#and she hits me with the most petulant 'well its not like anyone in this house listens to me anyways' ever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

somnambulants · 3 years

Note

omg i think it’s considered a little bit of a pride mont hate crime that you don’t have MORE nat fics 🥺 so hehehe how about i request some pouty jealous!nat?

Notes: omg thank u! happy pride 💛 this went super off topic BUT i hope you still like it! jealous!nat is my new favorite thing.

Summary: Natasha may have a little bit of jealous streak. You discover you don’t mind. Word count: 3.8K

You are not a jealous person.

That’s not to say that you aren’t prone to bouts of insecurity, you definitely are, and especially at the beginning of your relationship with Natasha. For the first few months after you’d begun dating, you’d been on edge the entire time; in a constant state of wondering, agonising, for the day she’d finally realise you weren’t good enough for her and up and leave.

Through all of that, you’d never given a lot of thought to whether your girlfriend is the jealous type. Mostly because Natasha is the most beautiful person you’d ever seen but also because it’s not like she would ever have a reason to be jealous; the minute you’d met, you had never so much as wanted to look at another person.

The thought never crossed your mind. It was laughable to you.

As unbelievable of an idea as it is, you’ve been together for just a few months when it slowly begins to dawn on you that you may not be the jealous type, but Natasha most definitely is.

In all – although admittedly, there weren’t a lot – of her relationships, Natasha has never cared enough to worry about being jealous over a significant other.

This is why the visceral reaction she has to watching people flirt with you comes as such a surprise to her.

The first time it happens, you’d only just begun dating and were at one of the many events the avengers were required to attend. Still wanting to stay as low-key as possible, you’d both privately agreed to not spend the night attached to one another.

Something Natasha is now beginning to regret. Immensely.

Currently, you’re across the room, talking to a woman Natasha vaguely recognises as a reporter and all she can focus on is the way the woman is looking at you.

It makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up because Natasha knows that look; has given you that look many times over the course of your relationship – a hungry, I want you right now, kind of look.

“Nat!”

Steve suddenly materialises beside her and the fact that she didn’t see him coming is evidence of how distracted she is. It makes her scowl even harder. Taking in her expression, he all of a sudden looks like he’s trying not to laugh as he follows her gaze to where you were standing. “You feeling okay? You’re looking a little…green.”

She resists the urge to kick him in the stomach. “Bite me, Rogers.”

He snickers and starts to say something else, but whatever it is, it’s lost on her as the sound of your voice across the room acts as a honing beacon and regains her attention immediately.

She watches, grip tightening around her drink, as you throw your head back, laughing at some joke the woman must’ve made. Seeing this as a green light, the woman leans in, brushing a lone piece of hair over your shoulder.

It doesn’t matter that Natasha can see how your spine immediately straightens up, or how you step back to widen the gap between you and your admirer.It doesn’t matter that you very clearly don’t return the attention being given to you.

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters because all Natasha can see and feel is red. If she had the ability to burn people with her eyes, that woman would have been incinerated on the spot. There wouldn’t even be tiny little dust particles left behind.

In the midst of her rage, she doesn’t even register the glass in her hand shattering until she’s covered in glass and red wine and there’s blood running down her wrist.

The sound of the glass breaking makes a good portion of the room’s occupants turn around to stare, you included. Instantly, you’re at her side, cradling her hand between your own.

“What happened?”

In its current state, Natasha’s brain seems to be lacking its usual quick thinking, and she just stares at you dumbly for a second until she spots the reporter you’d been talking to skulking in the background, watching with a petulant look on her face, evidently irritated by the interruption and the white-hot rage comes flooding back even more ferocious than before.

God, that insipid woman is lucky this event was specified no weapons allowed because if Natasha had a gun right now, she --

“--Natasha?”

You’re looking at her with worry in your eyes and as much as she’d love to go ‘accidentally’ push that woman off the edge of this very tall building’s balcony to a very certain death, she feels her insides soften into mush as they often do when you’re around.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Accident.”

It’s a flimsy excuse and one that wouldn’t fly on a normal day, especially not with you. She watches you purse your lips, giving her a doubtful look but you seem to make the decision to let it go as you lead her out of the room with the intent to find something to clean her up with.

You may not be a trained spy or even the most perceptive person on your best day, but you can still sense it when something is up – especially with Natasha. After the party, you’d had an inkling that maybe your girlfriend wasn’t telling you the whole truth and that something else was actually going on but after seeing the look in her eye, you hadn’t pushed her.

In spite of her unwillingness to share, a few weeks later your inkling is confirmed.

“I’ll order this time,” you yell over the loud music at the bar you were currently at. It was not your scene at all – or Natasha’s but Carol had recommended it on her last trip back to this earth and after a long, long week, you’d both agreed you deserved a night out, away from avengers’ duties and this is where you’d ended up.

Natasha gives you a nod and you stand, only having to wait at the bar for a few seconds before the bartender makes a b-line for you, ignoring the grumbles from the patrons that had been clearly waiting a lot longer than you.

“What can I get you?”

You recite Natasha’s drink, then your own and the bartender makes them with record speed. When you try to hand her the bill to pay, she waves her hand dismissively and gives you a grin. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t –“

The bartender, who you now realise is quite pretty, runs a finger along the back of your hand and gives you a wink that is definitely more flirty than friendly. “Believe me, it’s my pleasure.”

You sigh in defeat, giving her a smile in thanks and turn back around, making your way back to your table in the corner of the room where your girlfriend is still sitting but now with a face like thunder.

To anyone else, Natasha would probably look neutral but to you – well, you can see the irritated look in her eye and the slight crease between her brows and you know she’s pissed.

In the future, you’d look back and want to slap yourself for not seeing it straight away but in the present it just makes you a little worried.

“Everything okay?” you ask, setting the drinks down on the table. You think about all the possibilities of what could’ve happened in the short time you’d been gone and try not to panic. “Did something –"

“No,” Natasha says and then seems to realise the sharpness in her voice because her face softens in apology. She leans over to give you a quick kiss and it makes you relax slightly. “Everything’s fine.”

Comprehension starts to trickle in when she scoots over so she can wrap an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, and when you follow her line of sight, you realise she’s glaring over your head at the bartender, who pales immediately and doesn’t so much as look in your direction again.

Oh, you feel your eyes widen as it finally hits you: oH.

You look down into your drink and try to hide your disbelieving smile as you finally understand: she’s jealous.

If it were anyone else, you think you probably wouldn’t feel like this – would likely be outright irritated and a little offended at the behaviour -- but with Natasha you can’t help but find it kind of … cute.

A little giddily, you lean over to press a kiss to her jaw and feel her relax a little against you. “Wanna go after this one?”

Natasha’s face doesn’t change but you see a little shift in her eyes as she nods and pulls you in for another kiss, this one a little more heated – for your benefit or the bartenders, you don’t know, and don’t particularly mind either way as you let yourself get lost in it.

After that night, it becomes so apparent to you and you don’t know how you’d missed it all this time. It happens all the time. All. The. Time.

On the street, if someone so much as glances your way, she’s already staring back at them with an expression that would be terrifying even to you if she directed it your way.

At work one day one of the new recruits, a kid, really, comes up to you and asks you, voice trembling if you’d let him take you out someday and the next day Natasha knocks him on his ass so hard and so many times that you’re kind of surprised – and a little impressed—that the poor kid doesn’t quit right on the spot.

Even in your apartment building, one of your maybe-slightly too friendly neighbours gets similar treatment in the elevator one night when you and Natasha are returning to the building at the same time as her.

Just as you enter the elevator, you hear the voice of your neighbour calling out.

“Hold the door!”

Panting, your neighbour enters the small space. “Thank you so much, I have had the worst, oh –” her eyes land on Natasha beside you and she looks at her with something you can’t quite place in her eyes. “Who’s your …friend?”

“Oh!” you exclaim and you know you must sound surprised. Was it not obvious from how Natasha was always here that you were dating? “This is Natasha. My girlfriend. Nat, this is Charlotte, my neighbour.”

You can see Natasha in the reflection of the elevator walls, so you see the smug self-satisfied look she gives your neighbour as she wraps an arm around you possessively.

So, yes while you notice it all now, you still don’t say anything because a small – and by small, you mean large, massive actually – part of you kind of likes it; likes the fact that the Natasha Romanoff, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life is somehow yours and even more unbelievably, somehow she thinks you’re worth getting worked up like that over.

At this point, you’ve been dating for over a year and somehow it must’ve slipped the memo to let all of the avengers know because somehow every time you’re at the office, it seems like a new person is finding out about your relationship.

It’s really hard to keep up with everyone and their individual missions, which is how you find yourself in your current predicament.

“--ah, well-well,” a familiar voice calls out and you look up from the report you’d been studying. “If it isn’t the most attractive and coincidentally my favourite honorary avenger.”

In the doorway of your office, Sam is grinning at you in that playful, flirty but also joking kind of way that’s distinctly Sam Wilson. You grin back and stand to let him pull you into a hug.

“Did you just get back?” you ask, vaguely remembering him telling you he was going on a mission at least six months ago. You think it was in Istanbul, but you can’t quite remember the specifics.

Sam pulls back and goes to open his mouth but doesn’t get the chance to speak as Natasha appears in the doorway.

“Samuel,” she drawls his name, eyeing his arm around you. She visibly brightens up when she looks at you, though. “Y/N”

You can’t see yourself, but you know your face must light up as your eyes land on her by the sudden realisation that crosses Sam’s face. The casual kiss she drops on your cheek comes as confirmation.

His mouth drops open as he looks between you both. “Oh damn, you two?” he asks, smiling genuinely. “Damn!”

To the naked eye, Natasha doesn’t seem amused by his revelation, but you know her well enough by now to be able to spot the glimmer of humour in her eyes.

Sam, however, doesn’t seem to be adept at reading her as you are and so when she advances a little closer, his eyes widen and he immediately backs away.

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” he exclaims, hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry!”

The expression on Natasha’s face turns sinister in nature. You watch and try not to laugh at her theatrics, attempting to adopt a sympathetic expression when he desperately looks to you for help.

“Well,” Natasha says, faux-friendly. As she passes by him, she gives him what looks like a bone-shatteringly hard arm squeeze – if the pained expression on Sam’s face is any indication -- and comes to stand beside your desk. “Now you know, buddy.”

“That I do,” he says, backing up until he reaches the door. “Anyways, I gotta, uh –"

Not even finishing his sentence, he high-tails it out of the room so fast you barely see him leave. You turn to Natasha with a frown. She looks back at you innocently, but you catch the way her lip twitches a little bit before she breaks into a full blown smirk.

“You’re going to give someone have a heart attack one day, you know,” you say, half-serious. “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t already.”

Unbothered, Natasha shrugs and reaches out to tug you closer to her in order to kiss you, a little more intensely than you would normally allow at work. You melt into it with a sigh, smiling a little.

Eventually, you have to pull away when you start to struggle to breathe and your head starts spinning. Natasha makes an unhappy sound, trying to follow, but you stand firm.

“Nope, you’ve got to go before I’m the one that has the heart attack.”

With a pout, she gives you one more kiss before she gives into your request.

You’ve never seen Natasha drunk before – hadn’t even thought she could get drunk but tonight she’s definitely wasted -- all thanks to Thor and whatever is in the mead he’d bought with him.

One thing you quickly realise about drunk Natasha is drunk Natasha also means confrontational Natasha.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about –”

Her and Tony are almost nose to nose at this point, about ten minutes into what was now a heated conversation, and you’re kind of wondering if either of them even knows what they’re arguing about. You don’t think so and by the looks on the other avengers faces, they seem to have as much of an idea as you do.

As Natasha and Tony continue to argue, you look to your left and the young waiter who’d been hovering by your table a little too attentively all night is immediately by your side.

So Natasha can’t see you, you quickly mouth the word water to him and thankfully he seems to understand because he gives you a quick nod and then disappears, reappearing just as swiftly with a glass in his hand.

“Here, Miss –"

“No!” Ending her argument with Tony as abruptly as it began, Natasha jabs a finger at the waiter, who looks to you for help while she glares up at him balefully.

The poor guy looks terrified, so you quickly intervene, touching Natasha’s knee to bring her attention back to you. It does the trick, but she seems to underestimate how close in proximity you already are and she ends up half in your lap to the delight of the other avengers in attendance, who all let out various different whistles.

“Mine,” she says childishly into the crook of your arm. You only just manage to pick it up so you know you must be the only person who heard her. With your help, she sits up a little and makes eye contact with you as she repeats herself, more seriously, as if you hadn’t understood the first time: “mine.”

“I – oh --okay,” you say, grabbing her hand as it starts to creep a little too low to be polite in your current company. “How about we get you home?”

After hurriedly saying your goodbyes, twenty minutes later you park in your driveway and begin the not-so-small feat of getting her inside.

“Damn,” you grunt a little under her weight as you help her up the stairs to your apartment. “What do they put into that Asgardian mead?”

You make a mental note to ask Thor about it and then promptly forget as you reach your front door and fumble around, looking for your keys.

