move. “Ah, finally.”

It was all you could do to sit back and just shake your head as the car raced through the street.

-------

He started showing up a lot more, your parents even taking the liberty of inviting him over at times.

Dinner? Sure thing.

Was there a game on that night? Bring an appetite and there was likely a jersey somewhere to spare for him.

Arno even started to bring his own food at that point, and you sat back and watched it happen. What was wrong was that none of it made any sense, not really. At school, outside of your parents, he was as you knew him; Arno Dorian, French ‘debonair’ and extraordinary lovebird, always ready to tease and rile you up and love you the way you knew you wanted and needed, just as much as he was ready to keep you close and centered. 

But around your parents, he was “Oh yes, I did hear about the stocks” and “Mrs. Johnson’s class is doing wonderfully, but it’s slow-paced”, and it was starting to get on your nerves, which Arno didn’t pick up on in the slightest. It came to a head when you came home from a day out with friends, finding the most unexpected audience in your home.

“(Y/N)!” Your mother called out in the kitchen, and you shrugged off your coat as you made your way over there. “How was it?”

“Wasn’t too bad, you should’ve seen what- What the hell.” You stopped in the entryway to the kitchen, taking in the sight of your mother and Arno, taking tea near the counter like it was a Sunday afternoon in some Jane Austen novel. “Arno? What are you doing here?”

“I was invited over.” He smiled brightly, eager to answer even though there was the faintest undercurrent of something else under it. “I had finished my work for the day, so…”

“We were just discussing-”

“Can we talk alone? Thanks, sorry, love you.” You smiled sweetly to your mother as you cut him off and took Arno by the elbow, leading him away into the main hallway, albeit gently. He was still carrying the teacup and you both floundered with it for a moment before he set it precariously on the stairs.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“I don’t have a problem with you being nice to my parents, it’s- I’m glad that they like you, really! But tea? In my kitchen? With my mom? I’m not even here!”

“(Y/M/N) was just being nice-”

“(Y/M/N)?” You blinked. “You’re on first name terms now?”

“No, I- (Y/N), please. Just…” He sighed and you could see him mentally piecing himself together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would upset you as much as it did. It was just… They were very welcoming. And I wanted to show how much I appreciated that, show them I was serious. You mean so much to me, mon coeur, truly.” His hand went to hold yours, eyes searching yours. “I wanted to show I could be a good man for them. And… I must have gotten a bit carried away in everything.”

You couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit of your anger melting away, staring into his brown eyes. He was contrite and sincere, you could tell. And you knew that he really did just want to be liked. “You don’t need to go to all these lengths. They’re my parents, sure, but... that hardly matters in the long run. Yes, I want them to like you, but... Ultimately, if they don’t? That’s their fault. Not yours. They’re missing out on someone awesome. Don’t try and be something you’re not because you think it’ll make me or them happy. Okay?” You smiled slightly and he returned it, soft and genuine.

“I will try my best. I love you, (Y/N).”

“And I love you, Arno.” You leaned forward and kissed him, meeting his soft lips in what you thought would be a chaste manner as you were slowly becoming accustomed to, but before you pulled away there were the slightest bit of teeth on your lower lip as he nipped. His smile grew into a grin as you looked at him in surprise, treasuring your slight gasp.

“Now… How about I finish my tea and we head out on a proper date before your mother’s chili comes out of the pot?” Arno grabbed his tea from its position on the stairs and left you with a wink, as you just stared at his retreating backside.

Yeah, he was infuriating. But c’est la vie, he was yours. And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

-------

I hope you enjoy! If you do I have a Masterpost here and more ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request!  If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here! Safety and peace!

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis Chapter Twenty: The Proposition.

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie?

This update’s been a long time coming and would have done about a month ago if real life hadn’t happened. Thank you all for your patience as I worked through the death of my Auntie Barb... She was a true Sassenach and she and Claire could have conquered the world.

BUT ANYWAY

Claire and Jamie have been separated and last chapter saw Claire and Murtagh roaming the Highlands in search for him. This chapter fits in at the end of 1x14 The Search in terms of the Show!Canon timeline.

Major shout out to @thefraserwitch for not letting me be complacent or take emotional shortcuts with this chapter... and gigantic kudos to @diversemediums for giving care and attention to the complete mess I gave you and for your expert mama inside knowledge.

You can find previous chapters here.

December 23rd, 1743

Go to Glen Rowan Cross with all due haste.

The words echoed in my mind as the horses’ hooves pounded against the forest trail, the icy wind biting at my cheeks and generally making forward progress exceedingly more difficult. My heart raced ahead to our destination, unhindered by the strong gales we were forced to face head on.

Jamie.

After traversing what seemed like every inch of my husband’s homeland, I was now going to be reunited with him. I longed to see his face, to hold him close. The remembrance of his touch, the lingering warmth of his body, complicit against mine pushed me ever onward... and now the end was in sight.

Jamie.

If only I could fly… if only I could leave my swollen, shivering, aching body behind and soar ahead to where my heart already resided and would now forever be: at Jamie’s side.

Jamie.

Instead, I would have to wait. I would have to fight for every inch of ground we gained. The remaining distance between us seemed endless, stretching on like the unending sea — always another hill to crest, another obstacle to overcome.

Murtagh’s pace slowed and I reluctantly followed suit, pulling back on the reins instead of running him over in my need to see my husband.

“Why are we stopping?” I huffed impatiently and he turned in his saddle to study me for a moment, the setting sun glinting off the ice that had formed on his beard and making his calculating gaze even more unreadable.

His brow furrowed as he commented cryptically, “There’s an inn just ahead. Ye’ll stay there ‘til I return, aye?”

“What?”

“The river’s too high for ye to be crossin’ it in yer condition, lass.”

“I am not staying behind while you meet with Jamie,” I contested hotly.

“Aye, ye will,” Murtagh snorted, turning his horse around to face me directly. “Ye’ve come this far wi’out harm and I’ll no’ have ye freezin’ to death the minute I get ye back in yer husband’s arms!”

I pushed ahead and continued down the road, calling over my shoulder, “I’m going with you!”

Catching only the occasional phrase of Murtagh’s grumblings over the plod of both our horses hooves, I listened instead to the growing noise of rushing water. What if I couldn’t cross? Could I really stay on this side of the river while my husband waited for me on the other side?

No.

I was at the crest of the river bank a moment later and my resolve wavered as I surveyed the raging torrent before me.

While I wasn’t afraid of water, I avoided wandering into depths that were over my head and moving water was not to be trifled with under any circumstances. I could swim a fair bit — enough to keep my head above water — but I didn’t seek out the activity for recreation and, above all else, I knew the dangers of hypothermia. We would have only minutes to cross the frigid river before it set in and without the assurance of immediate warmth following our emergence...

My toes clenched in my boots, my voice voice shaking as I inquired, “How far to another ford?”

I heard Murtagh snort behind me, his opinion on the matter evident.

“Too far… a day’s ride a’ best, an’ this is the better of the two,” he explained. “The inn isna far, lass. Have a wee rest and Jamie will be wi’ ye by the time ye wake.”

“You think I could sleep?!” I stared at him incredulously.

“Yer tired, lass. I ken ye are. Let me take ye back to the inn and get ye a warm bed.”

I shook my head and began to pick my way down the embankment, touting, “Not bloody likely.”

The path was narrow, but obvious and well worn, with a corresponding swath on the far bank.

If others had crossed successfully, why couldn’t I?

“Claire!” Murtagh bellowed in frustration as he followed me down to join me at the river’s edge.

Because you’re heavily pregnant and your riding skills are basic at best, Beauchamp!

A queasy feeling rose at the back of my throat and I swallowed hard, tipping my chin up and tearing my gaze away from the obstacle before me. I scanned the treeline, looking for any sign of what would be Glen Rowan Cross amid the trees. My eyes strained, but I thought I could see stone walls amid the bare branches of the forest.

“Is that it, there?” I pointed my heart skipping a beat before it thundered on.

I could make it.

The end was in sight and nothing — neither hell, nor high water — would keep me from reaching my destination. I had come too far to give up now, to remain here when I knew my husband was just beyond those trees. Nudging my mount forward and hiking my skirts up above my knees, my heart soared as we splashed into the shallows.

“Claire, stop!”

Murtagh’s horse pulled up suddenly in front of mine, blocking my path.

“I am going,” I insisted, my voice low, but deliberate.

“Dinna be foolish, lass!”

“Why should I have come at all if I’m to stop when Jamie’s finally within reach?” I screeched. “I might as well have stayed home!”

“Aye! Ye should have stayed home like I told ye to in the first place!” he countered.

“Well, I didn’t… you couldn’t stop me then, so why the hell do you think you can stop me now?”

“He’s right there, Murtagh!” My voice wavered, but my resolve stayed firm, “I need my husband… I need Jamie.”

My companion’s gaze followed to where I was pointing, to where neatly hewn stone peered tauntingly at us through the trees, and I watched his face soften.

“Ye will do as I say, aye? An’ ye willna do anythin’ rash?” He turned to look at me, his eyes serious. “Ye’ll no’ let go o’ yer horse, nae matter what happens?”

“Of course,” I promised, my throat constricting.

He sighed heavily and rummaged for something in his saddlebag, a length of rope emerging. He dismounted and splashed over to me as he made a loop with one end, tying it off with a firm knot before tossing it into my lap.

“Put it around ye,” he insisted, then secured the other end to his saddle, ensuring that we would not be separated. “I’ll no’ have ye floatin’ off downstream on me.”

I did as told, slipping the rope over my head and letting it settle beneath my arms. It did not seem like it would be a very comfortable way to disembark and I tightened my grip on my horse’s reins, praying that it would be unnecessary.

Murtagh brought his horse around so that we were side by side and he looked over at me from beneath furrowed, bushy brows.

“Ready, lass?” came his quiet inquiry, his voice low and rasping.

I nodded, muttering Geronimo under my breath as we moved forward, wading deeper into the river.

The water crept up higher and higher, edging ever closer to my feet and I clutched my skirts firmly in one hand in an attempt to preserve as much dry clothing as I could. We were almost halfway across before it reached the top of my boots and I gasped in shock as the frigid water touched my skin for the first time.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!

My mount stumbled for a moment, her feet shuffling along the riverbed and I dropped my fistful of clothing. I instinctively reached out with both hands for my horse’s mane as I bent forward, the bunched clothing and my belly only getting in the way as I held on for dear life. With a snort and a low noise of reprimand at my lack of faith, she shook her head and continued on, her foothold stable once more.

The rising flow was almost to my knees now, my woolen stockings wicking the water upwards at an alarming rate. I lifted my head for a moment to find the far shore and my heart sank at the distance we had yet to travel. I could no longer feel my feet — though I tried to keep my toes moving in a desperate attempt to encourage circulation — and was shivering so hard I almost slipped out of the saddle.

Increasingly difficult to stay in my seat, I let go of the reins, assuming the horse was ignoring my commands by this point anyway, in favor of her far superior survival instincts. I gripped the edge of the saddle in front of me, shoving my skirts out of the way in order to get a better hold. A clump slid off my lap and into the water, but I was well past the point of caring. Now completely wet above the knee, it was only a matter of time before I was soaked to the waist and beyond.  

But — just when I thought I could stand the frigid cold no longer — I felt the water begin to recede as we made our way into the shallows.

Murtagh turned to grin at me, his breath billowing out in front of him as he sighed heavily with relief at our safe arrival on the far shore. He is relief melted away into concern as he studied me without a word, as if to gauge if I would be able to make it the rest of the way on my own or not. Reaching out an arm to steady me, he paused us for a moment to be sure I was secure in my saddle before we moved on.

I untangled myself from my sodden lifeline, tossing it back to him and he urged both our mounts forward. We climbed the embankment side by side and finally emerged triumphantly at the top, though soggy and shivering. The ruins of what had once been a grouping of stone buildings stood in an open clearing before us and we continued, completing the final leg of our journey.