Even in her inebriated state, Natasha somehow pulls herself together enough to reach into your bag and pull them put for you so you can unlock the door.

Which she promptly falls through. You just manage to catch her before she hits the floor, and she leans against you, burying her face into your neck.

“Come on,” you order gently, softening as she groans into your skin. “Bed.”

“No.”

As if to emphasise the word, Natasha shakes her head, but to your surprise, she starts to make her way to your bedroom anyway. She’s still a little unsteady on her feet but nothing like you’d be if you’d drank as much as she had. If it were you, you would definitely have been comatose about seven shots and multiple hours ago.

“Alright, you get into bed,” you say. “And I’ll get you some water, okay?”

Natasha scowls. “No,” she says. You bite your lip to hold in your laugh at the petulance you hear in her voice, shadowing her to the bed, where she immediately sits down and attempts multiple times to take off her heels with little success.

“No?”

Finally having enough of watching her struggle, you lean down and undo the straps of her heels, gently pulling them off her feet. You watch as she flops back on the bed and then covers her face dramatically with a groan. “You don’t get it,” she says unsteadily.

“I don’t get what?”

“You’re mine,” she repeats her earlier words, uncovering her eyes to look at you.

You raise an eyebrow. “Am I now?”

You thought you’d managed to cover your amusement pretty well until you see the glare she shoots you that says she can see it loud and clear. After a beat of silence it becomes clear she’s not going to say anything else.

With difficulty, you slowly manage to get her into a sitting position and help her out of her dress, pulling the covers up around her and retrieving a glass of water that you place on her nightstand so she can drink it in the morning.

You then change yourself and go the bathroom to remove what makeup you’d had on. To your surprise, she’s still awake when you emerge, half-propped up against the headboard and looking at you with bleary, unfocused eyes. It makes your heart turn to mush immediately and you get into bed beside her as quickly as your feet allow.

She immediately curls up into you and you wrap an arm around her, pulling her as close to you as humanly possible.

“I am yours, just so you know.”

There’s a second of silence where you start to think that maybe she’s fallen asleep, until she shifts against you to meet your gaze, looking a little more alert and coherent but still out of it.

“Good,” she says softly.

The next morning, you wake before Natasha and slip out of bed to make her coffee and to find some pain killers, having a gut feeling she’ll probably need them. Your feeling turns out to be right. When you re-enter the bedroom, she’s laying face-down but clearly awake by the muffled groaning you can hear coming from her.

“Whys’it so bright,” she mumbles into the mattress as you approach the bed, turning her head ever so slightly so she can meet your eyes. You grin down at her.

“Ah, it awakens.”

She scowls up at you and you laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek as you slide back into bed, careful not to jostle her too much. She leans her head against your leg, slowly sipping the glass of water you’d left for her last night before reaching for the coffee on the nightstand.

You fall into a comfortable silence; you running your hand through her hair as she drinks her coffee, humming contentedly.

“How are you feeling –"

“I don’t like it when people look at you,” she interrupts suddenly, staring down into her coffee mug and sounding uncharacteristically nervous. You freeze but since she’s not looking at you, she doesn’t seem to notice. “But it’s not because of anything you do. I just don’t … like it.”

“Okay?” you hedge cautiously, not really understanding.

“I’m sorry if it bothers you,” she says. “Me. Being like that. I didn’t know I was even the type to –"

“It doesn’t bother me.”

At your quick interjection, she looks at you for the first time and whatever she sees on your face makes her smile faintly. “It doesn’t?”

You bite your lip. “Not at all.”

She mirrors you, now smirking. “Oh.”

After this, it starts to become a game: one you feel like you win every time.

#natasha romanoff x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Hue and Cry XIX

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, violence, attempted assault, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader finds herself at an impasse.

Note: Things are heating up and we're starting to go full force over here <3

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

Days passed in idle anticipation. You kept Elina locked up with you and she grew more restless by the hour. When Lord Zemo came at night, she was happier but your sense of dread and impatience only grew. When the retinue arrived, you only wanted them to leave, but knowing who was roaming just floors below, you were anxious to strike first.

The baron was ever the voice of sense. Zemo was no beacon of morality, you knew that, but his honesty made him respectable. You considered how blatant he was in his intentions as compared to those other noblemen who painted their bad deeds as gifts. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely trustworthy but he didn’t trying to make you think otherwise.

You did your best to keep your daughter occupied with her many toys and quiet songs hummed out of tune. You bounced her on your hip as best you could with your cane in your other hand and crawled around with her like a dog. She was only calm when she slept as she longed for the sunlight that taunted her through the window.

You began to wonder how long the men would stay; how long you would be expected to stay hidden. Zemo mentioned vengeance and you dreamt of it every night. It was the only thing that kept you from quaking in fear and panic.

Tess brought your dinner and you placed it on the low table and sat on the floor with Elina and ate. You gave her tiny morsels to chew on or toss back at you. She was an energetic kid, stubborn and strong, and seemed to find fun in even the most dull tasks. You hoped she would grow up to be happier than you. Surely, she’d be more bold and more blessed.

As you chewed on some chicken, you heard that familiar knock on the door. Tess always gave a tiny tap and called through the wood but Zemo always gave that rhythmic beating. It was the latter, he was early that day. It made you worry as you left Elina to squeeze a piece of sweet potato and stood with your can dug into the wood.

You crossed to the door and turned the latch slowly. You opened the door and leaned heavily on the wooden stick, “well, you are earl--” your voice hung in the air as you stared at the familiar face, though it wasn’t Zemo.

You pushed the door but the man caught it and kept it two inches from the frame as he came closer. Peter’s hand trembled as he clung to the wood and gaped at you. He shook his head and blinked dumbly. The two years had given his face character and his shoulders a little more width.

“You’re alive?” he breathed.

“You can’t-- you have to go,” you pushed the door with a grunt, “please, go.”

“I thought… I thought you were dead,” he croaked, “I thought I--”

“Go away. Please!” you begged, “I can’t talk to you.”

“Or you won’t talk to me?” he challenged as he shoved his foot between the door and the frame, “how--”

“How did you find me?” you gasped.

He lowered his eyes and guiltily and clamped his lips shut. He sniffed and looked at you again, “I thought Zemo was hiding something from us. I followed him last night and listened… I couldn’t hear anything, I only saw him come here and knock.”

“No one else can know,” you said, “you can’t-- please go and don’t tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t but-- I want to talk to you,” he insisted.

“You can’t. It’s too dangerous,” you argued, “you must go. If Zemo discovers you--”

“I don’t care if he does. Don’t you understand, I--I-- I thought I killed you.”

You were silent as you stared into his face. You saw the pain in his eyes, the shock laced with relief. But it was all tinted with the guilt he’d carried since that day. The false guilt you’d given him.

“I’m sorry, Peter, it was the only way out--”

“My aunt cried everyday for you and she never let me forget what you said to me. I never could forget,” he hissed.

“I know, but you have to--” Elina made a noise as she came over and clung to your leg, smearing food down your skirt. Peter looked at her and his lips parted in surprise, “no one can know about her.”

He nodded and gulped. He looked up and down the corridor. “I wouldn’t tell but I can’t go until we talk, I…” his voice cracked, “I need to tell you I was wrong. I lied.”

“El,” you bent to wipe her face and lifted her, “please, stay here,” you bid Peter as you turned and hobbled across the room.

You placed her in her cot, thought she only began to fuss, but you shoved a stuffed caribou into her hands and left her to poke its eyes. You went back to the door and found Peter staring at your cane.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “that’s my fault,” he nodded to the cane, “and that,” he looked to the scar down your face, “I saw it. I tried to follow you that day but I wasn’t fast enough and you were--”

“No, it wasn’t you. I said it was because I could. I couldn’t tell the man who made me do this so I told you instead. That was unfair and unkind,” you blinked away tears, “and I hurt more than just myself.”

He mulled your words and picked at his sleeve. He dressed finer than the last you’d met, “I didn’t mean what I said to Barnes. You were sweet to me and my aunt told me what you were, he told me you were worse, but I didn’t truly care. I only knew he was hurting you and I was making that worse so I thought if I stayed away, he’d stop.”

“No one can stop him. No one. Those men, they cannot be stopped. They are evil in the flesh, they are borne to greed and cruelty. They only see what they can get, not what they can give because they won’t ever be denied--”

You heard a clamor, the pounding of footsteps from the stairway, and the frantic breathing of whoever was approaching. You opened the door further and pulled Peter inside. You shut the door and leaned against it with him as you listened and watched through the crack.

“Away, away,” you heard Melinda’s airy pleas as she swept past your door, “please, sir, away!”

“I just want to play a little game,” the deep voice made your blood curdle then the realisation of what he was doing made it boil even hotter. You gripped your cane as Peter frowned at you, “come here, pet, I don’t bite.”

Melinda squeaked as Lord Rogers’ footsteps slowed and you heard the struggle that followed. The muffled collision of her body against the wall, the small girl’s broken breath as it was knocked from her, and his lewd growl as he pounced.

You pushed Peter away from you and tore open the door. They were closer than you thought. Just against the wall opposite your room. Lord Rogers’ body shielded the girl’s body almost entirely. You raised your cane without a second thought and brought it down on his shoulders.

As he exclaimed and staggered, you hit him again, the time in the back of the head. You swooped your cane down and banged his knees so that he fell onto the stone. You hit him again in the side as he wheezed and you stood over him.

“Bastard! Bastard!” you hit him as the young maid and the other lord watched in shock, “how dare you? You beast!”

Peter grabbed your arm and stopped you as Rogers rolled onto his back and coughed. He groaned as he reached to his head and you were pulled away from him. You struggled with Peter as you wanted badly to hit him again.

“Melinda,” you said as you struggled, “go fetch the baron. Now!”

She skittered off like a mouse, careful to tiptoe around Rogers as he sat up and gripped his right shoulder where you’d hit him. He chuckled as he looked up at you. He grinned beneath the trickle of blood on his lips.

“Oh, well, what a treat this is,” he mocked, “the whore lives.”

“You’re vile,” you snarled, “I should bash you like the snake you are.”

“Parker,” he spoke to the man at your side, “hold her for me.” He grunted as he pushed himself up and stumbled a little on his feet, “let us remind her of who she is… oh, Barnes might come out of his rooms for this.”

He reached to his belt but Peter let you go. You looked over at him and he crossed his arms and shrugged. You gripped your cane tight and swung it again. The strike caught Lord Rogers across his chin and the next in the tender flesh of his side. You jabbed his chest so he was again on his back but he could barely get his arms up to keep away the storm of blows.

When he was limp and prone before you, you slowly lowered the cane. You quivered as you stared down at what you’d done. His breaths came in rattles. You leaned on your right leg as your left shook and you lifted the carefully carved stick.

You pulled the silver topper until it dislodged and revealed the long silver blade. Peter caught your wrist as you raised the dagger.

“Don’t, it’ll change you. It’ll make you as bad as him,” he whispered.

You looked at him and your hand shook. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks and you heard Elina murmuring, louder and louder as she wondered where you were. You sheathed the knife and plunked your cane down on the stone.

Footsteps drew you back to the end of the corridor as Zemo appeared from the stairwell. His face dropped as he saw you standing over Rogers. He took a breath but did not look angry.

“Well, I did hope to delay this a little longer,” he said as he approached, “but that Rogers was ever the petulant pest.”

“I’m sorry, he--”

“Oh, I can guess at it,” he nodded to Melinda as she followed meekly behind him, “I’d have done it myself if I had the displeasure of witnessing his lechery.” He came up to Peter and stopped, “but I will do what I must.”

“He won’t hurt us,” you said, “Peter… isn’t like them.”

“But he is loyal to his kingdom,” he pointed at Peter’s chest harshly.

“I am a viscount. Not a duke or earl even. I serve men like that on the floor because I have to, not because I want to,” Peter countered, “I have no lealty to the men who leave women like this.” He looked at you and bowed his head, “but I will admit I am not innocent of it.”

Zemo looked at you and stilled your hand as it was still shaking. "Do you vouch for him, lady?"

"He is a good man. If anything, I have drawn him unjustly into this mess," you said, "I knew you wanted to wait longer--"

"No use in apologies," Zemo grasped your shoulder and squeezed, "this stalemate would not have lasted forever. I am not entirely unprepared."

Elina began to bawl and Zemo brushed past you. He returned with her in his arms, rocking her until she quieted. He cradled her cheek with a mournful gaze and his lips curved for just a moment.

"Be quick, we must leave before the moon. We will move the lord out of the corridor and be away before they can discover him," he said, "by the morning, the castle should be empty but for our foreign visitors and it will take them some time to return to their home with news of such catastrophe."

"Is he dead?" you asked as you looked at Rogers' boots.

"An ox like him? Not yet, just annoyingly on the precipice," Zemo replied, "if we're fortunate, he'll have some lingering detriment but we cannot kill him. That would be an unforgivable mistake."

You heard a grumble and a croaky chuckle. Zemo turned and you looked down on the dazed duke.

"That is a beautiful girl," Lord Rogers rasped, "looks like her father."

Zemo's pupils turned to pinpoints and he handed you Elina. He bent and knocked Rogers across the cheek so that his head bounced off the stone. The baron shook out his hand as he stood straight and his nostrils flared.

"Lord Parker, was it?" He looked to Peter, "help me move him. We haven't time to spare."

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lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Note

Heyo! Hope your doing exceptionally well, wonderful and ur staying safe! I was reading ur little oneshots for the movie! Verse and instantly fell in love! Think u have anymore for Kai and Lloyd? (But u don’t need to listen to this, obviously hehe) Have a splendid day!

ahhH thank you, I hope you’re doing well too!! :D oh man it’s been so long since i’ve written something for movie-verse, but I’ve had this little snippet in my head for a while so I guess it’s as good a time as any (and it is, of course, about kai and lloyd bc when is it noT)

it’s a little different than what i usually write, for movie-verse? but i hope it fits the bill! (takes place pre-movie, btw)

Of all his friends, Lloyd thinks Kai is most like the sun. Not just for his codename, and the enthusiasm with which he brings fire to the team, metaphorically and far too often literally, but for how bright he is. Kai reminds Lloyd of the sun at full force, strong and blazing and staunchly refusing to let anyone hide from his warmth. An endlessly combusting ball of stubbornness and passion.

Kai also reminds Lloyd of the sun in the way that he possesses about the same amount of brain cells the sun does, which is zero, because the sun has no brain — much like Kai.

“Hey, ru—de, ow, stop—”

Kai’s petulant response strangles off in cracked pain as Lloyd hushes him, simultaneously pulling the alcohol-soaked cloth from his arm with a sympathetic wince.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lloyd murmurs, wringing the edge of the cloth. “But I’ve gotta — it’ll get infected, if you don’t—”

“Nah, s’okay,” Kai says, breath hissing out through clenched teeth. He gives Lloyd a wavering smile that could almost be encouraging, were he not bleeding over Lloyd’s faded bedspread. “Just caught me off guard, I’m good now. ‘Sides, the — the stitches are gonna be worse, so—”

“It won’t be that bad,” Lloyd promises him, cleaning the rest of the deep slashes that run across Kai’s arm as quickly as he can. The lower ones aren’t so bad — he could get away without stitches, maybe. It’s the uppermost one that scares Lloyd, cutting deep enough into Kai’s skin to pose a threat. And Lloyd has no intention of leaving Kai anywhere near in danger, especially with the reason he’s hurt in the first place.

Lloyd swallows against the thick lump that suddenly forms in his throat, trying to banish the flood of emotions that have been rising since the battle against his father’s forces earlier. Surprise, shock, gratitude—? A swirling maelstrom of a deep-seated kind of aching warmth Lloyd is utterly unfamiliar with. It leaves him off-kilter, and words don’t come easily as they usually do.

Not that words ever come easily to Lloyd, but normally he isn’t quite this stuttering. Maybe. He hopes not. Maybe he’s just hyperaware right now, after everything, and he always sounds this embarrassing.

“I promise,” Lloyd continues, yanking himself from his thoughts as he busies with the needle. “I’ve got a lot of experience, and I’ll be gentle.”

Kai watches Lloyd threading the needle with a thinly-veiled fear, but he nods, the bravado Lloyd’s more familiar with making its way across his face. “Nice,” he says. “I trust you, Dr. Lloyd.”

Lloyd’s hands falter with the needle for a moment, before he resumes sterilizing it, ducking his head. Kai sounds like he means it — Kai sounds like he means everything he says, but the way he says trust hits differently, for Lloyd.

They’ve only been a team for few months, now. Not very long at all, to form any kind of trust in the son of your greatest enemy. Lloyd’s been going to school with some of the same people since kindergarten, and they’ve never looked at him with anything kinder than hatred, much less trust. And yet Kai is here, offering him his bleeding arm in Lloyd’s tiny room, trusting him to repair the damage he only took because he was protecting Lloyd.

Lloyd doesn’t understand. He doesn’t — people don’t — but his team—

They listened to him. Actually listened to him, to Lloyd. They actually listen to him in general, have since they were all thrown together in this odd little grouping, but it hasn’t quite hit home in the way it did tonight, when he’d snapped orders at them in barely-restrained panic, Kai’s blood staining his fingers as he’d staunched the knife wounds meant for him.

They hadn’t flinched back at his raised voice. Lloyd never raises his voice — he’s learned to keep it quiet, soft, unassuming. Even the slightest slip of frustration is enough to send anyone around him murmuring in suspicion, eyes narrowing and hissed whispers of just like his father filling the air.

Lloyd’s voice had been sharp and strained, barking across the rooftop, and they’d listened. No one flinched back, no eyes widened in fear — they’d just listened. They’re still listening, carrying out Lloyd’s orders without question, and it’s — it’s dizzying, if Lloyd had to put a word to it.

Cole and Zane are taking care of clean-up — something Lloyd will have to thank them for later, profusely. Neither were particularly happy about letting Kai out of their sights, but Cole and Zane are better at keeping each other steady than anyone else. It was the right call, Lloyd knows it was. Hopes it was.

But Lloyd hasn’t been having much faith in his calls, tonight. Not after Kai went down.

He swallows, focusing on the sounds reverberating from behind his closed door. Nya and Jay are talking with his mother, Nya’s louder tones easier to hear as she laughs. Lloyd knows her well enough to catch the strain in it, but he knows it’ll fool his mother. They’re distraction — Lloyd’s house was closest, and he’s got the best supplies stashed there. No one questions why he’s the one with the fully stocked medical kit, but Lloyd suspects they’ve all drawn their own conclusions.

He wishes they’d believe him, when he says it’s because he’s worried for them. He grew up with Wu as his uncle, who picks fights on a daily basis — with Morro as his cousin, who picks fights on an hourly basis. Lloyd knows the importance of having the good kind of medical supplies.

He finishes prepping the needle, squeezing Kai’s wrist briefly in warning. Lloyd’s not usually a tactile person — not that anyone would let him be — but he knows Kai soaks up touch like a starved sponge, and Lloyd’s desperate to give any kind of comfort he can before he starts with the needle.

Kai swallows, fixing his eyes firmly on the faded glow-in-the-dark stars plastered across Lloyd’s ceiling.

“Okay,” he says, his voice tight. “Bring it on.”

Lloyd swallows, steels himself, and sets the needle against his skin. Kai flinches at the first prick, eyes squeezing shut briefly, but otherwise he doesn’t move, jaw set stubbornly as Lloyd moves quickly. For his part, Lloyd keeps his eyes locked on the stitches, his hands steady. For all that Lloyd’s made up of bouncing nerves half the time, his hands rarely shake. Never when patching wounds up. He’s always been proud of how steady he can hold a needle, and tonight is no exception.

It’s the least he can do.

Kai suddenly tenses up, a broken-off noise strangling in his throat. Lloyd’s heart twists, but he stays steady, rallying himself. Conversation — Kai likes talking, right? Distraction, he can do that.

“So, um,” Lloyd stutters. On second thought, he’s awful at small talk. But — for Kai. “The way you took down that last guy was, it was really cool. Where’d you learn that?”

Kai bites his lip, exhaling shakily before he answers. “I train too, you know.”

Lloyd’s mouth quirks, despite himself. “Not like that.”

“What, a ninja can’t — can’t get creative,” Kai replies, through half-gritted teeth. Lloyd doesn’t say anything, but Kai rolls his eyes, continuing. “Fine. When I was younger, I ah…might’ve taken a few dance classes. For Nya! ‘Cause I couldn’t let her go alone, y’know, but they were — they were kinda fun, I guess, and maybe they slip into fighting, sometimes.” His cheeks darken, and Lloyd bites back a quiet laugh.

“Nothing like Cole, obviously, ‘cause he’s an actual dancer, but — that’s where I got it from.” He pins Lloyd with a glare, that’s somewhat dimmed by the scrunched expression of pain on his face. “Tell anyone and you’re dead though, okay?”

Lloyd hums his agreement, too focused on the stitches to reply immediately. After a moment, though, he speaks up again. “I did some ballet, when I was little.”

“No way,” Kai says, sounding delighted.

“Yeah, way,” Lloyd says. “I’ve heard from a very reliable source that dancing backgrounds are useful, with ninja stuff.”

“Very reliable meaning your uncle,” Kai grins.

Lloyd shrugs. “Maybe,” he half-smiles. Kai suddenly sucks in another pained breath, but to Lloyd’s relief, it’s likely the last one. He finishes off the stitches with a well-practiced hand, snapping the end of the thread and exhaling in relief.

“There. All done.”

Kai’s eyes widen. “Seriously, already?” He glances down at his arm, his other hand moving up to touch the stitches. Lloyd smacks it away, glaring at him.

“Don’t touch. You still have to watch out for infection. I’ll text you instructions for taking care of it, and everything. Just don’t do anything, ah…”

“No ninja-ing?” Kai finishes for him, crestfallen.

“Probably a good idea,” Lloyd says, apologetic. “But it’s not too bad. Shouldn’t take long, and you can be out, uh, ninja-ing again."

Kai is quiet for a moment, regarding his stitches. Then he turns to Lloyd, who is immediately staggered at the bright smile that stretches across his face.

“Cool. Thanks, Lloyd. You’re good at this.”

Lloyd can’t answer, his throat burning. He forces the welling moisture back, looking away. Kai’s only hurt for him, and that is layered with so much more meaning than Lloyd can comprehend right now.

“No problem,” Lloyd mutters, focusing instead on the voices outside his door in an attempt to find footing again. He can hear his mom laughing at something Nya’s said, open and relaxed in a way his mom rarely is. Lloyd’s heart twists into knots.

He doesn’t deserve them, any of them. Not really.

If Kai reminds Lloyd of the sun, then the rest of the team reminds him of stars. All bright and shining, bursting with warmth in their own way. Maybe not quite at the blazing heat that Kai does, but Nya is a north star if Lloyd’s ever needed one. Jay’s a blinking constellation, scattered stars that form a complex whole much larger than you’d thought. Cole’s the kind of star you see first pop up over the horizon, blending with the oranges and purples of the sunset, like a painting you’d see in soft watercolors. Zane’s the early-morning kind of star, the ones that stay stubbornly after the night’s left, dotting the pale morning with a calm steadiness.

Lloyd would be a planet, he supposes, caught in faithful orbit around the five people who have somehow, for some reason, given him a chance. It’d be generous, though. No, Lloyd is content just to be a moon — with no light of his own, reflecting only the brilliance others give him the best he can.

Kai’s finger taps the edge of his forehead, snapping Lloyd from his thoughts, and he blinks in confusion.

“Lost you there, again,” Kai asks, words mangled through a yawn. “Where’d you go?”

Lloyd shakes his head, turning his attention back to the bloodied thread leftover in his hands. His stomach turns, and he quickly sets it aside. “Just thinking.” He pauses, momentarily lost for words. He settles for jerking his head toward the window, where the smoke trailing from their hard-won battle is still visible against the dark sky, and gives Kai a wry smile. “How much do you wanna bet the cheerleading team comes up with a new song tomorrow?”

It’s been an inside joke for them, the ridiculous songs Chen and his gang keep coming up with to throw at Lloyd, and normally it gets a laugh from Kai. This time, though, Kai is silent, his eyes searching as he stares at Lloyd. Lloyd shifts under the attention, caught off-guard again. He doesn’t know what kind of look this is, that Kai’s giving him.

“They shouldn’t talk about you like that,” Kai finally says. His voice is quiet, but Lloyd can spot the brewing anger in it. Kai’s always got anger to spare.

“Sticks and stones, remember?” Lloyd shakes his head. He’s learned, after a while, that anger changes nothing. “Words will never hurt me.”

“Words hurt when people are throwing sticks and stones at you while they yell about your dad,” Kai grumbles.

“No one’s thrown rocks since second grade, actually.”

“Hm.” Kai’s tone is a mix of thinly withheld anger and mild amusement. Lloyd tilts his head, confused, and Kai gives a huff, anger tugging loose.

“Y’know, people say that if kids throw rocks at you in second grade, it means they’ve got a crush on you.”

Lloyd knows well enough it’s a joke, but he flushes red anyways, heat spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah, sure,” he stammers. Kai laughs at his reaction, though, the odd kind of anger departing, and Lloyd feels he’s found his footing again.

They’re quiet as Lloyd finishes cleaning up the medical supplies, Kai nodding sleepily on his bed while Lloyd carefully washes the needle in the bathroom sink. Maybe he can convince his mom to let Kai spend the night, he thinks. Jay and Nya , too — their apartment isn’t very big, but it’s awfully late to make them walk home, and Lloyd is fine with taking the floor, if he needs to.

Lloyd nods to himself, resolving to ask her once he’s finished hiding the evidence. His mom’s been so thrilled about him having people over at all, he can’t see her saying no. A smile pulls at his lips as he listens to the conversation outside his door again. Jay’s rambling on now, bright and excited without any of his usual reservation. He feels a pang, wondering if Jay’s the same as him — wondering if they’re all the same, playing at muted caricatures of themselves, too fearful to let whatever lies beneath shine through.