Jamie.

My husband’s name slipped through my frozen lips, it’s warmth radiating across my cheeks as it burst into the air and spurred me on, Murtagh following close behind.

“Jamie,” I murmured again, each repetition louder than the last and sent percussive, electric shockwaves down my spine. Speaking his name aloud bolstered me and I felt my extremities begin to regain their circulation, fierce and fiery pinpricks attacking my fingers and toes.

Once more, I called out to him and his strength found me, my pulse beating faster than my horse’s hooves against the forest trail. The heat of him coursed through my veins, returning feeling to my hands, setting the lives within me astir.

“Jamie!”

Five weeks...

Thirty eight days ago, Jamie had been taken from me… from the safety of our home. I’d spent thirty seven nights on the road battling fatigue, the harsh Highland weather, and every challenge carrying twins threw at me.

But now he’d found us.

This knowledge sent adrenaline coursing through my veins, giving me the strength to push forward and complete my journey.

Pulling up sharply in front of the door, I threw myself out of the saddle, nearly falling off completely in my haste. My legs were numb, the impact of what I knew was my feet hitting the ground shuddering up my spine, but I could feel nothing as I commanded my feet to move and staggered towards the open archway.

My teeth chattered, my lips clumsy as I lifted my voice, “Jamie?”

I stumbled and sagged against the ancient stone wall, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a ball and sleep… to succumb to the chilled curse that the river had bestowed upon me. A shadowy figure moved towards me and I tried to focus on its face, squinting into the darkness as I used what little strength I had left to speak once more, my voice trembling.

“Jamie?!”

Strong hands took hold of my arms, pulling me back up just before I hit the floor. Joy surged through my veins and I tipped my head back with a smile on my lips, eager to see my husband’s face… but it was not Jamie who had caught me.

It was his uncle.

I frowned up at him, shaking my head in a desperate attempt to right the face before mine.

No.

The world set to spinning around me as pain knifed across my abdomen and great, black blotches began to crowd my vision.

No!

This couldn’t be right, Jamie had to be here.

He had to be.

“Dougal,” I groaned, his name tasting bitter in my mouth as the rest of my question stuck to my tongue and making me gag.

Where is Jamie?

I thought very much that I might vomit right here and now, all over his boots, but fought to keep my head about me as I tried to find the one my heart desired. I craned my neck to look over my shoulder, but found only Murtagh behind me.

Another spasm ripped across my lower back as I saw the truth in his eyes.

Jamie wasn’t here.

Dougal had sent the message.

I had crossed that fucking river — placing both my life and the lives within me in danger — only to find that I’d once again been deceived and disappointed by none other than Dougal MacKenzie. My knees buckled beneath me and I sagged heavily against him, defeated. There would be no reunion, no end to our journey in reward for my reckless behavior… only mind numbing, gut wrenching consequences.

But I needed to know.

My lips were clumsy and uncooperative as I tried to speak, tried ask for my husband.

“Where…”

“Christ, lass, ye canna even stand,” Dougal scoffed as he tightly snaked one arm about my waist, half leading and half dragging me down the corridor. “Ye’ll ken soon enough.”

I dug in my heels, using everything left within me to stay firmly planted as I demanded, “Tell me now.”

Dougal paused, his icy blue eyes softening only for a moment.

“He’s alive.”

Jamie is alive.

Deep within my core, in the secret place beneath my heart, a surge of joyous heat burst forth. My eyes slid shut and my legs went out completely, making Dougal grumble something in response as he tried to get a better hold on me. He jostled me until I had one arm around his neck and then urged me forward. I let him, opening my eyes and setting my sights on the raging fire in the hearth ahead of us.

I expected him to continue as we stumbled on and looked up at him in confusion when he didn’t.

“Tell me… everything,” I bit out with as much strength as I could muster.

I needed to sit down. I needed to sleep.

I needed Jamie.

A chair materialized beneath me and I found myself suddenly before the fire.

Instead of the warmth of the flames at my feet, I felt only the aching, empty chill of disappointment. The laping tongues of the fire spoke my husband’s fate in a foreign voice. It wasn’t Dougal’s, it wasn’t Murtagh��s... It was the sinister intonations that haunted my dreams, the recurring nightmares that spoke of a future with neither my husband nor my children by my side.

He was taken at Achnasheen.

Drawn there by word of your healings.

A hard fist sucker punched me in the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. I bent forward, dropping my jaw as I gasped for breath.

Met six redcoats face to face.

One recognized him.

Jamie had been captured while trying to find me. It was all my fault. I’d sent him headlong into a trap that he had no chance of escaping… My siren’s song had led him right into the devil’s snare.

Each accusation leapt out at me from the fire, the embers of regret setting my hem ablaze as guilt consumed me.

He’s in Wentworth Prison.

The flames crept up my legs and shut out the river’s chill, making me come alive in my seat. My fists clenched as I shuffled my feet, commanding them to support me once more.

I had to go to him, I had to free him.

Stood trial three days ago.

I bolted from the chair, my spine welding together to form a ramrod beam, forged from steel and still piping hot.

Three days?

He’d been there an eternity already, heaven only knows what they’d done to him in that amount of time! The crisscrossing scars of Jamie’s back flashed before me and I knew I need to act fast, to do something today.

Condemned to hang.

The floor fell out from beneath me and a noose slipped over my head, constricting and choking me as I forced myself to ask, “When?”

“Today,” Dougal shrugged, the response enraging me enough to pull me out of my head and his voice became his own once more. “Day after… not long.”

Today.

Tomorrow.

The remainder of the air in my lungs left me in a gut clenching whoosh, my mouth opening and shutting again like a landed fish. My breath came in short bursts, tiny gasps that supplied me with enough oxygen to stay upright, but barely so.

I lifted my gaze to Murtagh and found him in much the same state, all of the blood having drained from his face as he raked a hand through his hair.

“Then we have to hurry,” I countered and headed towards the door.

The both of them began talking at once, each shouting to be heard over the other, and I shook my head. Unable to understand either, I turned back to the one who had never left my side… to the man who had put Jamie’s well-being above his own time and time again.

“We have to go,” I gripped Murtagh’s arm tightly, almost swaying as I repeated myself. “We have to hurry.”

He eased me back into the chair, hushing, “Warm yerself first, aye?”

When combined with the frustration of not being taken seriously, this subtle change in elevation made my stomach roll and head spin. I groaned as I tried to simultaneously not vomit and stand back up again, groaning, “No, we — have — to —“

“Claire!”

Murtagh’s strong arms kept me in my seat, his blue eyes as wet as mine as they bore into my soul.

“We will do everythin’ to save him, a nighean… but ye canna do it all on yer own an’ I’m not about to rush into Wentworth wi’out a plan, aye?”

I nodded and blinked hard as his face began to swim before me, big black spots suddenly clouding my vision. He moved closer, lurching forward as he brought his hand to my cheek, crooning, “Easy, a leannan. Dinna go swoonin’ on me, now.”

“I don’t swoon,” I mumbled, swallowing hard, forcing myself to regain equilibrium.

The hint of a smile tugged at Murtagh’s lips, a deep mhmm resonating in his chest as he pursed his lips. He kept his eyes on my face and addressed Dougal without turning from me.

“How many men are with ye?”

Dougal snorted, “I need to have a word… alone.”

Murtagh rose to stand before me, nodding his head towards the way we’d come.

“No’ with you… wi’ the lady.”

“I have a name,” I grumbled, quickly gathering my wits about me, “and anything you have to say to me can be said with Murtagh in attendance.”

“Claire, I must speak wi’ you—“

“He stays,” I insisted and leveled him with look that brooked no disagreement.

Dougal turned from me to my companion and back again, his displeasure evident. He seemed to gauge Murtagh’s mood against what he knew my tongue to be capable of for a moment, calculating his words carefully as he stepped around my intermediary and moved to kneel before me.

“I understand that you’re grieving, lass… I do,” he began, taking my hands between his own as he avoided looking me in the eye. My gut churned, wondering what it was that he wasn’t telling me.

“I ken it is hard to accept tha’ Jamie’s gone, but you have to let him go.”

My head began to spin again and I struggled to speak, my voice hoarse as my throat closed around my words, choking me with every syllable.

“You said he was still alive.”

Dougal nodded, finally looking up at me. There was something hidden behind his eyes and I heard Murtagh stir beside me, catching the movement as he shifted his stance uneasily. My brow furrowed and I shook my head, not understanding why he was willing to give up so quickly.

“Then, there must be something we can do.”

“Aye, there is,” Dougal smiled, sending a shiver up and down my spine. “Come back with me.”

My heart froze inside my chest and my voice was barely audible as I bit out in surprise, “What?”

“Come back with me,” he repeated himself, his thumbs rubbing the back of my hand in an attempt at reassurance.

“I’ll protect you.”

Protect me from what?

“I don’t need protection,” I shook my head adamantly, another spasm threatening to tear me in two as I insisted. “I need my husband.”

“I can protect you as your husband!”

His grip on me tightened as I instinctively tried to pull away, blanching at a future that would force me to marry again… of Jamie dead, of my children without their father.

Wait.

Dougal wanted Jamie dead.

He’d always had his sights set on Lallybroch, even going so far as to try to poison Jamie’s relationship with his sister to keep him away from his rightful place as Laird, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d had his sights set on me from the get go. Had his wife died any earlier, he would have most assuredly been the one tasked with marriage to keep me out of Jack Randall’s reach.

My voice was low and deliberate, my rage mounting as I saw his intentions clearly.

“Get your hands off of me.”

“Now, listen to me, Claire—“

“I will do no such thing!” I pulled my hands free and slapped him full across the face, rising to my feet once again as he rocked back on his heels,.

Murtagh quickly moved to stand between us as Dougal rose to his full height and I blindly reached for the back of the chair for support. My legs trembled beneath me, but I remained standing, looking him in the eye as I seethed, “Have you no shame?”

“Your nephew lies rotting in prison under a death warrant and you make a play for his wife?”

“You are a widow,” Dougal snapped, lunging forward.

He was met with Murtagh’s resolute, immobile force and resigned himself to shouting over my protector’s shoulder, nearly foaming at the mouth as he continued.

“If ye’re no’ one now, ye soon will be! An English widow a’ that!”

Sassenach.

The echo of Jamie’s voice purred in my ear, the memory of his breath on my skin standing the hair on my arms on end. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the engraved wood, struggling to breathe as thick band of overwhelming emotion tightened around my chest. I dipped my head and tucked my chin as I curled inwards, protecting my heart from Dougal’s poisoned barbs.

“Wi’ no money, no property to call yer own, an’ a bairn on the way!”

Murtagh shoved him roughly and he now split his taunts between us both.

“How long do ye think it’ll be before Captain Jack Randall comes knockin’ on yer door?” Dougal shouted, “Ye’ll be back in his hands the minute he takes his fancy to!”

“The Frasers will protect me, thank you very much,” I growled, not looking up.

“As they protected Jamie?” I heard him scoff. “Nae, lass, the only way to keep ye and Lallybroch safe is to come under my protection as war chieftain of clan MacKenzie!”

“Lallybroch?!” my head snapped up as my suspicions were confirmed. “So, that’s what this is really about… You want to control the Fraser lands!”

Rage surged through me and I found the strength I needed to step around the chair, coming to stand behind Murtagh and face my enemy head on. Dougal’s eyes shot daggers at me over Murtagh’s shoulder, but none of them found their mark, for I refused to be defeated.

“My son will inherit Lallybroch before you do!”

“An’ if it’s a girl?” He taunted again, “What then? What happens when ye fail to produce an heir?”

I felt a smirk tug at one corner of my lips, “Then its an awfully good thing she has a brother to keep her company.”

Dougal stared at me, blinking in confusion before he suddenly understood, “A dhia… Twins? How can ye be sure?”

I snorted at this, my hands sliding across the curve of them, smoothing my damp skirts as I pressed my palms against the two different places they’d just now decided to kick… almost as if to voice a dissenting opinion of their own.  

“Oh, I’m sure,” I pressed my lips onto a forced smile, cheekily adding, “From what I understand of anatomy, it would be impossible for a single baby to kick me both in the bladder and the ribs at the exact same time.

Dougal seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment or two, his position weakening as mine strengthened.

“All that may be true,” he continued finally, stammering slightly, “but it doesna alter the position ye’re in.”

The truth of his statement hit a little too close to home and I winced.

Even if I produced an heir to Lallybroch, my own fate still hung in the balance. My son could and would be the next rightful Laird, but history seldom looked kindly upon widowed mothers whose young and impressionable children were entitled to the property their fallen fathers had left behind.

Dougal pounced on this small weakening in my defense, challenging, “What would Jamie want you to do?”

“He sure as hell wouldn’t want me sleeping with his uncle,” I retorted immediately.

“Listen to me!” Dougal shouted, his eyes wild. “Jamie loved you, more than I suspected he did when I proposed you we’d, but—“

“Loved?!” I bellowed, interrupting him and nearly shoving Murtagh out of his position between us to attack Jamie’s uncle with my bare fists. “How dare you speak of him as if he were already dead!”

“And how dare you act as though marrying you would be the only solution to my problem, if he were? I would marry a good many other men to ensure my children’s safety before for I married you, Dougal MacKenzie.”

“Like who?!” he burst.

Yes, Beauchamp, that nagging little voice in back of my head whined.

Like who?

I took a deep breath and clenched my jaw, letting it out again forcefully through my nose before answering him.

“The man standing before you, to start with.”

My words had Murtagh swiveling on his heels and both men openly stared at me. Using their complete attention and astonished silence to my advantage, I pressed on and addressed Dougal, “How many men do you have with you?”

“What?” he blinked at me stupidly.

“I asked how many men you had with you.”

Dougal’s mouth opened and immediately shut again, his hand lifting to rake across his face in frustration.

“Ten, but I ken what ye’re thinkin’,” he burst. “There is no way on earth tha’ so few men can force their way Wentworth Prison!”

My chin rose in defiance, throwing a barbed taunt of my own, “Jamie led half that when he rescued me at Fort William.”

Dougal’s eyes narrowed as my words hit the nerve I’d been aiming for.

“What’s the matter?” I continued, “Are you scared you’re not as good as him?”

“I’ll no’ be baited by you, Claire.”

“But will you help me?”

The muscles of his jaw rippled as he considered this, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting mine again.

“He’ll be dead before you get there.”

Dougal’s words weren’t said with any particular venom, but the truth of them stopped my heart in its tracks. It dropped into the pit of my stomach, taking all the air from my lungs with it as it crashed through the floorboards beneath my feet.

My voice shook as I acknowledged for the first time, “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Murtagh’s eyes softened as he moved closer, taking my elbow instinctively. I accepted his support, needing it as Dougal continued to press me.

“And if he is?”

My companion bristled as I felt my legs begin to shake.

Dougal took no heed, forcing me to give him an answer, “What then?”

Murtagh lunged at him with this, placing himself in front of me while still keeping me on my feet. He hissed something unintelligible, but the meaning behind his words was clear: to get to her, you’ll have to go through me.

“If… if he… is,” I stammered, needing to start again to get their attention as well as the ability to put words to my emotions.

“If he is… or if I fail, then…”

My mind raced, jumping from one indecisive thought to another.

Then what, Beauchamp? What will you do then, when all hope is lost?

A nudge against my ribs brought me out of my head. Then came another… and another, reminding me of what, of who would remain with me, even if the worst did happen. They bolstered me, giving me the strength I needed to ensure their safety… even at the cost of my heart.

“Then, I will consider your offer.”

“Claire!” Murtagh objected and turned back to me, his eyes wild.

I met his gaze unflinching, “I said I would consider it! I refuse to seal my husband’s fate by naming his fucking successor!”

Silence fell around me as I fought between collapsing into a quivering heap at Murtagh’s feet and storming Wentworth right here and now with nothing but his sword.

“Will you—“ my voice cracked and I stopped, my chest heaving as I worked to keep from breaking down all together.

“Will you help me?”

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

Diversion: Chapter 3

Chapter 1, 2  can be found on my masterlist because Tumblr hates links.

Tommy tries to get Esme out of his system. Esme redoubles her efforts to hold on to John.

Tommy Shelby stood alone under a naked light bulb. He badly needed a drink and he had come into the tack room to find the bottle of rye whiskey that Charlie kept there.

His nerves were admittedly rattled after what passed between him and Esme. What was she thinking, putting her arms around him? It was a spontaneous act, something that he was sure she had not planned on doing, but she must have read something in his bearing that drew her in. He thought of the way that his breath caught when she kissed him. It only lasted seconds, but he had thought of little else since she left.

He found the rye stashed behind a can of oil, and drank straight from the bottle. Cheap stuff. It had a bite and Tommy winced as it momentarily took his breath away.

Of course, she left in a hurry. He had tried to calm her down— tried to make her stay if only to prove that nothing untoward had happened, but she was spooked. He had told her, “Esme, it’s okay, it was nothing, just sisterly affection”

But her wild eyes and shaking hands showed him all he needed to know. There was no sign of the bravado that she usually displayed to him. She stared at the stall, blinking into nothingness for a moment, then turned and walked away as fast as she could go without running.

He would have to steer clear of her for a while or she might have a fit of conscience and run to John about how she kissed his brother. Little did he know that she had already done just that. The irony of her situation made him roll his eyes as he threw back another mouthful of the rye. John could hardly keep track of who was under him nowadays, but Esme...Esme was pure of heart (or at least pure in deed). Tommy was certain that she had kept to her wedding vows.

Still, she had always fascinated him. One moment she was steady and grounded, like the earth itself, but in the next, it was as if some kind of magic guided her every move. Once he saw the magic, he couldn’t get it out of his head. John was a lucky man. With a woman like her, why did his brother need to stray?

Tommy saw the way that she took care of everyone but herself and handled all the mundane details of family life. She really didn’t have a choice though, did she? From the moment she came to them she was saddled with the children. Before she could get her legs under her she was pregnant. She stood up to John and confronted him about his dalliances, but it ultimately got her nowhere. As a woman, it was her lot in life.

He couldn’t place exactly when his thoughts about her had started to change, and he supposed that it had happened gradually. He’d always had an admiration for her boldness, even if at times it was a problem for him. She had a fire within her and a temper that could go off like a hand grenade. She knew her own mind and would tell anyone about it when she first arrived, but over time he’d seen her light dimmed under the weight of her responsibilities and John’s indiscretions. He had begun to notice the little ways in which life chipped away at her, and he felt the need to intervene on her behalf.

He replaced the bottle and ran his hands over his face. He was bone tired, and his mind was muddled. He needed to go home and sleep it off.

***

Esme made her peace with John that night. He had stumbled home in the wee hours, crawling into bed beside her and taking what was his. She lay on her back watching him above her. The curve of his lips, his angular jaw, his alabaster skin…it was all too much to resist. He made her feel euphoric, so transcendent, that she wondered how she could ever doubt his love for her. There may have been others, but she was his wife. She was his home. Afterward, as he lay sleeping on her chest, she stroked his hair and thought about the last few weeks. Of course, John wasn’t perfect—he often disappointed and hurt her—but she loved him. No matter what he got up to, she could never seriously entertain the thought of leaving him, especially not for his brother.

Tommy wouldn’t be any better for her, she mused. The whole town knew about his regular visits to Lizzie Stark. His brooding silences would be unbearable. Esme was moody herself; she needed someone lighthearted like John to balance her. Besides, even in her wildest imaginings, there’s no way that she and Tommy could make a life together. The very idea was ludicrous! If word were to get out about the circumstances of their… whatever was going on between them, it would blow the whole family apart. The bizarre connection that they shared had to be buried. She knew what she had to do.

She eased John off of her. “Why’d ya do that? I was comfortable,” he sleepily mumbled.

“I need to turn out the light, Love.”

Once the lamp was off, she turned back to him and ran her fingers along his brow as her eyes adjusted to the dusky shadows of the room. “John, I need you to do something for me.”

“Mmmm, anything for you. Just name it.”

She took a deep breath and whispered into the darkness, “I want another child.”

As her words settled on him, she could see his smile in the pale light of the moon.

***

The next few months were a blur for Tommy as he became more involved with business in the London clubs and horse racing. He was often in the company of his horse trainer, May Carleton, and his pursuit of a blue ribbon kept him out of Small Heath much of the time, both by circumstance and design. He avoided Charlie’s yard as much as possible for he knew that Esme would be there any odd moment that she could steal away for a ride. While he trotted around the fields of May’s estate he often pictured what Esme would look like astride the gelding, her dark eyes twinkling with contentment and her curls flying out behind her. Later, in the warm glow of the firelight, May would reap the benefit of Tommy’s fertile imagination. His resolve to avoid Esme was strong, and after a time he almost felt like he had gotten his strange infatuation with her out of his system.

However, when he was at the betting shop, Polly caught him stealing glances at Esme one too many times. She tried to give Tommy the benefit of the doubt, but in her bones, she could feel that something wasn’t right. She couldn’t fathom why the two of them would be in cahoots, whether it be business or personal, but all the signs were there. The two of them were keeping something a secret.

The straw that broke the camel’s back came on an ordinary Wednesday morning. Polly was preparing cash boxes for the day when Esme made her way into the betting shop with eyes that were bruised from lack of sleep and red from crying. She busied herself compiling the odds on the day’s races while Tommy paced outside his office and waited for his brother. When Tommy asked her John’s whereabouts, she snapped.

“How would I know? He fucking hasn’t been home!”

Their eyes met and Tommy’s heart dropped to his feet. “Esme, come back to my office,” he rasped, his voice a low rumble.

As Tommy ushered Esme back to his office, Polly stood aghast. The tone of their voices as the conversation went on sounded a bit too familiar.

“I’m fed up with having my heart broken. It’s not fair,”

“What are you going to do?” Tommy asked.

“He is my husband. It’s not like I have much of a choice.” Full of anger and pride, she tried to will away the tears that fell from her dark eyes.

Polly could hear Tommy sigh deeply. She could almost picture the way he would rub his forehead and light a cigarette. She got up from her desk and headed toward Tommy’s office.

Tommy’s reaction to Esme’s distress was telling. For a moment, he stood smoking as he wrestled with the emotions that he had worked so hard to suppress. His head told him that he was frustrated with John and worried about the effect that his extramarital activities would have on the company, but his heart just wanted to hold Esme while she cried. He went to her and placed his hands on either side of her face, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. His hard edges softened, and his tone was soft and low. “I know you love him, but you deserve better.”

By then Polly had reached the threshold of Tommy’s office, and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing and hearing. Tommy locked eyes with Polly and coolly regained his composure, but Esme couldn’t face her and rushed from the room.

“Thomas Michael Shelby,” Polly spat.

“She does deserve better. I know it, and you know it,” Tommy roared. He refused to be painted as a villain when all he had done was offer comfort and sympathy to a member of his family. Years of practice had taught him to rationalize his most grievous behaviors, and this was no exception. He pointed at Polly with the hand that held his cigarette and continued, “You have taken her side too.”

“It’s not about taking her side and you know it,” Polly flung back at him. She pointed her own finger at Tommy, “You had better watch yourself, Thomas. Take this up with John, and bloody leave her alone.”

“Do you really think that I would go after my brother’s wife?” Tommy was indignant.

Polly threw her hands up and shouted, “I don’t know what to expect from you anymore!”

Tommy and Polly’s heated exchange reverberated through the air of the office. Esme scrambled to her desk and fought back a wave of nausea as she fished her purse out of her desk drawer. Her face and hands were going numb and she could feel a sheen of cold sweat forming on her back. I have to get out of here for a while, she thought as she reached for the doorknob. Just then, the door swung open and she was face to face with her husband.