He wonders what it means, that they’re the ones with the city in their hands, that weight on their shoulders. Wonders what it means, that Lloyd feels safer with bullets strafing the air around him and his mask on, than he ever has with it off. That Green Ninja will always, always sound better than Lloyd in his ears.

“Hey, uh.”

Lloyd starts at Kai’s voice, twisting the sink off as he turns to face him. Kai looks half asleep, but the smile he gives him is bright as ever.

“Thanks, seriously. Not just for this, but for looking out for us. You’re a good friend.”

Lloyd’s heart skips a beat, his brain latching onto the word friend and holding on tightly, tucking it somewhere safe inside his chest.

“So thanks, Lloyd,” Kai yawns, barely awake at all now, but still stubbornly clinging to the threads of awareness.

Lloyd’s got his own thank you to give back, twisted and strangled behind whatever lump’s formed in his throat, but Kai’s snoring before he gets the chance to say it. So Lloyd tugs the edge of his comforter over his friend — his friend — instead, and runs the words over in his mind again and again, like a treasured line from a book.

On second thought. Maybe Lloyd isn’t so bad. He’s only ever liked his name the way his mom says it, without any of the snapping, harsh emphasis others give it. In others’ mouths, Lloyd’s name is a curse. In his mom’s, Lloyd’s name belongs to a person.

But he thinks, maybe, he likes the way it sounds when his teammates use it, too.

#answered #ninjago #tlnm #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #slight blood tw #i just. have a lot of feelings about friends #and a lot of thoughts about how the movie!ninja put each other on pedestals #not in an inherently bad way but #i think they all think so much of each other #they forget they're human #and that leads to fallout #anyways! movie bros T-T #my fic #masterofswag213

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dayurno · 4 years

Text

under the cut is the kandrew throw down of the year™ aka my attempt at reasoning the ch*king scene in therapeutic context. the events in this happen in betsy’s office, on the grounds that andrew asked her to fix them a few weeks after canon. could probably be the kickstarter for a kandreil fic but who knows. i sure don’t

tw: discussions of abuse, choking, kevin flipping his shit (aren’t you tired of being nice? don’t you just want to go apeshit?)

"You’re a spineless, despicable, selfish, obsessed and self-righteous person—” Andrew starts, a tinge of anger simmering under his words. It’s almost dangerous, but Kevin knew Betsy would throw Andrew out of his room if he tried solving this with his fists.

Maybe it’s that safety that has Kevin cutting him off, perhaps just as viciously, “You are a man,” he says, pointing a finger in Andrew’s direction. “You are an average, lazy, boring, cowardly, success-fearing man. You have potential and you waste it. You think feeling nothing makes you have the upper hand, but that makes you average. It makes you so-so; irrelevant; not special. You settle because you’re a coward.” He takes a deep breath. “You think violence makes you a man. It does not. It makes you a petulant child with knives.”

“Not so spineless after all,” Andrew snarls, a cold fury settling all over him and tightening his muscles into unbearable tension, as if he was about to snap.

Kevin does not find fear when he looks for it; most of all, he’s tired. He’s tired of Andrew’s leash and how short it is, he’s tired of pulling at his teeth, he’s tired of up-keeping a deal with a man who did not keep his word in the first place. “Do better, then. Stop acting like a child and do better. You can’t like me if you tried and I’m getting tired of pulling at your teeth.”

“Andrew,” Betsy interrupts before Andrew can — most likely — launch himself onto Kevin, “what do you think? How does that make you feel?”

He stares at her fixedly, avoiding Kevin as if he weren’t there. “I think that I want him out.”

She considers it for a second, then says, “No. I can’t let him leave, Andrew. This is the root of all your issues with each other, and you’ve asked me to fix you two. Let me help.”

Andrew takes a long, shuddering breath, so deep Kevin’s own lungs hurt as he follows it. Inhale; exhale. They do it as parallel lines, eyes pointedly away from each other. “I think,” he roughly replies, “that Kevin could simply go back to the Ravens if he wants someone that gets off to Exy as much as he does.”

“Oh, because that’s so mature,” Kevin fumes, at once the forest fire and the leftover ashes. “It’s so easy for you to throw other peoples’ abuse around, isn’t it? Andrew gets to have boundaries, Andrew gets to keep secrets, but God helps anyone who wants to do the same. No one can touch you, but you can hurt people however you want without a single care for the consequences. Doesn’t sound very fucking healthy to me, Andrew. It sounds like someone I know and you won’t like to hear who it is.”

Andrew’s gaze is stone cold. Kevin would shiver if he wasn’t so deep within the flames, and then again — he's seen worse. If Kevin survived Riko Moriyama, he'll survive anyone.

“Say it,” Andrew demands. “I dare you. Say it.”

“I don’t fucking do what you tell me to do,” Kevin snaps, struggling to keep his voice down. “I’m not your fucking pet, Andrew. Obedience under the coercion of a knife is not the choice you think you’re giving me.”

“Is that how you feel?” Andrew asks, dead gazed. His lips are chapped and his hands are balled into fists; shaking with the strength it takes him to hold himself back from giving Kevin another necklace of bruises. “You were not forced to strike a deal with me. You did it out of your own volition. Do not speak of things you do not understand because you want to lash out at me.”

“He thinks I don’t understand what it’s like to not have a choice,” Kevin laughs, a cynical sound choked out of his throat. “Oh, aren’t you farsighted. Before I got out of the Nest, saying ‘no’ to someone was not even in question, Andrew. There are things I still need spelled out for me because I don’t know what it’s like to have personal fucking boundaries. When you choked me, I,” at this point Kevin’s hands are trembling at the same violent rhythm Andrew’s are, though a part of him — untainted and scared; perpetual in its adolescence — still thrashes at his insides at the mere thought of arguing back, biting back. “I didn’t even know. I didn’t know that wasn’t a thing you should be allowed to do. I didn’t have a name for that. All I thought was that I was submitted to you, and that it was right, and that I was paying for keeping something from you. I didn’t know and you did it anyways. You took advantage of me.”

Andrew’s entire body tenses up. “I didn’t. I didn’t. If you say something like that again, I’ll kill you.”

“Then be it,” Kevin replies, leaning back against the chair with a slump of his shoulders. “Kill me. Do it. Finish the job you started. Live with yourself afterwards. Live your sad, average, miserable life and feel free to tell me if it’s worth it in the end.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Betsy holds her palm up in a quieting motion, looking only slightly tipped off by Kevin’s blowout. It was probably the last thing he’d ever say to Andrew — probably the last thing he’d say at all, if Andrew’s murderous wishes were to be fulfilled — and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. “That’s enough, you two. Kevin, do you understand how heavy of an implication that is? You cannot take it back. You know Andrew’s issues with being taken advantage of.”

“But isn’t it, doctor? Isn’t it being taken advantage of?” Kevin spits out, “Isn’t it taking advantage of someone to hurt them from a position of power, thus rendering them unable to defend themselves? I think it is. I think I won’t allow him to make me seem crazy for being angry.”

Betsy blinks for a few seconds, searching for Andrew’s eyes. Andrew, on the other hand, is perfectly still, frozen from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. There is no pride in Kevin to have made him like that — there is only tiredness, so deep it settles in his bones. His bones; the place he knows Andrew the best in. Kevin sighs, “I’m trying to get better. I’m trying to. But I can’t do that with you using me as your punch bag because you know I won’t hit back, Andrew. I can’t do that.”

“I did not mean to,” Andrew says in a whisper, almost a prayer. “I did not mean to.”

“Andrew,” Betsy calls, her tone unwavering, “breathe. Breathe. You can’t fix this if you’re having a panic attack. You’re with me, you know this. You’re in my office at Palmetto State University. You are safe. You are having a joint session with Kevin.”

“I did not mean to hurt you,” Andrew repeats, and it’s the most vulnerable Kevin has ever seen him. Something in his chest recoils sadly at the sight. “I did not mean to take advantage of you. I was just— Neil— I lost control.”

Kevin purses his lips, allowing his bruising heartbeat to will down. “I know you didn’t mean to be cruel. That doesn’t mean you were kind.”

“Okay,” the therapist sighs, adjusting her glasses. “Okay. Andrew, I don’t think Kevin shouldn’t be allowed to manifest his anger in a controlled environment. You hurt him in a way that hindered his own recovery, and triggered memories of his own abuse. You did not mean to bring those memories back, but it has happened all the same. Kevin, do you think this could be fixed?”

He wets his lips, gently thumbing along the skin of his throat where sickly yellow, green and purple bruises were only a few weeks ago. Andrew follows his movements almost obsessively, and something glossy shimmers under the layer of apathy Kevin knows too well; guilt. Self-loathing. Kevin huffs a soft sound, and answers honestly, “I don’t know if I can forgive it in a way that’s healthy.”

She nods. “Thank you for your honesty. Andrew, do you think there is anything you could do to make it up for him?”

Andrew exhales shakily. “He could hit back.”

Betsy frowns, but Kevin beats her to whatever she was going to say by uttering, “No. I won’t put my hands on you.”

It makes Andrew offer him a weird look, though he’s still far, far away, the guilt now a lot more emptier; cotton-white. He looks speechless, so Kevin completes it for him: “I’m not like them. I’m not like…” like you, he wants to say, but wills it away; it would be too cruel. “I’m not going to hit back. I just want… I don’t know, Andrew. I don’t know what you want me to do and I’m tired of having no choice. I'm tired of having the yes choked out of me.”

“I will make it up to you.” Andrew steadies his gaze onto Kevin’s face, gripping the armrest of his chair until his already pale knuckles turn white. It sounds like a promise. “I will make it up to you. You have my word.”

It doesn’t mean much to me right now, Kevin wants to say. Instead, he answers, “Okay,” because really, what else is there to do? Andrew’s word is the best he can offer. There is nothing else he can promise and not even Exy can mend — whatever this is. Whatever Andrew has made of them.

“Is there anything else you want to say, Kevin?” Betsy asks, gently, her words a feathery touch skimming down the side of his face.

Kevin doesn’t answer, staring directly at Andrew, wishing that he could at least hold his gaze for a second, a minute, a lifetime — enough that Kevin could peel back the years of apathy from him like jackets, meeting Andrew, for once, in all of his mess the same way he has met Kevin’s messes one too many times. “Yes,” he says, and Andrew snaps his gaze towards Kevin with something too akin to shame for it to be any comfort. Still, Kevin holds it like it’s a prize, challenges him, tells him something Andrew might have not believed until now: I am unbreaking. “Wash that look out of your face. It’s a waste of blood and sweat, and I won’t have it in my life or in my Court. You cannot break me. I am angry at you because you tried when you were supposed to have my back.”

“I know,” Andrew answers, his grief razor-sharp and stupefying. “I will not be like them. I will not be like him. I will make it up to you.”

“Good,” Kevin tells him, crossing his arms and baring his teeth. “I’m expensive to keep.”

Betsy looks like she wants to interrupt their relentless stare down; Kevin’s muddy green meeting Andrew’s forest fire hazel, a battle of wills years in the making. Kevin might not hit back outside of Court, but he does not pull away — he is not the man to do it. If it aches in Andrew, then it should ache and ache and ache, until it balances out the pain he caused; until he rots into something new.

He is just a boy, barely a man, a shadow of what someone with such unrelenting morality should be and act like. Kevin looks at him — really looks at him, no bias clogging his mind, and what he sees is what he’s always seen; a boy.

Leave it to the rest of the team to mistake Andrew Minyard for a hero or a villain. Their eyesight is filtered through their own self-beliefs, their opinions are based on their inability to believe others have the same nuance and complexity they believe themselves to have. Kevin Day, though — he has always had perfectly sharp vision, and he cannot be fooled by sharp knives and dead eyed gazes. He came from men much worse; he sat with the horrors of the world, unflinchingly, long before Andrew did.

If Andrew could only be what he pretends he is.

#all for the game #aftg #kandrew #kevin day #andrew minyard #the foxhole court #neil josten #my writing #kevin #andrew

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raelly-writing · 3 years

Text

Tiny Big Demands

Silly 5.4-5.5 fluff that’s been lounging in my WIPs folder for several months. There’s some Thancred/WoL at the end but otherwise it’s mainly uh... nutkin shenanigans.

---

“What the Hells Than..red…”

Frowning, Viana rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face into her pillow to shut out the early morning light. Another sharp, nipping sensation at her other ear followed shortly afterwards, rousing her involuntarily further from her sleep.

Her quiet curse was muffled against her pillow as she blindly reached out a hand to find Thancred and hit his shoulder or chest for the unpleasant wake up call.

But all she found was empty air and cold sheets. Immediately, a harsh sense of disappointment cut through her sleep-logged mind.

Right, he’d be far past the Garlean border by now.

Exhaling, she burrowed back into the covers in a sudden bout of moody resignation. As ridiculous as she felt for missing him so sorely, it was a small comfort that the scent of him still lingered on her sheets, even after the days since his departure.

Maybe she should heed the voice at the back of her head that urged her to rise and face the day, but the warmth of her bed was too comfortable. After the hustle of finding a cure for tempering and applying it to the kobolds, nevermind dealing with a new Ascian’s gloating, she was ready to drift back to sleep, if just for a little while longer.

The soft brush of fur against her arm, followed by a familiar, insistent chittering made her crack open an eye to squint against the morning light. Dark eyes stared back at her, a pink nose and long whiskers wiggling in what could only be described as petulant manner as the nutkin squeaked loudly at her.

Viana blinked owlishly, utterly confused at its appearance. Surely she wasn’t missing Thancred so much she was dreaming about his pet. “Why're you…?”

The only answer she got was another series of high pitched noises. Before she knew it, it’d scampered up her shoulder, sharp claws digging into the fabric of her shirt and soft fur teasing the bare skin at the back of her neck. Definitely not a dream then.

“Ow, okay okay, I’m awake, you little monster,” she groaned, and carefully pushed herself up on her elbows.

If she didn’t know better, she could swear the critter sounded victorious as it scurried up over her head before hopping down onto her pillow. It’s big dark eyes stared up at her as it made a big show of rubbing its clearly empty cheeks while fluffing up its tail in an indignant manner.

Viana snorted and slowly sat up. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she yawned widely, “How did you even get in here?”

Glancing down at the nutkin, she watched as it stood on its hind legs, squeaking up at her.

“Mhm, well, figures,” she muttered drowsily. “Now I assume this isn’t just a friendly visit?” It flicked its tail and gave a singular squeak. It would appear that in Thancred’s absence it’d decided that she was best to see to its needs. “Thought as much.”

Sighing, she held out her hand to the nutkin, and it quickly hopped up into her palm, evidently eager to have its demands fulfilled. “Very well then,” she mused as she climbed out of bed. “Let’s see what we can find for you.”

In response she got a series of satisfied squeaks as it excitedly turned in circles in her palm. Though the stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, she couldn’t bother to find a pair of socks for the short walk - besides, judging by how the nutkin kept chittering while twisting and turning, she doubted such delays would be tolerated to start with.

“Why, I agree, it’s most cruel of him to leave you again so soon.”

Taking her keys from where she kept them on her desk, she left her room and wandered down the empty hallway towards Thancred’s. Well, at least nobody would give her strange looks for walking around in just shorts and a simple top while talking to the small rodent in her hand. “And he didn’t leave you with enough tasty treats?” The nutkin chittered and nuzzled into her thumb when she absentmindedly petted it - a rather abrupt shift from its more aloof behaviour with her in the past, and one that left her feeling oddly manipulated at that. As sneaky and charming as its owner, clearly.

“Just Tataru refilling your bowl with plain seeds and nuts?” she tutted. “How dreadful. You better have a chat with him once he gets back from Garlemald so he knows such things won’t be accepted.”

The nutkin gave a singular high squeak in reply, one paw braced on her ring finger as it peered up at her expectantly. A small smile curled the corner of Viana’s mouth. It really was adorable when it wasn’t driving Krile to the brink of sanity by stashing nuts all around Thancred’s unconscious body.

Or when it decided to demand attention from Thancred just when the two of them were having a private moment.

The moment she unlocked his door and slipped into his room, the nutkin’s attention immediately fixated on one bookshelf in particular.

Her gaze found the familiar wooden box sitting amidst the various books, one she’d seen Thancred retrieve several times. “Suppose you never made a fuss to anyone else before, because nobody else knew where he kept the good treats, hm?”

It squeaked again.

“Well, don’t think I’m going to spoil you just because Thancred’s not here,” she said firmly as she set down the nutkin on his desk, the dark wooden surface being void of any of the document folders and notebooks that usually had occupied its surface since their return from the First.

The nutkin instantly hopped to the edge where it perched atop a discarded book, watching her intently as she took down the simple but sturdy box from the shelf. The heavy lid opened easily on well-oiled hinges and Viana took out approximately the same amount of the big nuts she’d usually seen Thancred retrieve before closing the lid once more.

Before she’d even had a chance to return the box to its place, the nutkin was squeaking excitedly. It stood on its hindlegs, small pink paws already raised as if grasping for its treats.

Viana paused, clicking her tongue. “Such ill manners,” she tutted.

The only response she got was an impatient flick of its fluffed up tail and wiggle of a pink nose as it defiantly stared up at her. It really didn’t have a shred of fear, did it? Sighing, she held out her empty hand and it quickly jumped into her palm, attention honed in on the nuts in her other hand.

But rather than waiting patiently for her to find a bowl for the nuts, it leaned off from the edge of her hand, as if readying to jump.

“Hold on now, no jumping!” Without thinking Viana quickly cupped her hands. A delighted chirp instantly resounded from the nutkin as it surveyed its pile of nuts, then latched onto a particularly big one, twisting and turning it in its hands before starting to gnaw at it.

“My my, one would almost think you’ve had naught to eat for days,” Viana chuckled. Then she looked around, the mirth making way for dismay when she was unable to locate any bowl or other container into which to deposit the hungry critter and its nuts.

Hells, she was too tired for this. With a sigh of resignation, she walked over to Thancred’s reading chair and curled up in it, cold feet tucked beneath her, while careful not to disturb the happily gnawing nutkin that was utterly oblivious to her dilemma.

Viana looked on as it began to make short work of the sturdy shell and dug into its delicious prize within, stuffing it into its cheek for later. “You know, if you’re gonna wake me like this while he’s away,” she drawled, “you could be nice and not interrupt us when he gets back.”

The nutkin paused to look up at her, almost as if it was contemplating her words, before digging back into the next nut.

Huffing out a little laugh, Viana leaned back and closed her eyes. “Well, it was worth a try,” she sighed.

With one thumb she slowly petted the nutkin’s soft fur, earning her another series of happy little noises and the distinct feeling of a nose nuzzling against her hand. Maybe she should just get a box with nuts and seeds and put it in her own room. And a bowl.

It would save her the walk over here every time it decided it wanted some attention.

Yawning, she snuggled back into the chair. Well, she could look into that later today. Before she knew it, the sound of the nutkin happily eating was lulling her back into a light sleep.

---

Thancred carefully set down the sturdy clay bowl on Viana’s nightstand, but the nutkin barely noticed, too busy with digging around amongst the seeds and nuts for its favourites to pay him any heed. For now, at least, he thought as he climbed back into bed.

“Well, I am glad to hear that the two of you got along while I was gone,” he said. “I do apologise though, I did not expect her to bother you.”

Viana made a drowsy noise as she rolled over to rest her head on his shoulder once more. “‘tis fine,” she murmured. “I suppose we did come to an understanding. Even though it required a few early mornings.”

At the sound of her voice the nutkin looked up and squeaked, as if in agreement, before digging back into its meal.

With a soft chuckle, he grasped her hand and - mindful of her shoulder - pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Glad to hear it,” he mused. Why he hadn’t thought of putting a box with the nutkin’s food in her room he wasn’t sure. Unwillingness to intrude on her space, perhaps? Ah, well, she’d taken the step herself.

“Hope this means fewer… interruptions,” she mumbled. Thancred couldn’t help but smile at the sleepy tone of her voice while his chest felt warm and comfortable. Twelve, he’d missed mornings such as this - nutkin interruptions or not - where he just got to treasure her presence. It wasn’t many who got to see the fearsome Warrior of Light in a half-asleep state like this.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” he snorted with a glance at the critter in question.

The only response he got was a muffled hum. Clearly she too was still worn out from the fighting in Pagl’than the day prior.

With a quiet, fond laugh, he brushed his fingers through her hair, prompting her to snuggle closer to him. After giving the nutkin a last pet, Thancred let his eyes fall shut and sleep reclaim him.

#Thancred Waters #Thancred #Thancred x WoL #my writing #ffxiv

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creativenicocorner · 3 years

Text

I think the main reason I’m sharing this, outside of having very little self control, is because I’m tired of staring at it dlfkgjdlg I’ll get out of this writing slump you’ll see!

In the meantime stare away haha

A Terpsichore ch16 sneak peek! //

Better a lynching now than yesterday, he thought calmly.

The changeling wasn’t too surprised of his circumstances, his vision might be upside-down, but, in a morbid sort of inevitable way, everything was back to how it should be.

Human doctors on with their marvelous lives.

Trolls lashing frustrations without much critical thinking skills or thought.

Changelings-

He blacked out. Ever so briefly.

Distantly Walter Strickler felt as though he were laying on a couch. His head in Barbara’s lap. He realized he was smiling up at her, watching her as she relayed a joke.

Something funny Anna had mentioned to Barbara over their last coffee date. Strickler tuned in, in time for Barbara to excitedly say, “And then Anna said ‘so we met over a cadaver - it was liver at first sight’!” and started to laugh and laugh and laugh.

It was music to Strickler’s ringing ears.

At least until he popped back to consciousness with his ears still ringing. The scenery had changed, he was now deeper into Trollmarket. He remembered some of the stalls that Blinky mentioned when he first brought him to the Stronghold.

The fate of being a changeling piñata was all that seemed to await Strickler now. Or so he idly thought as more and more trolls clustered to his honorary pummeling parade - which by now he was feeling rather lackluster about. Sure earlier his heart was pumping to his ears with adrenaline. Feeling like one of those mothers that could lift full cars in order to save their child - which was himself in this scenario - he used to deeply want to save himself. But that go to fight or flight impulse was shot down faster than a migration of mallards during duck season.

It was a surreal experience to watch as more trolls joined the original three. Remarkable how trolls didn’t seem to take much convincing. He contemplated how many of them were truly like minded over their thoughts of his right to exist, or just tagging along out of morbid curiosity. Regardless it was like watching a forrest fire spread.

Every so often Strickler would try to call out, “Jim! Trollhunter!” but didn’t quite put enough heart in it to be heard over the growing cajoling to the others of Trollmarket to join the growing mob. Using the damage sustained by their previous scuffle in the Stronghold as added reasoning to their march.

The trolls wondered aloud how best to go about teaching this changeling a lesson.

Strickler wondered what Nomura would have said to him, at the sight of such a spectacle. And then he remembered she was as good as dead in the Darklands.

Strickler wondered what Otto would say, imagined his golden toothed smile, the chill in his pale blue eyes, and then remembered his betrayal. That Strickler was as good as dead to Otto.

Then, oddly, Strickler found himself wondering what Barbara would say, or how she would treat his wounds.

He found himself imagining they’d be in a quiet space. A living room, either his or hers, he didn’t care. As long as they were together, as long as it was quiet. With a soft breeze blowing through a half opened window. With fresh spring air that wasn’t unbearably full of pollen. The soft sound of gauze being unwrapped. An ever so tender, “Oh Walt.”

But then he remembered she’d never want to see him again, actively looked forward to not remembering him no less. And whatever level of looking after she’d do - would be from civic duty, and a cold ER room.

The thought was merely a fruitless fantasy.

His face grazed against a television pile, jostling, scraping him so blood would leak past his hairline. Strickler felt deserving of the sting.

A good thing about no longer being bound to the binding spell was that he didn’t have to worry Barbara feeling what he would feel. He didn’t have to take care of himself as intently. Though he had already thought about that already - didn’t he? Not that he was confident that he was going to walk away from this. His odds were, not something he wanted to think about.

Soon he wasn’t thinking about anything. He blacked out again.

While unconscious he was imagining a pond. The idea of which folded before him like a pop up book. The pond was full of floating flowers, primarily forget-me-nots, also known as a scorpion grass.

In the pond was a scorpion, who had a flower stuck through its stinger, and was on the back of a most beautiful frog.

“Oh dear.” Went Strickler, “This will end poorly.”

“Must it?” went another voice that was remarkably like his own.

“Of course.” Strickler eyed the stinger. “It is inevitable. Expected even. It’s all in character.”

“That’s a lot of metaphorical pressure to put on a scorpion. It’s only doing its best.”

“But it’ll sting her!” A pause. “The frog I mean.”

“Will it?”

“That’s just how the story goes.” said Strickler, resignation rich in his voice.

“The story isn’t over yet. And besides who says it is the same story?”

“Well isn’t it obvious?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking.” A pause. “What if the story changes? What if just this once, the scorpion didn’t sting the frog?”

“But it’s in its nature. This won’t change.”

“I thought nature was all about change.”

“Yes, well.” Strickler searched for a way to still feel sorry for himself. He didn’t want to feel assured, be given belief of the option to become better. He wanted to sulk in his misery. “Some things stay fixed. There’s no helping this.”

“Some things adapt.” Another pause, this time it was longer. “Did you know there are poisonous frogs out there far deadlier than a scorpion? What if the frog was just as venomous as the scorpion? What if, right now, that scorpion is so far gone just from being on the frog’s back?”

“This isn’t helping. Besides I’m not projecting on the frog. I’m projecting on the scorpion.” Strickler hated how petulant he sounded. He just wanted to be alone.

“Anyways. Scorpion or frog, takes adaptability to become like that, and to grow out of that.”

Strickler made a non-comital sound. He couldn’t stop worrying about that stinger. Besides this voice was clearly not getting the program that now was the time to be miserable. Misery left very little room for optimism. In fact it hurt. Like an ingrown hair.