“What are they goin’ at it about? You can bloody hear them down the block.”

“Move!” Esme commanded and pushed him aside. She leaned on the cool brick wall of the building, eyes closed. She breathed in deeply through her nose and exhaled through her mouth in an attempt to settle her stomach.

John turned and stepped back out into the lane. He put an arm around Esme’s shoulder, which she shrugged off.

“Leave me alone, just back away,” she half moaned.

John was undeterred. He moved around until he was face to face with her. “Hey, what’s wrong, love?”

She squinted her eyes in the hazy sunlight of Small Heath and swallowed another wave of nausea. “I’m pregnant.”

[chaldeluxe]

LONDON: CHAPTER 5.

____________

Andersen: Hoh. Not bad for a hideaway. I like it. I’ll take the study.

Andersen: I’ll be unpacking, so call me if you need something. Ah, and if you’re entering, be sure to knock.

Mordred: ... Ahh, I’m exhausted. Twice as much thanks to the luggage. Three times, even!

Jekyll: You’re treating my sofa so roughly again… if possible, I’d like it to be a guest-only… … no, nevermind.

Jekyll: It’s fine as is. Listen closely, Mashu and Gudako.

Jekyll: Jack the Ripper appeared again. Only this time it wasn’t to murder a woman under the cover of the fog.

Jekyll: They’ve got Scotland Yard under siege. I’ve received telegraphs for reinforcements from police stations all over London.

Mordred: That bastard’s finally shown up again!

[CHOICE]

1. Is that some kind of fated encounter for you? 2. An acquaintance of yours?

Mordred: Yeah. They’re a Servant. Assassin Class. We fought a lot in the fog, but…

Mordred: Every time they get away. I can’t lock ‘em down. They just escape into the fog!

Mordred: That and I can’t remember a single concrete detail about them. Not their face, or form, or even their abilities. It’s frustrating as hell… !

Mordred: Best I can do is nod my head whenever I hear the name Jack the Ripper like, ooh yeah, that Assassin!

Mordred: Damn. My head’s all fuzzy just thinking about that asshole!

Jekyll: You two might’ve run into them as well. What do you think? Do you recall fighting an Assassin?

Mashu: Ah…

Mashu: Now that you mention it… it sort of feels like we did. A surprise attack... by...

Mashu: That’s right… we got ambushed. My memories are suddenly coming back to me.

Mashu: I almost forgot everything. But, there has to be some reason for what happened...

[CHOICE]

1. A skill? 2. A Noble Phantasm?

Mashu: Yes, Senpai. That must be it. I wonder which one it was, though? A skill or Noble Phantasm.

Mordred: That one’s quick to run. If we don’t get moving, they’ll have cleared out already. Let’s go!

Andersen: What, you’re leaving? You should’ve said something. If you’re going out, let’s see... I’ll take a scone, then.

Mordred: Like hell you're going! Well, not like you’d be useful if you did…

Mordred: … hold up. You think we’ll have as easy of a time as before?

Andersen: That was an phenomenal exception. Don’t go depending on me for everything. And just what are you looking to get out of us authors, truly?

Andersen: Do you think of me as some all-knowing being? If so, you’d best reconsider.

Andersen: Listen up. Authors are just morons whose words run off the page simply because they couldn’t get anything in life!

Andersen: Do you think someone like that could ever be useful?

Mordred: … I was stupid for even asking. Let’s get moving, Mashu, Gudako!

// SHIFT TO OUTSIDE. //

Mordred: Full speed ahead to our destination. Mashu, carry Gudako. It’s a race against the clock.

Mordred: There’s no way a human can keep up. We’ll head straight for the Yard with pure Servant sprinting power.

Mashu: R-Right …excuse me, Senpai. It’s just for a little while.

[CHOICE]

1. Try not to drop me. 2. Likewise. Sorry for this.

Mashu: O-Okay.

Mashu: …I’ll be as careful as possible. Be sure not to let go of me, Senpai.

Mordred: Hey, get movi--- tch. Soon as I say it, there's enemies at our flanks!

Dr. Roman: Huge enemy readings. They’re closing in from all directions. Break through before they surround you!

// BATTLE. //

Mordred: We almost crushed ‘em all! Forget the rest. We’re making a run for it, Mashu!

Mashu: Right!

Dr. Roman: She sure is full of moxie. I guess they don’t call her the Knight of Treachery for nothing.

Mashu: That’s right. That combat efficiency is straight out of the legend.

Mashu: As swift and accurate as a bolt of lightning across the sky, the point of her sword never wavers.

[CHOICE]

1. Knight of Treachery? 2. You mean Mordred?

Dr. Roman: Ah, that reminds me--- no one said anything to you, did they, Gudako-chan?

Dr. Roman: The Knight of Treachery, Mordred. A Heroic Spirit manifested in this world under the Saber class.

Dr. Roman: He’s[1] not from this era, of course. His origins lie in the 5th-6th century with the legend of King Arthur.

Dr. Roman: The individual who brought about the end of an era. The one person who literally staged a rebellion against King Arthur.

Mashu: And it was by all means an exceptional rebellion. It was the first time someone had ever rallied together anti-Arthur forces made up of their foreign enemies.

Mashu: In order words, Mordred stood alone as the King of Treachery. If times had been more peaceful, perhaps she might’ve even succeeded the King.

Mashu: There are countless legends about Mordred’s bravery as well. As one of the Knights of the Round---

Dr. Roman: They called him the son of King Arthur. Only they also said the King never properly acknowledged his child.

Dr. Roman: That may be the reason why he changed their mind about the rebellion. So why did Mordred still defy King Arthur at every turn?

Dr. Roman: I suppose only he--- she[1], would know the real reason why.

[CHOICE]

1. The rebellion succeeded? 2. The rebellion was a failure?

Mashu: … yes. The knight Mordred lost her life during the Battle of Camlann.

Mashu: In reality, it was more of a tie. She wielded the Demonic Sword Clarent against King Arthur in battle.

Mashu: King Arthur fought with his holy lance and pierced the traitor.

Mashu: The king himself had also fallen, mortally wounded when---

Mordred: What’re you blabbing about over there!? Get moving already!

Mashu: Ah, r-right!

[CHOICE]

1. Let’s go!

Mashu: …Roger, Master!

// BATTLE. //

Mordred: They’re closing in from the side, one after the other!

Mordred: Pick up the pace again, Mashu!

Mashu: Okay… !

Dr. Roman: Sorry to interrupt while you’re en-route. I’ve got a hot report straight from Da Vinci-chan!

Dr. Roman: It’s about those huge, armored, mysterious robots. I’ll be reporting the results of our findings concerning the Helter Skelters.  

Dr. Roman: It’s as accurate as we can be while still analyzing, but here’s what I’ve got, based on the preliminaries.

Dr. Roman: First of all, they’re not golems. Traces of magical mechanisms can’t be confirmed with video evidence.

Dr. Roman: Though they’re purely mechanical… there’s still a lot I don’t get. It seems like they’re running on steam engines. Any other details are unknown.

Dr. Roman: It seems like technology you’d find in our time, the year 2017.

Dr. Roman: Made with some kind of hidden or long-lost technique---

Dr. Roman: Almost like they made rapid progress with their super technology by taking a different path from our world.

Dr. Roman: … ...yep.

Dr. Roman: … well, of course. Of course you wouldn’t answer, ‘cause you’re busy running and stuff…

Dr. Roman: That’s enough out of me. Do your best out there!

// BATTLE. //

Jack the Ripper: … ....huh?

Jack the Ripper: So you came from that direction. Then, hehe, we’ll… What should we do with you?

Jack the Ripper: Should we kill you? One, two, three. So many. A whole lot.

Jack the Ripper: Hehe. We already killed a whole bunch, but we’re still hungry. Starving.

Jack the Ripper: All ‘cause Mr. Policeman didn’t have much magical energy.

Jack the Ripper: So, thank you! We’ll eat your magical energy up and be full!

Mordred: We made it---

Mordred: Or not, it looks like. The smell of blood… so the Yard’s been wiped out.

Dr. Roman: I’m detecting two other signatures besides you guys. Jack the Ripper and one other.

Mashu: I can guess pretty well who the unknown Servant is. That man over there---

(???): Yes. I just so happen to be a Caster Servant. One of the three pulling the strings of that “Project”.

[CHOICE]

1. The Demon Fog Project? 2. Why’re you doing this?

(???): We have several of our own conditions and circumstances. You may call me “P”, if you wish.

P: I’m afraid you were just a tad too late. The poor Scotland Yard has already been annihilated.

P: They all died in such horrid, gruesome ways. For you see, that child hasn’t an ounce of compassion in her heart.

P: It was all necessary, however. An unavoidable sacrifice. It almost seems a tribute to the fallen when you say express it in such a way.

P: Truly, man is a creature who ought to be adored. Both love and affection are such dazzling things.

P: How sad, that the cause sometimes takes precedence.

P: Something we required was tucked safely away in Scotland Yard’s headquarters.

P: As one would expect, the Mage’s Association, Clock Tower, reside in the British Empire. They applied a strong magical seal to the place.

P: Thus they, while unfortunate, ended up posing a grand obstacle to our cause.

Mordred: What's with this blowhard. Who gives a damn about love or affection!

Mordred: You went and put your hand on what’s mine again. You, who are not the king, have touched that which belongs to the king.

[CHOICE]

1. You killed innocent people despite being a Heroic Spirit? 2. Don’t you have any pride as a hero!?

P: Indeed. And that is why I cannot show any sadness.

P: Those bound to hope should be noble. Those bound to love should be brilliant.

P: I’m not likely to save them with this paltry power of mine. That alone should be clear when you consider the aforementioned outcome.

P: This era will fall to ruin. Even humanity itself will fall to ruin.

P: Annihilate desires, love, humanity’s progression, and only four idiosyncrasies will remain in this left behind world.

P: What a miserable outcome it’ll be. But neither you nor I can stop it.

P: No. If you’re unable to stop it, that is---

Mashu: … you’re contradicting yourself.

Mashu: I feel a deep discrepancy in those words of yours, Caster. No, P. Who are you, really?

Mashu: You’re using Jack just to take human lives. It sounds to me like you’re the one who lacks an ounce of compassion.

P: That may very well be true, beautiful young lady.

P: I’m nothing more than a wicked magus in the end, it seems. Even now, I command an innocent girl.

P: Jack. I’ll leave the rest to you.

P: Do as you like. That girl may even be your Mother, you know.

Jack: Eh? Is that… true. ?

Jack: So that’s how it is. Hmm. Then… we’ll treat you just like our own Mother.

Jack: Will you let us go back? Deep, deep inside of you… inside Mother…

Mordred: Forget it. You’re going straight back to the Throne. Here’s where you die.

Mashu: We need to think of a way to stop Assassin in her tracks. ...Senpai…

[CHOICE]

1. We’ve got to stop her. 2. Let’s start this.

Mashu: ---OK! Master!

// BATTLE. //

Jack: Mo… ther…. no…. no, no, no… it, hurts…

Jack: Why… why did you…

Jack: … why, did… tell me... hey… …?

P: Farewell, child who knows naught of love. One day, you’ll obtain the affection you seek.

P: ---now, then. I suppose this is where I die, felled by your hand.

P: The cold-blooded magus is defeated by the hero. Therein lies the sole answer I seek.

P: But. I must carry out my role first.

P: Farewell, you heroes who walk on a radiant path. And you, Knight of the Round---

P: I pray for your continued existence as a champion of justice who strikes down treachery.

Mordred: Wait! Shit, he vanished! Magi always do this!

Mashu: Spatial Transportation--- that’s the spell that let him be forcibly removed.

Mashu: It was originally a form of magecraft that could hold a candle to True Magic. Using it like that... it’s very possible that a Holy Grail is…

Dr. Roman: It’s very likely. At least for the sole mastermind who’s behind the “Demon Fog Project” that’s trying to destroy this era.

Dr. Roman: Otherwise, it’s possible that possession of the Holy Grail was transferred to him.

Dr. Roman: I wonder what his true purpose in London is…

Mordred: I could care less. All we’ve gotta do is flush him out and flatten him!

// TO THE LEAGUE OF GENIUSES. //

P: … I’ve returned safely.

B: Psssh… kohh…

M: Good work. …that girl was defeated, then?

P: She died, unfortunately. We've suffered a sequence of failure since Mephistopheles’ loss.

M: It won’t affect that much. All we need to focus on is carrying out the “Project”.

P: Yes. I suppose so. You’re right. We three are Servants. All we need do is follow the whims of our Master.

P: There’s no need to wallow in regret. You should be moving forward with your own “Project”, yes?

M: …I know.

B: Creating a path for this world and its civilization--- therein lies the greatest mission for we wise scholars.

B: If this world were incinerated, both humanity and civilization itself would be well on its way to that established point of demise.

B: We would no longer be---

[1] Roman only uses カレ and 彼 (kare, katakana then kanji, he/him) in reference to Mordred when he gets carried away talking about the legend here. Mashu doesn’t do that in that segment. Once Roman catches himself, he corrects himself to 彼女 (kanojo, she/her) which is also what Mashu and everyone else uses for Mordred usually.

It’s difficult to put in English because in Japanese pronouns aren’t necessarily required when referring to someone and Mashu isn’t using any during the exposition. It’s only supposed to be Roman, so the official translation probably missed the context and falsely had Mashu use he/him too while explaining Mordred’s legend.

Editor V note: Since it’s a topic in tandem, everyone uses kanojo for Mordred and usually she doesn’t slice their throats open so she doesn’t care about pronouns. Just don’t call her or treat her explicitly like a man or a woman. That’s why she threatened Jekyll in the other chapter.

[prettieparker86]

Playing with Fire

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 & Part 5

Pairing: Steve Murphy X Reader

Warning: Violence

Gif Credit: @wescravn, @sullismeadows, and @scrambledluke Full credit to the gif creators! Thank you for allowing me to use your beautiful creations!

Tag: I wanna give a shout to @mr-musings who has an incredible Steve Murphy story you should check out. This story is loosely based off it’s awesomeness. Also want to tag @lainey-lane and @hannahmariea I know they both were hoping I would write Steve Murphy. This ones for you!

A/N:  Please note, I can’t guarantee you’ll like yourself in this story, but you might be surprised and I can promise it’ll be honest and real. I’ll tell you from the jump, I don’t foresee a happy ending, but as a writer it’s a story I really wanted to tell, a challenge I wanted to take. I’m hoping you’ll give it a chance

I also wanted to say I always try to write you as a strong character. You might have weak moments, we all do, but I try to write you as a strong person. Hope that comes across.

Don’t play with fire. That’s what they’ve told you since you were just a little kid. Seemed simple enough. The heat always keeping you at bay. But there was something about those flames, the way they danced and swayed. Always beckoned you. Calling like a temptress, a siren, casting spells in a tongue only the two of you knew. Calling from somewhere deep inside you hardly knew and couldn’t escape… Come and play.

You were naïve, though it wasn’t all that long ago you thought you had seen it all. Growing up in an area where hard work and struggle was a part of life, you’d always wanted more.

 Especially after watching so many settle for less. Casualties of circumstance, chewed up and spit out like food for fodder in the grander scheme of things. 

Nothing phrased you and maybe that’s how he found you. Your jaded invincibility your weakness. 

He had it all where no one did. He was going places. Could have had any girl he pleased, but he chose you and you chose him.

You wore that honor with pride like a shiny new badge, a badge that’s now worn and dull with a hard dose of reality. 

He showed you things you had never seen, a world you only could have dreamt of. 

You weren’t blind to the way he made his means, but you weren’t shocked by it either. You had already seen so much. 

You understand the hard lessons they don’t teach in school, the ugly truths no one says aloud. Like dirty money is easier to make than clean. 

And clean money is only meant for certain people, and that wasn’t you or yours.

After burning up the city for months, he sprung the opportunity of a lifetime on you. 

Told you he wanted to take you to the most beautiful place in the world, where he came from, where you would live like kings while he handled some business. 

And after everything he’d already given you, well… You loved him, you trusted him, and therefore you wanted to believe him. 

But you would learn all too late that his promises were empty. That he was either a liar or more naive than even you, you never got the chance to find out which, because he was gunned down in the streets of Medellin four months after you arrived in Columbia.

You ended up in a place more ugly than any you’ve ever known. Where debts and grudges are settled with blood and bullets and greed runs only one color… white. 

You had wanted to go home, but had no means to get back. His friends as he called them looked after you, the pretty young thing that you were. 

One in particular took you under his wing and that’s when you realized there was no going back. 

They weren’t going to let you go home. You knew too much. Saw too much. Or they thought you did. You were a prisoner now as much as a guest.

That’s how you find yourself running frantically down the hall of an old decrepit building, as a barrage of bullets rain down around you. 

Plaster explodes and spits off the walls, glass shatters and flies, the sound echoing and bouncing all around like a tornado that’s just landed on top of you. 

You can’t tell how close the bullets are as your heart pounds so hard you think it’s going to beat right out of your chest. 

The loud pops go off all around you in rapid succession as everything descends into chaos. 

You can hear men shouting words you don’t understand from every corner, their voices echoing all around as your run as fast as you can to get away from the gun fire. 

Moments ago, a large group of men stormed the building before the fire fight broke out. You didn’t stop to see who it was, you didn’t care, as bodies started to drop your only thought was survival. 

You were on your own here and in way over your head.

Racing down a back hall in the old building, you hear the gunfire rounding at your back, the bullets firing at a more paced rate than in the front of the house, but they were still coming. 

Your mind races as you search for any hope of safety. Charging into an open room, you quickly close the door behind you as if it holds any hope of saving you. 

Your eyes scan frantically around as your panicked breath heaves, the room is lined with three small beds pushed up against the walls, with a few stools and chairs littering the center. 

The sound of stomping boots and flying bullets grows nearer as panic pumps wildly through your veins. With nothing to defend yourself with you know you have to hide.

 Scrambling over toward the beds, you wedge yourself between two bed frames crouching low against the ground and wall. 

Your breathe rattles out against your hand in fear as you try desperately to stay silent and unseen. 

Your eyes squeeze close as you pray to any God that’s listening. You just want to go home.

Suddenly a man kicks in the door, the crash so startling it sends you slamming back against the wall in fright. 

The man spots your almost instantly, his gun raised at you as he changes forward. Instinctively you throw your trembling hands up, begging for mercy. 

You don’t want to die here, not like your boyfriend and so many others.

“Please!” You plead, tears of terror stinging your eyes as the man charges toward you, gun aimed squarely upon you, the barrel of it staring tauntingly back at you.

You don’t have time to think or react before he snatches you by the arm, yanking you out of your hiding spot and pushing your down on the bed face first.

Pulling your arms behind your back, you feel his knee press down into you, pinning you. Pulse pumping in your ears, only then do you realize he’s handcuffing you, you’re being arrested, not executed.

“Soy americano! I didn’t do anything. Innocente por favor! Please!” You cry into the blankets your face is shoved against, spitting out what little Spanish you know. 

Only after you hear the cuffs click, do you feel the man grip your arm tight and flip you over onto your back against the mattress. 

His grip still firmly around your arm as you meet two dark narrowing eyes that stare down at you in disbelief.

“Por favor, please!” You plead with him on a heavy shaken breath, tears slipping from your eyes.

“American?” He repeats, his gaze scrutinizing you.

“Yes! Si!” You answer on a frantic breath.

He stares at you for a long moment with a look you can only decipher as disbelief before he finally speaks again.

“What are you doing here, baby?” The man with dark penetrating eyes answers you, a sense of relief washing over you when you realize he speaks English, he understood you.

You quickly learn the man who arrested you is a DEA agent from back home. Agent Pena, he tells you.

 A man who looks far too handsome and charming to be a DEA agent, but right now, he’s your only hope and he seems pretty interested in anything you might know.

You find yourself loaded into the backseat of a Columbian police vehicle as Pena stands guard outside. 

You’re not sure if it’s to keep you in or others out, but he doesn’t move, not even when another man approaches. 

A tall blonde haired man, with piercing blue eyes, and a mustache that’d give Burt Reynolds a run for his money. A man who seems as out of place here as you do.

Agent Murphy, you hear Pena call him. 

That’s the first time you ever see him. You didn’t know it then, but only after everything was done and said, after all the damage was done and irreversible, would you come to wish you two had never laid eyes on each other.

“Who you got?” Murphy questions on approach, his piercing blue eyes surveying you like a specimen on a platter before his attention turns solely to agent Pena.

“American, wrong place, right time.” He elaborates, before pitching a cigarette between his lips and grabbing your bag from the front seat of the vehicle, showing agent Murphy something of interest he had found in it.

You only asked for your bag so you could show agent Pena your passport, prove you were an American citizen, but he kept it and its contents for reasons you didn’t understand.

“She’s an American. We gotta hand her over Messina. Let the embassy take it from there.” You hear Murphy explain. 

You don’t know who this Messina is but surely, the embassy will help you get home.

You stay silent, pretending to play with the frayed strips of leather peeling off the seat of the car, but you’re really hanging on every word. 

Getting the sense your best play is to remain silence for now. You’ve managed to get the cuffs off and Pena seems interested in helping you. You get the feeling making demands right now would only back fire.

“Messina’s just as likely to hand her over to Colonel Pinzon, and with his way of handling things, sicarios will have her in an hour. Nah, she’s safer with us till we can figure out exactly what she knows.” Pena’s answer perks your interest. 

Your heart sinks with the news and your nerves start to prickle. The only reason you were talking with him, cooperating is because you want to go home. 

Should have known better than to trust a cop, even one as charming as this guy. 

You’re about to open your mouth and protest when agent Murphy says something that catches your attention.

“Let me guess, you’re just the guy to keep her safe?” It’s not the words he says as much as the way he says them. 

The hairs prickle on the back of your neck. Pena was nice, too nice. A real charmer, and you barely just met the guy. 

You can only imagine how it would go down if you found yourself under his personal protection, but nice or not, you were tired of men expecting something in return for doing you a favor.

“No Murphy, you are.” Pena answers with a pat on the back that almost feels like sarcasm, taking both you and Murphy by surprise. 

Your eyes drift up from the seat to the blonde-haired man with his back to you just as Murphy slowly turns around, meeting your gaze. 

There’s something in his eyes, something close to irritation as his gaze narrows upon you. You watch his jaw set, before your eyes quickly drop back to the peeling leather. 

No, protection from this guy was going to be nothing like protection from the first, but then again maybe you could use that to your advantage. 

Get him to send you home. You didn’t know anything anyway and once they figured that out, surely they’d send you packing.

You thought you knew nothing. You didn’t ask questions after coming to Columbia. That was both your blessing and curse. 

Turns out you were exposed to more than you realized, that only became more apparent as you tried to prove you didn’t know anything and win your ticket back home. 

You began to understand why the cartel hadn’t let you leave to begin with. You’d seen things, met people, gone places that Pena and Murphy seemed all too interested to know about. 

Worse yet, you even had a few pictures in your bag. 

Not of men or their dealings- No, you were far too smart for that, but you did have a few polaroid’s of places your boyfriend took you before he died. The two of you together. 

So much for memories.  A part of you knew you should have burned those pictures the day he died.

Those pictures and your knowledge landed you a one-way ticket to agent Murphy’s pad on an extended stay. 

Which turned out to be as luxurious as it sounded. 

See when Pena said protection, you weren’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but being hauled up at agent Murphy’s apartment, not allowed to leave or go outside for two weeks straight wasn’t it. 

Despite your best efforts to stay out of his hair, you and Murphy were like oil and water. 

He made it clear from the jump he didn’t want to babysit you. He also made it clear, his house, his rules.