“Well, enjoy feeling like a villain then.”

“I don’t feel like one, I am one.”

The voice didn’t respond, but Strickler felt confident it was shrugging at him.

He didn’t like that.

That’s when Strickler came back to consciousness again.

They, the trolls, were debating over getting a gaggle-tack or not, wondering if maybe they could hit him between changing. Strickler debated over his feelings on whether he would have preferred to die by the hands of Bular or Gunmar more.

And while the trolls displayed their misguided understanding of changeling physiology with..

“Maybe when we rip his stomach open stones will drop out.”

“Why do you suppose that?” “Well…aren’t they inside out? There was a toy that I found once in the sewers it was, uh, reversible. Wouldn’t that explain where the troll side goes when they look like this? And vise versa?”

Strickler wanted to laugh, but decided against it.

Instead he contemplated over the sheer irony of spending a lifetime being fearful of perishing under the supposed brilliant leadership of Gunmar, only to be beat up and dissected by some gaggle of buffoons.

All that hard work. All that build up of pride. Only to meet an end unsanctimoniously by idiots.

Payback for my own pretentiousness, he gathered.

Now he really wanted to laugh. Something hollow and cold. And Strickler started to, until something (a fist or another blasted video appliance - he wasn’t sure) crashed against his appendix and knocked the air out of him.

It made Strickler think of Barbara, flirting with coffee and appendectomies. Maybe it was the blood rushing to his head - but Strickler welcomed being under Barbara’s knife. If anyone were to dissect him he wouldn’t mind it being her.

It was then that Strickler noticed Krax’s face staring up at him from the crowd. There was a contorted expression on his face that Strickler found hard to read. Immensely so upside down. Was it fear? Was it anger? The foreboding gaze of seeing a potential future should Krax’s identity be found out. Was Krax contemplating rescuing him?

That’d be idiotic, thought Strickler, fondly. Though considering how they left their last conversation Strickler highly doubted it.

He’s probably more worried I’d rat him out. Strickler frowned at the thought.

Thus, with a reasonable amount of changeling honor, Strickler shook his head with a look that Strickler hoped would convey ‘don’t do anything stupid. I won’t expose you. Don’t expose yourself, not for me.’

Strickler wasn’t sure if Krax got the message. He wasn’t sure if the look on Krax’s face was something that resembled sadness. But he did catch Krax lowering his head, and walking away from the crowd.

Strickler smiled at that.

Thank you so much for reading! ♡(´⌣`ʃƪ)

#Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #Walter Strickler #Stricklander #Stricklake #Knife Family #ToA Trollhunters #Ch16 #Nico Writes #Dr Barbara Lake

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hotchscotchh · 3 years

Text

Reimagined; Chapter 4 - Benjamin Cyrus

I don’t think anyone is reading this any more so I’m tagging a few moots who I think might like it? If that’s not ok with y’all just let me know so I don’t do it again <3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Warnings: NSFW >:)

Word count: 2.4k oops

Summary: They take the next step.

Read on AO3

Chapter 3 ---- Chapter 5

Based on 4x3, Minimal Loss

Spencer couldn’t make himself feel anything but self-loathing in this moment. He knew that Emily didn’t blame him, she had made sure he knew that. He knew it wasn’t his fault. It was her decision to tell Cyrus that she was the FBI agent. That didn’t stop him from thinking “it should’ve been me. Why didn’t I step up first? I’m nothing but a goddamn coward-”

“Reid,” someone said, puling Spencer from his thoughts. He looked up to find Hotch suddenly in the seat across from him. He hadn’t noticed the ears streaking down his face until that moment. He hastily reached up to wipe them roughly from his warm, red cheeks. “Oh, Spence,” Hotch consoled, his eyes softening, stoic mask slipping away. “It’s okay. You’re here, you made it out.”

Aaron was obviously oblivious to the guilt that was rolling off of Spencer in big, crashing waves, which was unusual. Aaron was pretty damned good at profiling Spencer. Spencer looked away from him, more tears flooding in, trying to wipe them away before they fell.

“Oh,” Aaron realized, “that’s not it, is it? You know you can’t feel guilty; it wasn’t your fault-”

“Yes, Hotch, it was. And I can feel guilty. I could’ve, no, I should’ve stepped up first,” Spencer interrupted, his voice week, hands tracing anxious patterns on his thighs.

Aaron reached across the space between them and took Spencer’s hand in his. “Reid, you know there’s nothing you can do now. Look, Emily is fine. Maybe a little beaten up, but nothing she can’t handle. She’s alive, and that’s what matters. The only better outcome we could’ve had was you not getting held hostage at all. Nothing you could have done would have stopped it.”

Spencer just pouted and looked away again, appearing much like a petulant child, but Hotch wasn’t going to tell him that. Aaron let out a small laugh that he tried (not very effectively) to disguise as a cough. He took at deep breath and started speaking again. “It’s still Friday.”

Spencer looked at his watch and then back up at Aaron, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “It is. I’d like to stop at a meeting first if you don’t mind.” Aaron nodded and pulled his hand away from Spencer’s, leaning back in his seat and looking out the window.

----

Spencer was exhausted when he came out of the little church his NA meetings were held in. When he got into Aaron’s car, the first thing he said was, “I’m not feeling up to a restaurant tonight. Can we just go back to my place?”

Aaron smiled. “I was thinking the exact same thing. I ordered a pizza.”

As he drove home, Aaron began thinking about the implications of tonight. Sure it was their first date, but they’ve known each other for five years now. There’s not much to learn about someone you’ve already spent so much time with. And, they’ve had a fairly intimate friendship for almost two years now. Was Spencer going to expect sex? He wouldn’t be opposed. He had also done some… research (which was mostly just watching porn) this past week. He thoroughly enjoyed that research, and was excited to put his newly found knowledge to use.

But he was also extremely nervous. This was Spencer. Spencer who was kind and caring and beautiful and everything he could ever ask for. Spencer who kissed him into oblivion on his couch a week ago. Where had the man learned to kiss so well? He’d never seen Spencer as virginal like the rest of the team tends to, but he had to have more experience than Hotch imagined to be able to kiss like that. That made him nervous too.

He shook the thoughts from his head as they pulled into Spencer’s apartment complex. Spencer was already holding the pizza, so he grabbed their go bags from the back seat and let Spencer lead the way. They’ve never done it this way before; Spencer usually comes to Aaron’s place.

When they got inside, Aaron had to try his absolute hardest to not profile the place. It was everything he had expected Spencer’s apartment to look like. The walls were an olive green, not much decoration on them except for his doctorate certificates, a few randomly placed pictures of his mother, and bookshelves, of course. In the living room was a couch, a lazy boy (that was definitely big enough for two, Aaron thought), a coffee table, another small table with folding chairs around it and a chess set on top, and on the wall opposite the couch set sat a short but long bookshelf with a small TV and an expansive DVD collection on top. It also had a bay window. He could see Spencer folded up in the small space, getting lost in book after book after book.

Aaron was snapped back to reality when Spencer said, “you, ah, you can sit if you want.” Instead of sitting, he moved over to stand in front of Spencer, closer than would be considered socially acceptable. “Hi,” Spencer whispered.

“Hello,” Aaron whispered back, bringing his hand up to cup Spencer’s cheek and trace a thumb over his bottom lip before leaning in and trapping that lip in a soft and languid kiss. Spencer gasped, but quickly reciprocated. They kissed for several minutes, forgetting anything they had planned. By the time they pulled away, Aaron had placed his other hand on Spencer’s hip and Spencer had wrapped his arms around Aaron’s neck. “The pizza’s going to get cold,” Aaron said quietly.

Spencer nodded and took that statement to mean that Aaron needed a few minutes before they went any further. “Should I put a movie on?” he asked before sitting down.

“Sure,” Aaron replied, leaning back into the couch with a lazy smile and a piece of pizza in his hands.

They ate in silence, neither one really paying attention to what was happening on the screen in front of them. Spencer eventually gave up even looking at the TV, choosing to fix his gaze on Aaron instead. Aaron quickly felt the eyes on him, turning his head and looking right back. There wasn’t a lot of space between them, so Aaron leaned over and took Spencer’s mouth in a searing kiss. They stayed in that position for a while before Spencer pushed Aaron back into the couch and swung a leg over Aaron’s lap, straddling him.

He ground their groins together, earning the most delicious sound he thinks he’s ever heard from Aaron. “Aaron,” Spencer panted, “let’s go to the bedroom.”

Aaron nodded and watched as Spencer rolled off of him and held his hand out to help him up. Aaron took it and stood, but squeezed it when Spencer started to walk away. “Spence, wait,” he called out. Spencer turned around, confused, quirking an eyebrow at him. “I just want you to know that I’ve never done this before. Not with a man.”

Spencer’s eyes grew darker with lust. “That’s fine, Aaron. I’ve got enough for the both of us,” he replied with a wink. Spencer was giving off an air of confidence, but he was kind of nervous. He was experienced, so the whole sex part was fine. But he has a small cock. Now, he’s not ashamed of it, but he knows that it can be a turn off. He kind of just hoped Aaron didn’t care.

They made it to the bedroom, eventually, walking between the places that Aaron pressed him into the wall to start kissing him again. When they did finally get there, Spencer took his turn in pressing Aaron against the wall, sliding his hand up Aaron’s shirt and tweaking a nipple. Aaron let out a surprised gasp before moaning into Spencer’s mouth and leaning into the pleasure.

“Off. This needs to come off,” Spencer panted, fiddling with the buttons on Aaron’s shirt but not making much progress. Aaron made quick work of the buttons, not removing his mouth from Spencer’s. After he got his shirt off, he quickly moved onto Spencer’s.

Aaron pushed them off the wall and started walking them towards the bed until the backs of Spencer’s knees hit it. Spencer broke their kiss and scooted up the bed a little before laying back, his ass lined up with the end of it. Aaron crawled up the bed and settled over Spencer, pressing his face into Spencer’s neck and slotting their clothed erections together. Aaron ran a hand down Spencer’s chest, stopping only to play with his nipples briefly, earning him plenty of breathy moans. His hand kept working its way down his torso until it reached the small patch of hair just below Spencer’s belly button.

He placed the hand over the button of Spencer’s khakis, removing his mouth from its spot on Spencer’s neck, and looking at him waiting for an answer to the silent question. Spencer gave a small nod and Aaron went to work on opening the fly. It didn’t take long, and when he was done, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Spencer’s boxers, looking up again for confirmation. Spencer nodded again and lifted his hips to allow Aaron to pull both layers off.

“Your turn,” Spencer whispered. Aaron got off the bed, quickly stripping off the restricting clothing and getting back on the bed. “In the drawer,” Spencer started again, pointing to the bedside table. “Lube and condoms.”

Aaron nodded and reached over, pulling open the drawer and locating the items quickly, depositing them on the bed next to Spencer. “Aaron,” Spencer whined. “If we don’t get started soon, I’m going to have to kick you out.”

Aaron gave him a shy smile and nodded. Spencer picked up the lube and asked, “do you want to prep me, or should I do it?”

Aaron thought for a moment. “Will you tell me what to do?”

Spencer smiled and nodded. “Of course. First thing to know, there’s no such thing as too much lube. Get some on your index finger.”

Aaron slid down to kneel on the floor, nodded and did as he was told. Spencer continued his instructions. “One finger at a time. I’ll tell you when I’m ready for more. And start slow; it’s been a while.”

Aaron again did what he was told. He circled a finger around Spencer’s hole (like he had seen in the porn he watched) before pressing just the tip of his finger in, causing Spencer to cry out in pleasure. He wiggled the fingertip for a few moments, waiting for the tight muscle to relax before slowly pressing his finger the rest of the way in, earning him a cry of “oh my god, Aaron,” to which he replied, with a smirk, “we’re often confused.”

Spencer made an attempt to glare at him, but it quickly dissolved when Aaron crooked his finger and found the younger man’s prostate. “Ready for more?” Aaron asked, his cock throbbing, excited to get inside this man. Spencer nodded eagerly and Aaron pulled his finger out (making Spencer whine) and adding a generous amount of lube to his index and middle fingers.

He pressed the index finger back in and thrust for a moment before adding the second. Spencer cried out again, loving the feeling of Aaron’s fingers. He wasn’t able to think coherent thoughts anymore, just that he wanted Aaron inside him. Aaron started scissoring his fingers and Spencer called out, “Aaron! More, please!” He was writhing in pleasure.

Aaron smirked and added lube to his ring finger without removing the others from Spencer’s ass, slowly sliding it in next to the others. He only thrust them a few times before Spencer was telling him, “Aaron, ah! I’m r-ready for you!”

Aaron was excited. He pulled the fingers out slowly and wiped the lube that was left on them on the bedspread. He grabbed the condom he had gotten out earlier and ripped it open with his teeth, slowly rolling it onto his ridiculously hard cock, adding lube to it as well.

He stood up from his place on the floor, bringing one knee up by Spencer’s hip and leaving the other foot on the floor. He pressed his mouth to Spencer’s lips again before lining up the tip of his cock with Spencer’s waiting entrance. He pressed in slowly, relishing in Spencer’s gasps and moans. When he was fully sheathed, he took a moment to breathe, knowing that if he moved now, he wasn’t going to last very long.

“Aaron, if you don’t start moving now, we’re going to have some issues,” Spencer commanded, breathily.

Aaron let out a low chuckle before starting some slow and shallow thrusts. “So perfect, Spence. So beautiful, just for me,” he spoke, not really realizing he was vocalizing it before attaching his mouth to Spencer’s neck again.

“Aaron! Faster, harder, please!” Aaron sat up then, propping himself up on his arm so he could get better leverage. He didn’t last long after that, his orgasm approached quickly, and he collapsed with a cry of “Spencer!” almost immediately after.

He recovered fast though, realizing that Spencer hadn’t come yet. He kept thrusting, ignoring his own overstimulation, and snaked an arm between them, tugging on Spencer’s cock. He had expected Spencer to get louder as he got closer to orgasm, but it seemed he had lost the energy to be vocal and started gasping, his breath almost stopping as his back arched off the bed and he came in thick, hot stripes across his torso.

“You’re amazing, Spencer,” Aaron admitted as he slowly pulled out. He made sure he hadn’t hurt Spencer before heading into what the younger man had identified as the bathroom to get something to clean them up with.

When he returned from throwing the washcloth into the hamper, Spencer had tossed the bedspread off to the side, retrieved a blanket from somewhere, and settled into his bed. “Are you staying,” Spencer asked softly.

Aaron just nodded before slipping under the blanket behind him, pulling the lithe man into his chest.

The next morning, Spencer woke up to a hickey being sucked onto his neck. They had a nice round of slow and sweet morning sex. Spencer told Aaron they were going to have to talk about whatever this was. What would change, what this relationship was going to be, but they decided the conversation could wait. When he walked into the BAU he was greeted with wolf whistles and calls of “Pretty Boy got some!”

Taglist form

Tagging: @ssa-sarahsunshine @sparklinspence @goobzoop @more-heid-pls @multixfandomwriter

#criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #hotchreid #my writing

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nikethestatue · 3 years

Note

What did you think of ACOSF? What parts did you like or didn't like? I enjoyed the book a lot, but I see so many negative opinions and reviews and wonder why that is?

hi Anon!

Generally, I really enjoyed the book as well. In some ways, it was my favorite of SJM’s books. I know that some hardcore Nessian lovers had issues with it, but I wouldn’t consider myself one (hardcore, that is) so I think I was satisfied with most of it.

Loved:

I LIKED the relationship. I know people didn’t feel like there was enough romance, enough talking, enough relationship-y stuff, but I felt that it all worked with the characters. I can’t imagine Nesta and Cassian having prolonged, soul-baring conversations, I just can’t. She is not a talker, and for her to reveal her emotions, even to him, would just be very OOC. She freaked out over the mate talked, after being mated!! I don’t know if he can formulate things verbally either. So to me, getting jealous of her and Eris, of him going through all the trouble of creating the Symphonia for her, him actually being patient with her, supporting her ideas about the Valkyrie, about the priestesses training--ALL of that to me, is LOVE. I think you can talk about love, but you can also ‘do’ love, and he ‘did’ love, with his actions, rather than words.

People hated the hike, for example, and I loved the hike. I loved the fact that he realized the she needed to hit rock bottom, internally, and he allowed her to do that. And then he listened and gave her himself and his attention when she needed it most. Yes, he walked in silence with her, but even if it was brutal, that is what she needed. She needed to come to terms with her self-hate, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do until she did that for herself. So he stayed with her, and gave her that space, and then stepped it when she was ready.

Helion and his pegasus!

Liked:

Valkyrie plot was interesting, though I want to see it realized further. I am also struggling with the idea that all these sheltered priestesses will suddenly rise up and become warriors. So we’ll see. I think we are in infant stages right now.

I liked peeking into the Blood Rite, but I didn’t feel that it was intense enough. I guess based on earlier descriptions, I felt it should’ve been more brutal, fraught with even more dangers, most struggles. Like, honestly, if only 9 people in HISTORY could complete it, and if Cassian needed to HELP Rhys to get to the stone, it had to be pretty harrowing. I didn’t feel it in the description, and the fact that Emerie won it (good for her!), but totally unrealistic.

I am curious about Eris’s subplot, so I want to see where that goes.

For some reason, I liked the trip to the Prison. It was interesting to read, interesting to hear all these tidbits of info, Lanthys, Nesta being a badass and protecting Cassian (see, that’s love too!)

Disliked:

Shit villain. SJM’s villains are usually craptastic, but this one was super extra crispy crappy. Like I don’t even know what the point was. Should’ve just developed Koschei a lot more, made him a more compelling baddie with a 2 book build up, instead of wasting a whole book on that pointless queen.

Amren. Kind of an asshole all around, with bad ideas, and worse attitude. High King? NOOOOOO.

Hated:

OMG, the pregnancy. I can’t even. If I start, it will be a 7K word essay and I don’t think anyone needs that. One point thought that bothered me tremendously is the IC, in its entirety, going along with Rhys’s order not to tell her. Now, if they were just friends, it would be shitty, but ultimately, it’s a “couple” business and there is that. BUT. But they ALL took an oath to protect Feyre. She is their High Lady. So knowing that she will likely die, and not doing anything about it, keeping it a secret from was so unbearably disloyal, dishonest and disrespectful. Both Cassian and Mor raised a HUGE fuss with Feyre before, about keeping secrets from them, about how they swore to protect her, and blah, blah. Well, what happened? Rhys gives an order and they all listen without questioning? It didn’t sit well with me at all.

Nesta apologizing to Amren. Amren? ugh, fuck off.

Feyre, with all her powers suddenly becoming a housewife, who literally does nothing with her time but sits in her studio. I get that it was a Nesta book, but I wanted to see something from Feyre. Because for 2 books now, she does nothing but paints and decorates and cries. Like what is she? How is she a High Lady? What does she do?

Nesta being super petulant about people ‘choosing’ Feyre over her. It was badly written, and silly.

Rhys just being a dick to everybody--Feyre, Nesta, Cassian, Az, Elain by extension. He just sits behind his big desk and lords over everyone.

Sorry for the long answer! :)

#anon ask #acosf spoilers #acosf #nesta x cassian #cassian #cassian and nesta #feyre #nessian #acosf review #a court of silver flames #rhysand #rhysand and feyre #opinions are mine #asked and answered

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

your wonder under summer skies (17/18)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I told you it wouldn’t take as long to get this one up! And to everyone messaging about Walking the Baseline, I have started writing the next part! ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 |

-/-

The swan is staring at her.

It is legitimately staring at her from its spot on her dresser with its beady little black marble eyes. For weeks, Emma has thought it was cute, has treasured its presence in her room. It’s the only thing anyone has ever won for her, which seems miniscule, but when you don’t have a lot, it’s a big freaking deal. That night had been awful, her heart warring with her over Neal and his presence at the fair, but then she had this dumb stuffed animal to hold onto – and squeeze onto instead of slapping Neal, if she’s honest. Killian had won it for her to make her happy, even if just for a little while, and while she hadn’t realized her feelings for him in that moment, she should have.

Anyone who plays rigged carnival games to make someone happy is probably a good person, and Killian Jones is definitely a good person.

A good person who was (is, hopefully) her friend who she then started fucking who then ended that, and now she sits in her room in the dark at seven in the morning staring at a stuffed swan.

What a weird thought process.

What a weird relationship.

What a weird couple months.

When Emma looks back on it, she can’t believe this is how her life has been lately. She ended a half-decade long relationship, had her heart shattered into pieces, and then she made the stupid decision to be friends with benefits with the last person she should have done that with. Who even does shit like that?

She does, apparently.

But the night of Liam and Elsa’s engagement party, she was tipsy and upset and needed to forget the pain. Killian seemed like the perfect person to do that with, especially knowing how easily he does casual relationships. As she now knows, having a casual relationship and having a casual relationship with Killian Jones are two different things.

At least when you’re her.

Now, though, she doesn’t know what relationship she has with Killian. They’re friends, always have been, but things have been…different since they stopped sleeping together. They don’t text as much, they certainly don’t hang out like they used to, and when they do, things are stiff. The conversations don’t flow, arguments fly more freely, and Emma has no idea what to do about any of it. She’s tried not to think about any of it and pretend that everything is fine, but then moments like this hit and it’s impossible. Liam and Elsa are getting married tomorrow, have their rehearsal dinner tonight, and Emma and Killian have to spend time together.

They’re going as each other’s dates.

And she feels like such a cliché at the end of a romantic comedy where people are being forced to gather at a wedding with romance everywhere, where she mopes around waiting for things to get better. That’s not real life, though. Some floral arrangements and twinkly lights do not solve relationship problems, especially when you’re not in a relationship to begin with.

Especially when the other person wants nothing to do with you.

Emma sighs and flops onto her mattress, pulling a pillow over her mouth and loudly groaning into it. She’s pathetic. This is why she hasn’t allowed herself to have any free time since the weekend in the mountains. She’s stayed busy, throwing herself into work and her runs. She’s even read the stack of books that’s been on her nightstand for months, but mostly she’s made sure to be surrounded by friends, even if that does include Killian. David and Mary Margaret, bless them and their inability to read the room, have continuously brought Graham around thinking Emma is open to dating him. She’s not. He’s a sweet man she gets along with and in another world, she might consider dating him. It’s not another world, however, and she doesn’t want to date Graham Humbert.

All she wants is Killian like the pathetic woman she is.

And for the freaking stuffed swan to stop staring at her.

After screaming into her pillow once more and kicking her legs up and down like a petulant child, Emma throws the pillows off of her and shifts from underneath her comforter. Begrudgingly, she stretches her arms above her head, her muscles aching from overuse, and she walks to her bathroom. Slowly but surely, she gets ready, spending extra time washing her hair and shaving while her phone plays music loud enough for her to sing along to. Once she feels alive again, she steps out of the shower, pulling her hair into a towel and walking to her vanity. She brushes her teeth and does her makeup, going ahead and applying the smoky eye she wants to wear tonight. She’ll look ridiculous until the sun sets, but she’s not coming home in between work and the rehearsal and doesn’t want to pack her full makeup kit. It’s the same reason she blows her hair out and curls it before pulling on a black jumpsuit. She’s had it for years, but never had a chance to wear it. It hugs her curves and flares out at the legs. There’s a cutout on her stomach and the cleavage dips, and to cover that up so she doesn’t get fired, she pulls a cropped sweater on top. An hour later, she leaves her apartment and drives through Storybrooke to get to the club.

This is just another day. Emma can make it through.

She’s made it through every bad day so far, most of them a hell of a lot worse than having to eat dinner with Killian Jones by her side.

With Labor Day over and summer beginning to fade away, tourists have fled from Storybrooke and returned to their normal lives. The beaches are empty, the restaurants barely occupied, and Storybrooke Country Club is only frequented by members who either live in the area or who avoid the main summer rush. Walking the hallways alone is odd after spending months not having a moment to herself, and since there’s no one around, Emma takes off her heels and walks down the hallway barefoot. There’s a luncheon in one of their smaller dining rooms, so Emma checks to make sure the linens and the menu are still correct from when she checked last night, and once she’s sure they are, she moves to their nicest ballroom where Liam and Elsa are having their reception tomorrow. They were going to have the ceremony inside as well, but since the weather looks like it’s going to be nice, they’re having it on the deck with the ocean in the background.

She thinks most of this place is stuffy and stuck-up, but she does love this ballroom. The windows are large and look out to the ocean, and if they open the doors, it connects to the expansive deck with string lights hanging over the ceiling. Tomorrow, when the sun sets and those lights are turned on along with the lights inside, everything will be cast in a magic glow. Emma looks around at the chairs lining the sides of the walls and the tables out, and she sighs. Someone was supposed to put everything out, and after calling around and finding no one, Emma starts arranging the tables and chairs herself. It takes her hours, especially when she starts putting out linens and setting the tables, and while florists won’t come in until tomorrow, she marks the places for the arrangements to be set. She nearly calls Mary Margaret and asks her to come in on her day off, but she likes being busy. It keeps her mind off things.

Too soon, though, she’s set up everything she can, and the cooks have started prep work for tonight’s dinner. Emma catches a look at herself in the mirror, sees where some of her makeup has run and her curls have fallen, and she grabs her work makeup bag out of her office and moves to the bathroom where she reapplies her powder and lipstick and brushes through her hair before pulling it into a high ponytail.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“Tonight is going to be fine,” Emma tells herself, rolling her arms to relax her sore muscles and calm herself down. “It’s just like it always is. It’s spending time with your friends but in nice clothes, and you just have to get through a weekend without fighting.”

Emma stops rolling her shoulders and leans forward, fingers curling around the sink top. “Great, Emma. Now you’re having full on conversations with yourself in the mirror.”

Inhale, exhale.

She’s got this. She has to.