Which meant you stayed inside and didn’t touch his shit. The place was a mess, empty bottles and forgotten plates mostly. Steve wasn’t much for cleaning up after himself. 

You could tell a woman once lived there with him. The ring on his left hand was also a dead giveaway, but it was clear a woman’s touch had been lacking for a while. 

And anytime you mentioned his wife, you could see the hairs prickle on his skin with irritation, so you dropped it.

Despite Murphy’s attitude and the unwelcome living arrangements, you still found yourself inexplicably intrigued by the man. 

He was driven and took his duties seriously, you respected that. And his unquenchable thirst to catch Pablo was a passion you had never seen before. 

And God help you, Steve was also handsome. That tousled blonde hair, soulful blue eyes, and a smile that left you mesmerized like looking into the sun. 

You hadn’t really realized that the first time you saw him, but as the days set in and you spent more time together, you quickly realized the sight of him could make your heart pump a little faster in a way you hadn’t expected and hated. 

But he was married and a DEA agent, which made you hate the feeling even more. Which only made matters worse being cooped up in his apartment all day.

Meals were rough between you two and this one was no different. One of the few times you two seemed to sit down together and do something in a non-official capacity. 

You both tried to be pleasant, but the mood was tense, and things had a way of getting heated quickly.

“I just need to get a little air. At night, maybe. No one would be expecting-“ You calmly suggest as you fiddle with your fork, moving the rice around on your plate as you try to reason with Steve yet again.

“No,” Steve answers unequivocally, shutting the idea down before you can even finish it as he takes another swig of his beer.

Your jaw tightens with his quick and unreasonable response. 

“I need to get out of here. I am going to lose my mind if I stay cooped up in this place much longer.” You grind out, now looking squarely at him from across the table.

“Well I don’t really give a damn what you need, sweetheart. My job is to keep you alive, not fill your needs. You gave up your right to a normal life when you followed your boyfriend down here.” He retorts back, meeting your gaze point for point.

“I didn’t know-“ You start, before he swiftly cuts you off.

“Didn’t know what? That he was a drug dealer? A murderer?” Steve throws back at you snidely with a challenging arch to his brow and unrelenting gaze that stabs right through you.

That’s the finally straw and you snap as you push back from the table and rise to your feet.

“Don’t you dare get self-righteous with me. You wanna tell me no one’s ever died from a trigger you pulled, a call you made!  You’re all the same! Just because you hide behind the law and carry a badge doesn’t make it right. And it sure as hell doesn’t make you better than me.” You shout back at him, the power of your words and heat of your anger near boiling point.

Storming from the table, you move to the Livingroom, pacing feverently about the small space. 

Like a caged animal. The walls were closing in on you. They got what they wanted. Why couldn’t they just let you go. 

You felt like you were losing your mind. And after your latest argument, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck this,” You spit out as you storm for the door. 

You don’t know where you’re going and you don’t even give a damn. You just need some goddamn air and space from him.

You make it two steps outside the door and into the hall before you feel a strong arm snake around your waist. 

Lifting you off the ground, your back goes flush against his body, as Steve carries you back inside. 

You struggle against him, resisting as you watch the door shut.

“Don’t touch me! Let me go!” You protest against Steve’s hold on you, too mad and upset to see straight.

You feel his arm slip free from around you as he pushes you gently against the wall beside the door. 

His hands go up as if in surrender, to show he doesn’t have a hold on you anymore as he pins you to the wall with a pointed stare.

“Goddamnit!” Steve hollers, his anger getting the best of him as well as he slams his palm down against the wall on the space above your head.

Anyone else you might have been intimidated, but somehow you know Steve won’t hurt you. If he was going to strangle you he would have done it by now.

Glaring up at him, his body hovers over you, arms on either side of your face against the wall. 

Practically pinning you to it without touching you, you hold your ground as a heated breath blows past your lips.

“Why do you gotta make this so goddamn hard?” He growls through a tight jaw, piercing blue eyes barreling into you.

You let out a heated huff, holding his gaze, not backing down. 

“You can be a real asshole too, yeah know.” You throw back.

Steve holds your gaze for a heated second, before a rattled breath blows quickly past his lips. 

Dropping his face, he huffs quietly to himself. His head shakes slowly from side to side before he glances back up at you.

A more calm and reasonable look to his gaze as his hand drops from the wall to lightly cradle your jaw and cheek.

“I shouldn’t have said that, alright, but you gotta give me a little break here, ok?” He concedes, his eyes pierce into you.

Your eyes grow wide with his touch as your gaze flickers to his arm. 

Something must register in your gaze, because Steve instantly let’s go of your face, something close to startle filling his blue eyes before his hand returns to the wall beside you head.

Letting out a slow breath, you nod. 

“Yeah, ok.” You agree, the close proximity of you both slowly setting in as your anger fades. 

You become acutely aware of how close your bodies are, of how close he’s leaning over you and your heart starts to thud a little harder as you curse yourself for even noticing.

“I’ll get you a little time outta here. But you gotta trust me to know when it’s the right time.” He offers, and you can tell he’s really trying as his eyes gaze heavily down upon you.

Biting down on your bottom lip to try and combat the sudden speed of your heart, you nod in return. 

“Ok.” You answer, wishing he would step back from you so this feeling would go away.

A crooked grin edges at the corner of his mouth in response as he gazes down at you for a moment longer, before a quick breath blows past his lips and he pushes off the wall, away from you.

“I gotta check in with Pena. Stay put. I’ll be back later.” He says, moving for his gun and badge without a second look your way.

[junker-town]

The fatal flaw holding back each team in the NFC

Photo by Sean Gardner/Getty Images

The NFC is a bit of a mess. Except for the Niners, right?

Through four weeks, only one team in the NFC remains undefeated. Just as we all expected, it’s the 49ers.

Kyle Shanahan’s team is off to a 3-0 start after defeating the Buccaneers, Bengals, and Steelers to start the year. Although that’s no murderer’s row of opponents, it’s been enough to give San Francisco a way-too-early lead in the race for homefield advantage in the playoffs. The Cowboys, Rams, Saints, Packers, Bears, and Seahawks are all staring up at Jimmy Garoppolo through one quarter of the season.

So what are the odds the Niners can keep this up — and if they can’t, who will replace them?

The NFC was an unpredictable beast through the month of September. Philadelphia looked primed for a letdown season before upending a then-unbeaten Packers team in Green Bay. The Lions rebounded from a disappointing come-from-ahead tie against the Cardinals in Week 1 to upset the Chargers and Eagles the following two weeks. The Saints lost Drew Brees in a Week 2 loss to the Rams, then rallied behind Teddy Bridgewater to defeat the Seahawks and Cowboys. The Rams started their conference title defense with a 3-0 record, then gave up 55 (fifty-five!) points to the Buccaneers.

So while the AFC appears to be the property of either the Patriots or Chiefs, the NFC is still wide open for seemingly anyone other than Washington or Arizona. Who has the strongest claim to the throne? Let’s dig in:

Winless, and therefore unworthy of a writeup

Washington (0-4), Arizona Cardinals (0-3-1)

Right. Their fatal flaw is that they aren’t good enough yet to win games.

Heh, nope.

Atlanta Falcons (1-3)

The Falcons beat the Eagles in Week 2. In their other three games, they’ve trailed by 21, 17, and 17 at the half. Atlanta’s cache of wasted talent has been matched only by its enormous capacity for stupid mistakes through one quarter of the season.

Fatal flaw: Coaching. Dan Quinn’s team has found a way to bridge whatever skill gap he holds over opponents with a lack of preparedness.

Likely pretenders to the crown

New York Giants (2-2)

Daniel Jones breathed new life into the Giants, but he’s only beaten Washington and Tampa Bay while captaining a roster that was in rebuild mode this past offseason. New York’s offensive line has overachieved in its two-game winning streak:

giants run blocking has quietly been really good this season. even on still shots you can see the holes they're opening up pic.twitter.com/d5RqEt8Zli

— charles (ronald) mcdonald (@FourVerts) September 30, 2019

However, a look at the depth chart suggests that won’t last — which is bad news for Saquon Barkley fill-in Wayne Gallman.

Fatal flaw: Overall talent. The Giants may have put their rebuild ahead of schedule, but this is still a rebuild.

Carolina Panthers (2-2)

The Panthers got their two wins by beating the Cardinals and watching the Texans throw up all over themselves. Kyle Allen is undefeated as a starter, but he cooled off significantly and looked like a backup quarterback in Houston. Cam Newton could push this team up a tier if he returns to full strength — and he says he’ll wait until he’s 100 percent, though no one’s quite sure when that will be . Still, the playing-hurt version of Cam that showed up in Weeks 1 and 2 won’t be enough to make Carolina a contender, even if this turns out to be the best Panthers defense since 2015’s 15-1 campaign.

Fatal flaw: Quarterback stability. Newton’s hurt and Allen shrank in the face of the Texans’ pass rush.

Tampa Bay Buccaneers (2-2)

The Buccaneers smothered the Panthers with their defense and lit up the Rams. They have also given up 30+ points in three of their four games so far. They’ve done that even in the midst of Shaquil Barrett’s breakout season, and he probably can’t maintain a 36-sack pace.

Tampa may have to rely on Jameis Winston to win shootouts on a weekly basis, which ... isn’t ideal. Fortunately for him, the team’s running game has made a major step forward this fall — Ronald Jones has put last year’s 1.9 yard-per-carry average deep in his rear view — and Winston has a tremendous downfield cheat code in Mike Evans, who should never be single-covered, ever.

Fatal flaw: Winston. Bruce Arians has pushed him to his strongest statistical season so far, but the QB’s biggest concern is the lack of consistency that has haunted him over four-plus seasons. If Arians can turn Winston into an every-week above-average presence behind center, he’ll earn his share of Coach of the Year votes.

They’ve still got plenty to prove

Minnesota Vikings (2-2)

The Vikings would be in the “pretender” tier if it weren’t for a still-promising defense. Kirk Cousins has fumbled six times in four games and currently holds his lowest QB rating since becoming a full-time starter in 2015. Minnesota is allowing just 4.8 yards per play, which should hold some opponents down long enough for even a diminished Cousins to walk over them. But there’s also a chance his inability to sustain an offense sinks the Vikes to the bottom of the NFC North.

Fatal flaw: Cousins. The Bears shut down Minnesota’s running game in Week 4 and the Vikings crumbled to dust when their quarterback was asked to carry his team’s offense against a great D.

Detroit Lions (2-1-1)

The Lions couldn’t take advantage of the Chiefs’ mistakes in a last-second Week 4 defeat, which is why they’re a good team and not a great one. Their Week 2 win over the Chargers looks good on paper, but in reality was a comedy of errors for an LA team that outplayed Detroit all afternoon.

On the plus side, Matthew Stafford seems to have recovered from an awful 2018. The Lions may need everything they can get from him; they’ve given up at least 373 yards in each of their four games this season.

Fatal flaw: Playing down to the level of their opponents. Matt Patricia’s early track record as a head coach indicates he’s able to get his team up for big games (vs. the Chiefs or in last year’s win against the Patriots), then struggles when he’s tasked with non-contenders — like when his team botched an 18-point fourth quarter lead in a tie against the Cardinals.

Philadelphia Eagles (2-2)

The Eagles still haven’t been able to push Carson Wentz back to his 2017 pre-injury MVP form, as the fourth-year quarterback has been solid but unspectacular (it doesn’t help that one of his most targeted receivers has an utterly memeable penchant for drops). Philadelphia needs him to be better if its pass defense can’t improve. The Eagles have allowed 7.4 net yards per pass attempt through four games, 25th-best in the NFL. They’ve given up 300+ passing yards in three of those games.

Fatal flaw: The pass rush. While Philly’s cornerbacks have been brutal to watch, they’ve gotten little help from their front seven. The Eagles rank dead last in the league in sack rate (1.7 percent).

Los Angeles Rams (3-1)

First things first: this team gave up 55 points to Tampa Bay. That was enough to drop LA from the top tier down to the “prove it” group. The Rams’ defense has been uneven to start the year, sandwiching two strong performances between Winston’s shredding and a season opener that saw a hurt Cam Newton put up 27 points. Los Angeles has struggled to get off the field on third down and is suspect in the red zone, turning a talented lineup on paper into a middling unit in practice.

Fatal flaw: Jared Goff’s sudden regression. The fourth-year quarterback has seen better protection than ever before (his 4.4 percent sack rate is the lowest of his career), but he’s using that time to make worse decisions. He’s throwing deep less often (his average throw depth has fallen from 8.2 yards in 2018 to 7.4 this year) and is getting picked off more — his six interceptions lead the league.

Seriously, what can't this dude do?!#GoBucs | #TBvsLAR pic.twitter.com/crRi9g74hl

— Tampa Bay Buccaneers (@Buccaneers) September 29, 2019

Even though there have been some extenuating circumstances that led to this explosion of turnovers, it’s clear that right now, Goff isn’t the MVP candidate he was in 2018.

I want to trust you, but I’ve been hurt before

San Francisco 49ers (3-0)

The 49ers are 3-0 — and their best win came over a disheveled Buccaneers team in Week 1. They’ve since beaten the Steelers and Bengals, who may have been winless in September if not for the fact they had to play each other. San Francisco has overcome plenty of adversity in its first three weeks, winning without injured players like Tevin Coleman, Jimmie Ward, Nick Bosa, and Dee Ford in the lineup for stretches. It’ll be much harder to carry on without them as the Browns (Week 5) and Rams (Week 6) loom on the schedule.

Fatal flaw: An offense that may not be able to keep this up. Garoppolo has been carving defenses up with a ton of play-action passes — 38 percent of his dropbacks, per ESPN. Those plays have broken open for more than 10.5 yards per attempt, but the Niners’ dwindling stock of tailbacks and the growing tape library on San Francisco’s 2019 suggest defenses will catch on to this strategy sooner rather than later. If that threat is taken away, can the 49ers’ line continue to provide one of the league’s lowest sack rates for its oft-injured QB?

Seattle Seahawks (3-1)

Much like the Niners, Seattle’s impressive early record has come at the expense of the AFC North’s dregs. The Seahawks’ three wins have been against teams with one win between them, and that was the Steelers’ unwatchable victory over the Bengals.

Still, there’s plenty to like here. Russell Wilson remains a low-key MVP who has help from Chris Carson, Tyler Lockett, and the emergence of DK Metcalf and Will Dissly. No team has been more efficient in the red zone, where Seattle has turned 10 of its 13 trips into touchdowns.

Fatal flaw: Passing defense. The Legion of Boom salad days are over, giving way to a secondary that ranks 16th in opponent passer rating despite opening the season against Andy Dalton, Teddy Bridgewater, Kyler Murray, and three quarters of Mason Rudolph. This offense needs to be tested, sure — but the defense might run into even bigger problems once it has to face the high-powered offenses of the NFC West.

The seemingly safe(r) bets

Dallas Cowboys (3-1)

Dak Prescott didn’t put up big numbers in offensive coordinator Kellen Moore’s conservative gameplan against New Orleans, but he’d been outstanding his first three weeks. Prescott has emerged as an MVP candidate, leading the league in QBR (91.4) and averaging career highs in touchdown rate (7.1) and yards per pass (9.0). The Dallas defense has been nearly as impressive; the Cowboys have held opponents to fewer than 300 yards in each of their last three games and are allowing just a 26.5 percent conversion rate on third down.

Fatal flaw: Big-game playcalling. The Cowboys failed their first real test against a fellow contender when the Saints limited them to just 10 points in Week 4. New Orleans smothered the Dallas offense, shutting down Ezekiel Elliott and leaving Prescott lost in the wilderness and throwing into quadruple coverage late in the game.

The Cowboys, like the Niners and Seahawks, have done their best work against bad teams. There’s a chance they belong in the “I want to believe” tier, too.

Green Bay Packers (3-1)

Aaron Rodgers isn’t all the way back, and he may not have to be. Green Bay’s revamped defense has been better than advertised this season — though Week 4’s missteps against the Eagles’ running game may be cause for alarm. The Packers are 2-0 in games where they’ve scored 21 points or fewer so far. In 2018, Rodgers’ team was 0-6 in similar situations.

Fatal flaw: Matt LaFleur’s overthinking. The Packers’ offense excels early in games, but LaFleur struggles to create a dynamic gameplan once he has to deviate from his first quarter script. This was readily apparent in Week 4’s loss to Eagles, when he dialed up four straight passing plays in a first-and-goal situation from the Philadelphia 1. The Packers all failed in a seven-point loss.

New Orleans Saints (3-1)

New Orleans fell apart briefly after losing Drew Brees to a thumb injury in an 18-point loss to the Rams, then quickly picked up the pieces to dispatch the Seahawks and Cowboys in the following weeks. I’d previously written about how this version of the Saints was built to handle six to eight weeks of Teddy Bridgewater duty, but hot damn has this team risen to the occasion to escape the toughest part of its 2019 schedule at 3-1. New Orleans won a shootout in Seattle after giving up 514 yards in Week 3. The next week, it cut that number exactly in half against Dallas and stand alone atop the NFC South. While consistency may not be the Saints’ biggest asset, they have the conference’s strongest resume through four weeks.

Fatal flaw: Everything red zone, so far. New Orleans has only turned four of 11 red zone opportunities into touchdowns, but has allowed opponents to convert 10 of their 15 chances into six points. That’s a concern when all three of the Saints’ wins have come in one-possession games. The team has a -8 point differential through one quarter of the season, which is in no way sustainable for a playoff team.

Chicago Bears (3-1)

This is absolutely a championship-caliber defense. No team has scored more than 15 points against the Bears this season. Khalil Mack is unstoppable once again and has four forced fumbles and 4.5 sacks in four games. He’s just the biggest name on a depth chart loaded with playmakers. Chicago is so intimidating it can derail blockers with a sideways glance.

Danny Trevathan really beat Brandon Scherff with a "look over there" move pic.twitter.com/trLTc9hmdh

— Christian D'Andrea (@TrainIsland) September 24, 2019

But what about the offense? A multifaceted running game has averaged only 3.6 yards per carry this fall. And the passing game, well ...

Fatal flaw: Mitchell Trubisky. The third-year passer looked entirely overwhelmed when called on for big moments in his season opener against the Packers — his last seven dropbacks in that primetime game ended in one completion, one interception, and a game-ending sack on fourth down. While he recovered to carve up the Broncos in a clutch two-minute drill one week later, several questions remain about how he’ll stack up under the bright lights when his offense needs him most.

That said, the club proved it can win without him after defeating the Vikings with Chase Daniel behind center. If Trubisky can just be solid when he returns from a dislocated non-throwing shoulder, he’ll give the Bears enough juice to make a deep playoff run — especially now that the team seems to have a reliable kicker.

[elfgrove]

Bad Diagnosis - Part 3/6

Rating: T - angst, facing mortality, friendship, lion-paladin bond Word Count: 2195 Characters: Katie ���Pidge” Holt, Green Lion, Hunk Garrett, Keith Kogane AO3: [link] < Prev | Next > 

Note: a) This is not an entirely accurate depiction of how brain tumors affect real people. It is based largely on skimming online stuff and stories from family members who’ve been there. Also, blame inaccuracies on how the Altean medicine is affecting things. b) Actions of characters are meant to be in-character and as flawed as the characters are, not recommended behavior for real people to follow.

"Hey Pidge, can you stick around and help me with the food goo machine after breakfast?"

She glanced up at Hunk from where she'd been blearily trying to muddle through some code on her tablet. Last night had been long. A seizure in a supply closet followed by a couple of hours curled up inside Green before she'd finally managed to grab a couple of hours sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

Days like this, she really missed coffee.

"Sure thing."

She stretched when breakfast was over, rolling up her sleeves and helping Hunk gather the dishes while the other members of Team Voltron left to go about their own tasks.

For a while, they worked quietly together, washing dishes.

"So, what have you been working on lately?"

She almost dropped the plate she was holding, "Trying to figure out how to adapt the cloaking from the training maze for the other lions. Why?"

"Just curious I guess," He took the plate from her, putting it away.

"You don't normally ask."

Hunk shrugged, wiping his hands of before passing her the towel, "I've been wondering."

She copied the motion, laying the towel down on the counter when she was done, "Yeah. I figured.  You usually don't though. You know I'll tell you about it when I get it working."

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking around the kitchen as if he could find a distraction rather than answer her.

"The food goo machine doesn't need work, does it?"

"Err... No."

"Hunk!"

"Listen, I'm worried about you!" He started pacing, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, but not raising his voice, "You've been quieter than usual about whatever you've been working on in your free time lately. You usually come to me if you're having trouble working something out, but you haven't. And I can tell it's eating up all of your focus, because you've been eating less. Don't look at me like that. It's a lot less. You're losing weight, and you really don't have any extra to lose."

She'd known her appetite had been shrinking as she'd been needing to increase the doses, but she hadn't thought anyone would notice. She hadn't realized she'd been losing weight.

"Someone else is going to notice and say something eventually." Hunk sighed, stopping to run a hand through his hair and glance at her before looking away again, "I figured I'd try to talk to you about it privately, help you with whatever you're working on so you wouldn't be so keyed up that you're not eating."

She shook her head slowly, "It's nothing you can help with."

"It's not really cloaking stuff for the Lions, is it?"

She chuckled, "I am working on that, actually."

"It's not my food, is it? I can make something else for you if that's the problem!"

She started to say no, but he was right. Eating had been harder lately. She couldn't keep not eating and pilot. Food was necessary to survival and all. Eventually, someone else would make an issue of it too, and they'd be less willing to let her off the hook without a good answer.

"Could you maybe make mine with less spices or strong smells?" She cringed to even ask, "You're a great cook, but I think all the alien food is just doing a number on my stomach."

He nodded enthusiastically, "I can handle that!" 

He sounded so cheered by the ability to do something, she had to smile, "Thanks, Hunk."

"Do you want me to whip you up something now? I can make something now!"

"No," She laughed. "I'm good for now. I appreciate it."

"Anytime!"

"Okay, I'm going to go get back to work with Green."

He nodded, already turning to the cabinets and storage bins, probably planning how to alter his food to make something blander for her.

It would probably actually help too.

Green banked a hard left to avoid a blast from the Galra battle cruiser.

Red flew in beside them, Keith's voice coming in over the coms, "Flank left, and I'll go right. If we use the jaw blades along the inset just above that turret line—"

She nodded as she saw what he was talking about it, “On it!”

Green shook as they ripped through the hull of the giant ship, and a satisfying crescendo of explosions followed in her wake. At the other end of the battleship, she shared a cheer of triumph with Keith. While the ship started to collapse in catastrophic failure, they swept out through the space, clearing smaller enemy fighters with claws and blasts from the Lions’ mouths.

Nearby, the other three Paladins had taken out the larger battle cruiser and were similarly sweeping the area of stray fighters. Allura sent out a message that she and Coran working with the native Bajorans had managed to successfully stop the bomb planted in the tectonic plates of the planet below them.

She snickered as Allura repeated the name of the planet, unable to keep a straight face at the idea that Bajor was a real planet. Bajorans a real alien race. It was straight out of Star Trek. Not that the real Bajorans looked anything like their fictional TV counterparts.

She muted her comm to avoid getting chastised by Shiro or Allura again for her bad sense of humor.

“I heard that,” Keith’s voice came over a one-to-one channel between their Lions.

She chuckled again, “I can’t help it. BAJORANS! I used to watch old Star Trek episodes with my Mom.”

They swept through another cluster of Galran fighters, working in tandem to clear the battlefield as they chatted.

“Hey, I didn’t say I blamed you,” This time Keith laughed. “I was kind of disappointed when it turned out they looked like regular Grey aliens straight out of the old Roswell conspiracy theories.”

“Right?!” She felt her grin widen even as she wiped sweat away from her neck and pulled at the fabric of her suit trying to get some relief in the stuffy cockpit. “Not so much as a single earring or wrinkled nose! I can’t believe Star Trek lied to me!”

“You and I both,” Keith answered warmly. “Just don’t mention it to Allura or Shiro, I don’t think they’d appreciate the joke.”

“Of course not!”

“Still, I can’t believe some writer on Earth managed to get the names right for an old sci-fi show. The rebel group here even calls themselves the Maquis!”

“You noticed that too?”

“Absolutely!”

They continued chatting for a while, discussing favorite Star Trek races while hunting down the last straggling sentry-manned Galra fighters. Hers was Vulcans, of course. She was more surprised to find out Keith’s was Betazoids. Somehow, she’d expected Klingons.

When they got back to the Lion hangar at the Castleship, Shiro complimented them on how well they’d worked as a pair today, the sword and shield of Voltron. They’d traded satisfied grins and a fist bump, not telling anyone they’d been bonding over an old sci-fi series and making bad jokes for a large chunk of the battle.

She hadn’t expected Keith to track her down later to continue their chat. It wasn’t that he never did. In fact, it wasn’t strange at all for them to discuss Earth conspiracy theories and urban legends while she was working on a project, but she usually had privacy for several vargas after a battle. Everyone went off to relax, rest, and unwind in their own way.

Usually.

Under normal circumstances she would have found him perching on some nearby bit of furniture chatting with her while she worked her way through some bit of alien technology comforting. Today wasn’t a normal day.

Not old normal at least.

She’d managed to get a shower and get changed into a set of casual Altean clothes (her poor sweater from Earth was on its last legs) before the tremors had set in today. The last thing she’d expected was for Keith to come uncertainly into the darkened and unused lounge she’d hidden in just as the smell of cinnamon started to overwhelm her senses.

“Pidge,” His smiling face had fallen into that lost puppy look he sometimes wore as his searching eyes zeroed in on her in the dully-lit room. “What are you doing down here?”

She shook her head, trying to hide the way her arms were already starting to spasm, beginning at the hands, pinning them between her knees where she sat on the floor behind a couch.

“Nothing,” There was a slowness to her words, and she could feel her mind starting to swim. This was going to be one of the bad ones.

Not now. NOT. NOW.

Keith’s eyes narrowed and he dropped a tablet he’d been carrying as he rushed to kneel next to her. “What’s wrong? What can I do? I’ll go get—"

“No!” She managed to choke out a few words, voice desperate and fierce, even as the room started to tilt dangerously. “Don’t tell!”

She felt Keith’s hands on her shoulders as an oddly distant sensation just as the world around her went black.

She came back to herself quickly, head spinning, body sore, every muscle in revolt. She pushed herself halfway up and leaned away from something soft and warm as her body shuddered violently and she vomited what little she’d eaten this morning onto the metal floor.

She was breathing hard, on hands and knees by the time her stomach finished emptying. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, not ready to face the consequences of having been caught yet. An arm carefully wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her backwards until she was leaning against something – the couch back?

She cracked her eyes open slowly to find she was still in the dimly lit lounge, Keith sat next to her, purple eyes wide and watchful, his arm still carefully holding her in a sitting position.

“Keith...?”

“Welcome back,” He spoke softly, eyebrows furrowed and uncertain. “What do you need?”

“Water. Should be—"

“On the table,” He finished. “I see them. Can you sit up on your own?”

She nodded, and he moved to retrieve a couple of the water packs she’d left in the room for exactly this reason. He passed one to her as he returned to his seat on the floor next to her, holding the other on his far side, watching as she took a few long drinks before retrieving her pills from a pocket and taking a dose of the Altean medicine.

He waited.

“You didn’t tell anyone.” She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.

“You asked me not to.” He shifted to face her better, ignoring the vomit on the floor, but eyes darting from the pill bottle to her face. “Something’s wrong.”

She swallowed a couple of times, feeling disgusting and humiliated, and not enough on top of her game to be sure she could convince him to keep her secret. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“What is it?”

“Promise me.”

“Pidge, I can’t...”

“I need you to.” She took a bet, knowing how deep his bond with Red ran, “If anyone finds out, they’ll make me stop piloting Green.”

His eyes widened, and she watched as his jaw clench in sympathy.

“I cannot lose her.”

“Okay.” He took in and released a long, slow breath, “But you have to tell me what’s going on.”

She nodded, feeling her shoulders unknot slightly in relief, “I have a brain tumor. I’m taking meds for it, but I still have seizures occasionally.” A lot more than occasionally, but Keith didn’t need to know that. “I’m handling it.”

“I’m guessing the healing pods don’t help.”

“It’s not an injury or a foreign entity. It’s a genetic abnormality. It’s me. The pods wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

He sighed and bit his bottom lip, “I’m guessing surgery is—"

“Not operable. Even if we had a surgeon on the team, which we don’t.”

“Is it,” He paused, looking her up and down as if putting several puzzle pieces together at once. “It’s killing you.”

“Brain tumors kind of tend to do that,” She shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but felt hot tears forming at the corners of her eyes anyways. “It’s how they work. I’m mitigating.”

He nodded, small swift bobs of his head without looking at her, like he was trying to make himself accept the news.

They were silent for a long few moments, sitting together on the cold floor of an abandoned section of the castle.

“How long?” His voice was almost childlike in the tone of the question, “How long do you have?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would they make you stop piloting if they knew?”

She locked eyes with him, “You already know that answer, Keith. You’re smart.”

He stared back for a long moment before slowly closing his eyes and bringing his hand up to cover the lower half of his face. His expression was pained. “The Lion Paladin bond. Its accelerating the tumor growth.”

He didn’t open his eyes to see her nod of confirmation.

[gossipnetwork-blog]

Dancing With the Stars Sends Home Another Celeb...Just as He Was Making a Possible Love Connection

New Post has been published on http://gossip.network/dancing-with-the-stars-sends-home-another-celeb-just-as-he-was-making-a-possible-love-connection/

Dancing With the Stars Sends Home Another Celeb...Just as He Was Making a Possible Love Connection

The champs are here!

In a fun twist, Dancing With the Stars welcomed back six of its most beloved champions from the last 24 seasons to dance with the six remaining celebrities on Monday night. And they proved to have the magic touch step for many of the stars, with Jordan Fisher even delivering a perfect night, getting a 60 out of 60. Sadly, one couple was sent home just before the season 25 semi-finals. 

In jeopardy at the end of the night were Terrell Owens and Cheryl Burke, and Frankie Muniz and Witney Carson. And the latest couple eliminated from the competition was Terrell and Cheryl. “I had a great time, she was a great teacher,” Terrell said. “I couldn’t have asked for anything more.” 

But there was silver lining for Terrell: a possible new romance!

Here’s a recap of the night’s performances: 

Terrell Owens and Cheryl Burke: 27/30 Started  from the bottom…and now they’re one of the top performers…just to be eliminated. Hate it when that happens. The NFL star’s ’20-style Charleston (which he didn’t even know was a dance until this week)! drew rave critiques from the judges. “The king of the cotton club,” Bruno Tonioli, weird as ever, said. “I love the way you captured the sense of style, time, and place beautifully.”

For his trio dance, Terrell and Cheryl teamed with the OG DWTS winner Kelly Monaco, and it seems like sparks may have been flying between the single T.O. and Kelly. “That man is sculpted out of heaven,” Kelly gushed, and later promised to go on a date with him if they got a perfect score. Sadly, the judges weren’t down to play wingmen, all wishing for more choreography. They received a 24/30, but some of the troupe dancers did Terrell a solid and awarded him a 30/30! Anyone else rooting for Terrell and Kelly to actually go on that date? Talk about a hot couple. 

ABC

Drew Scott and Emma Slater: 22/30 Coming off of a great week, the pressure was on for the Property Brothers star with his waltz, which he was dedicating to his fiancé, Linda. “She’s that one person in my life that I couldn’t live without her,” Drew said to Emma, adding, “Just like you and Sasha.” Awww! While the judges liked the emotion in the performance, Carrie Ann Inaba said Drew “stiffened” a bit and Len Goodman noticed he loses his frame a lot.

Last season’s winner Rashad Jennings joined the couple for their trio, with the champ turning into Drew’s “swag coach.” The judges felt Rashad definitely upped Drew’s game, but did note he had a hard time keeping up at times. 25/30.

Victoria Arlen and Val Chmerkovskiy: 24/30 As if dealing with being in jeopardy last week wasn’t enough, Victoria suffered a spasm in rehearsal earlier in the day, but was able to push through the pain to perform their tango. For the judges, it was good, not great. “I didn’t feel as strong as I felt before the spasm. But overcoming that, getting out of that scared mindset helps me go out there,” Victoria said. “It wasn’t as good as it could have been, but given the circumstances, I’m very happy with it.”

The Paralympic gold medalist was paired with Olympic gold medalist Laurie Hernandez, with the duo bonding over their love for Star Wars and sharing a fun energy. Again, the judges critiqued the acting portions of Victoria’s performance. “It was not a gold medal performance, but you’re definitely on the podium,” Len said. 24/30.

Lindsey Stirling and Mark Ballas: 26/30 Speaking of rebounding from an injury, Lindsey was still dealing with her serious rib injury, and was dealt one of the toughest dances, the paso doble, to conquer. “I’m really taking care of my body, I can tell it’s not swelling,” she said. “And I worked on getting my spirit back. Now that I feel like I’m not broken anymore, I feel like I can do it.” However, Len noticed she “didn’t look quite as sure-footed” as she usually does, and Carrie Ann admitted it looked “funky” at moments.

Kristi Yamaguchi is back in the ballroom to dance, which is funny for Mark has he has said all season that Lindsey reminds him of his old partner. And their jazz really jazzed the judges, with Len calling their performance “terrific.” After that, it was weird to see them get a 28/30 and not a perfect score. Something feels fishy…and not just because we learned Mark likes to smell his partners’ shoes to gauge how hard they are working. (Ew. But effective!)

Frankie Muniz and Witney Carson: 26/30 Where do you go after you receive a perfect score? For Frankie and Witney, it was a romantic waltz, and for the Malcolm in the Middle star, he was still battling his own self-doubt.  But he had no reason to doubt himself, really, as Carrie Ann said “that was the closest thing to perfection” of the night. And after their dance, Frankie sort of promised: “If we make it to, like, week eight or nine, which hopefully we do, I’ll take my shirt off.” Get to voting, Frankie fans. (But he did look TERRIFIED.) 

Fan-favorite Alfonso Ribeiro returned to dance with two of his old friends, as he won with Witney and has raced with Frankie in the past. Witney noted how similar her two partners are, with Alfonso saying, “It’s that child actor thing.” Their jive was well-received by the judges, though Carrie Ann did note Frankie’s nerves. 27/30.

Jordan Fisher and Lindsay Arnold: 30/30 Though he received a perfect score, his group score from last week knocked Jordan into fourth place. So Jordan was putting a lot of pressure on himself to deliver a perfect quick-step, noting he wants to help Lindsay win her first mirrorball (she’s the only pro remaining that has yet to do so). And guess what? He delivered, receiving a standing ovation from Len. Looks like we finally found something better than a 10 from Len!

Talk about a perfect pairing: Former Disney star Corbin Bleu showed up to perform with the former Disney star. And Jordan revealed seeing Corbin in High School Musical inspired him to pursue a career in entertainment. “I’ve never seen a mixed kid doing movies and TV. It’s like, that’s what I want to do.” After many bro-hugs, their fast-paced salsa rendered the judges speechless. As for Len, he said, “Normally they say two is company, three is a crowd. On this occasion, three was perfect.” 30/30. DUH.

DWTS airs Mondays at 8 p.m. on ABC.

Source link