Emma looks at herself one more time, does a final adjustment on her ponytail, grabs her bag and walks out of the bathroom with her shoulders back. She sits through more weddings than any normal person should, and this is a weekend to celebrate someone she loves. It’s a happy moment.

Until she walks out of the bathroom, her limbs still shaky, and nearly plows down the bride and groom.

That would definitely get her fired, and she doesn’t think her year could take losing her job too.

“Hi,” she squeaks out, stumbling over her heels before correcting herself. “How are you two? Elsa, you look beautiful.”

“Oi, what about me?” Liam jokes, and Emma awkwardly giggles, still trying to catch up. She needs a reset of today.

“You look stunning,” Emma laughs, quickly hugging Elsa before doing the same to Liam. “Are you guys excited for tomorrow?”

“You have no idea,” Elsa sighs, happy, content, so many things that brides should be but rarely are. “Thank you so much for setting everything up. I know you’ve been by yourself with Mary Margaret taking the day off to do things with us, so I really, really appreciate you.”

“I’m happy to do it for you guys. Promise.” Emma squeezes Elsa’s forearm. “If you were anyone else, I would complain.”

“Well, you know how to make a girl feel special, but I have a feeling you won’t say the same thing when Anna shows up in a few minutes.”

“I have already mentally prepared myself for it.”

Elsa looks down at her phone. “Speak of the devil,” she laughs, holding up her phone. “I’m gonna step away and take this.”

Elsa moves down the hallway, heels clicking against the tile, and Emma is left alone with Liam, the two of them swaying back and forth, eyes never making direct eye connect. She doesn’t know the last time she spent time alone with this man, and at the moment, she can’t think of them ever spending time alone together. They’re not friends, have only started getting along recently weirdly enough, but they always have Elsa or Killian to be the buffer.

There’s no buffer now.

Emma tries to think of something to say, works through a conversation about the weather and the wedding and tonight’s menu in her head, but she never says any of it out loud. Instead, she laughs awkwardly and smiles, wondering how shitty it would be to excuse herself from the room when she doesn’t have an actual excuse.

“You should talk to Killian,” Liam says. Emma’s eyes widen, and she looks at Liam. He doesn’t shift away from her gaze like she was expecting. “I’m not sure what’s been going on between the two of you, but I know that there’s something. I know I’ve never been the kindest to you, but I know that you are good for Killian as long as you don’t decide to break his heart.”

Emma crosses her arms, her heart thumping under her fingertips. She wonders if Liam can hear it or see it the way she can, like it’s the third person in the conversation. “I don’t think you get a say on what I decide to do. Killian’s a grown man. He can make his own decisions. He doesn’t need you putting up some ‘holier than thou’ front to tell his friend not to get into a fight with him.”

Liam steps closer, and with her heels, she’s able to keep her gaze directly on his. “I may not know exactly why the two of you are fighting, but I do know you’re the woman he’s been sleeping with all summer.” Emma’s jaw drops, and she’s not exaggerating when she thinks it may be broken. How? How does he know? “You two should really learn to lower your voices when you’re talking in the morning. I didn’t realize until last month right before our trip, but there was one morning where I recognized your laugh and then your voice was so clear afterward.”

“I’m not – we’re not – he isn’t…”

“Emma,” Liam sighs, pressing his hand to her shoulder, “it’s okay. I’m not trying to be an ass. I know that I am one, but all I want is for Killian to be happy. And believe it or not, I want you to be happy, too. Talk to him.”

Her mind is running at one hundred miles an hour, her heart beating even faster, and her cheeks are so warm they must be as red as tomatoes. She doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how the hell she’s supposed to react to any of that, so she doesn’t. Instead, she makes an excuse, something along the lines of checking on the food for dinner, and then she’s gone, disappearing down the hallway and into a linen closet.

Liam knows.

Liam knows, and he didn’t even blow a gasket. What kind of crazy alternate universe is this? Emma doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything.

(But Liam apparently knows a lot.)

She doesn’t know what to think or say or how she even feels about anything. All she knows is that she still has to make it through this weekend. She can’t spend all of it hiding away in bathrooms and linen closets no matter how much she wants to.

Rolling her shoulders back, Emma takes her seventeenth deep breath of the night, twists the door knob, and manages to slip out of the closet without anyone seeing her. By the time the rehearsal has finished – they did two-run throughs – Emma’s heart has managed to calm down. It wasn’t easy, especially when she saw Killian walking down the aisle, one of Elsa’s cousins on his arm who couldn’t stop laughing at whatever joke he was telling, but she was able to push back the attraction and jealousy and everything else that comes with looking at Killian Jones.

She’s always known he was handsome. It’d be impossible to miss, but tonight as he wears a baby blue shirt, halfway unbuttoned of course, and some fitted Navy slacks, his hair coiffed and beard trimmed, she’s taken aback by him once more. Mostly, though, she’s taken aback by his smile, bright and beaming, and her heart aches missing it.

Missing him.

She stands at the edge of the ballroom as people begin to take their seats, finding the names on cards on the table, and Emma knows where hers is. It’s at the head table, rather undeservedly so, but she’s the best man’s date. She gets to stick by his side.

Right now, she doesn’t know how.

Maybe she hasn’t managed to calm down as much as she thought she had.

Emma catches Killian out of the corner of her eye, still talking to that same bridesmaid, but then he’s walking away and walking right toward her. He flashes a smile, as bright and confident as ever, but there’s something off about it. She can’t pinpoint what, especially when his smile fades as he looks from side to side, almost as if he was searching for someone.

“Hello, love,” he greets before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you. You look nice.”

“Don’t I know it?” he teases, cheeky, before offering her his elbow. She takes it, looping her arm through his, and as her skin presses against his dress shirt, she can feel his warmth. It feels normal, like it has for so long, and while she didn’t forget how much she loves his touch, she didn’t realize how much she’s craved it, craved the new normalcy they’d found themselves in this summer. “Shall we go to dinner and get drunk off our asses as we listen to people give awful speeches?”

“I’d love nothing more. Don’t you have to give an awful speech?”

Killian leans in and winks. “Mine won’t be awful.”

And for a little while, things are normal. She’s sitting next to Killian, and she doesn’t have to think too hard about what to say or do. It’s just the two of them, like it always has been, and the glass of wine she’s had isn’t hurting how calm she feels. They don’t talk much, too much food on their plates and then too many people talking, but just as Emma is telling Killian about how she nearly broke her neck on a ladder today, that same bridesmaid as before interrupts her to start talking to Killian. Emma knows her name is Nora, that she lives in Portland, and that she has no problem flirting with Killian despite the fact that Emma is obviously his date.

But who is she to say anything? They’re here as friends.

They always have been.

Friends, friends, friends.

And the flirting doesn’t irritate her, not really, but the fact that Nora interrupted Emma in the middle of a story does. That’s rude, and while Emma doesn’t have the best social graces, she knows not to interrupt people. Emma ignores the two of them and looks out across the room. She wishes she were at the table with Mary Margaret, David, Ariel, Eric, Ruby, and all of the rest of her friends. Anna and Elsa’s parents have taken up most of the conversation with Elsa and Liam, so she doesn’t even have Elsa to talk to.

She’s miserable.

There’s no point in dancing around it anymore. She’s miserable, her feet are killing her, and she’s ready to go home and sleep until she has to get up. She’s never craved a Monday so badly.

Emma excuses herself from the table, not that anyone really listens, and she hurries out of the room with a pounding heart. She thought it had gone away, but it’s back with a vengeance, making her cheeks heat and her stomach fill with bile. This is the worst. Just, the fucking worst.

She’s in love with her best friend who isn’t even her best friend anymore, and she doesn’t know how to deal with any of it. This summer has been like a rollercoaster, except she hasn’t been buckled in. She’s been holding on with fear and exhilaration, and now, she’d like to get off the ride.

When she hears footsteps down the hall, she knows the end of the ride isn’t here yet.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Did you follow me?” Emma asks, not bothering to turn around.

“Well, when a woman runs off and seems upset, some might say following her is a good idea.”

“I wouldn’t.” “Swan.”

Emma turns, her heels clicking against the tile, and crosses her arms over her chest. Killian glances down, and she realizes his eyes are drawn to her boobs. Typical.

“Go back to Nora, Killian. I’m fine.”

“Nora?”

“Elsa’s cousin. The woman you’ve been oh so fascinated with all night. I don’t need a babysitter when you obviously have other interests.”

Killian huffs and steps closer. “You’re my friend and when a friend leaves a room, obviously upset, I follow.” “Well, if you’d said that a month ago, I might believe you. now, though, I don’t.”

She’s angry, she realizes. Pissed off, actually, and Killian might be here to be kind, but she’s not.

His brow arches, one followed by the other until his forehead is wrinkled, and he steps closer. “What are you talking about?”

“Really? You’re going to play that card?”

“What card?”

“The one where you pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Like, you don’t know things have been different between us since you ended things for no damn reason.”

“Why aren’t you here with Graham?” Killian asks suddenly, and she feels like she’s been slapped with whiplash. Emma isn’t sure that’s possible, but what the hell does she know anymore? “Why the hell would I be here with Graham? You and I agreed that we would do all of the wedding stuff together, didn’t we?”

“Well, you’re dating him, aren’t you?”

“Oh my God,” Emma sighs, turning on her heels and walking down the hallway before walking back toward Killian who has got to be grinding his teeth far too much than any dentist would ever recommend.

Why is that even where her brain is going right now?

Probably because she can’t stop staring at the way his jaw clenches.

“What”? he murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest, fingers digging into biceps.

Emma stops pacing, the clicking of her heels against the tile stopping, and she places her hands on her hips as she takes a deep breath.

She’s about to fuck everything in her life up, but really, how much worse can any of it get? She can’t keep living like a madwoman, her mind contradicting everything her heart says, and for once in her life, she wants everything out in the open. She wasted too much time in an unhappy relationship because she didn’t want to speak up for herself for fear of someone else leaving her. She’s not doing that again. Damn the consequences.

It is not going to kill her to put her heat in Killian’s hands even if it means he has the ability to crush it.

“I am not dating Graham Humbert,” Emma says on an exhale. She doesn’t even know where Killian is coming from thinking that, but it doesn’t matter. “He is a new friend who I have repeatedly said I had no interest in dating, and if you could get your head out of your ass for one second, you would know that the only person I have any interest in dating is you, you absolute fucking idiot.”

-/-

tag list: @capthamm @qualitycoffeethings @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @jrob64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera @elizabeethan @captain-emmajones @csalltheway @itsfabianadocarmo

#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan

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lawgrain · 4 years

Text

Chocolate Strawberries

Hiii! Sooo this fic is actually a request but that almost feels to light of a word for it. It’s literally all @mizuraisu‘s idea! They asked me to sort of bring their head cannon to life and that’s what this is! So credit for the idea is soooo Izu and she deserves all the love for that! I hope you guys like how I wrote it <3

(Oh and I know that first part looks like it might go angsty. It’s not, it’s fluff)

Kirishima didn’t know when it started, but he liked Bakugou. He liked that Bakugou would drop whatever he was doing to help him with homework despite his grumbling. He liked that Bakugou would be endlessly grumpy if they accidentally kept him up past 8pm. He liked that Bakugou would sometimes bang on his wall in the morning just to make sure he was awake and getting ready for class.

Everything. He liked everything about Bakugou.

And Bakugou didn’t like him.

The worst part was, Kirishima had thought Bakugou liked him. Bakugou made him feel like it at least. He made Kirishima feel more confident and like he could be more than he was but that was before he saw it.

They had been in class one day and nothing special was going on. If anything it was a boring day. Present Mic was droning on about some obscure grammar thing that he had no chance of remembering and the class was all in various states of zoning out. Kirishima himself was staring towards the windows where Bakugou was and then it happened.

Kirishima didn’t know what prompted it but suddenly Midoriya was leaning forward in his chair, whispering in Bakugou’s ear. This alone brought Kirishima’s thoughts to a halt. Since when had those two been that close? And right as things seemed to be going back to normal with Midoriya away from Bakugou, Bakugou moved back towards Midoriya.

Stunned, Kirishima watched as Bakugou tilted his head back onto Midoriya's desk with a slight pout on his face. Then Midoriya took out a piece of candy from his bag, slipping it into Bakugou’s mouth.

That was it.

Just the small intimate moment that Kirishima never thought could happen, happened. Bakugou and Midoriya, two people he thought were barely friends, all of the sudden seemed to be more than friends. And Kirishima didn’t even know when that happened. He had no idea when it started or how he could’ve missed it but he did.

And that hurt.

It hurt a lot but they were still friends weren’t they? He still cared about Bakugou and maybe Bakugou didn’t reciprocate as much as he thought… But it was Bakugou. And Kirishima still couldn’t help liking everything about him.

It’s just now that “everything” had the exception of “liking Midoriya”. And Kirsishima couldn’t do a thing about it because who was he to tell Bakugou who to like.

The only problem is that left Kirishima in a gloomy state of doom and apparently his friends had all planned a movie night that night. Obviously that meant Bakugou would be there and so that meant that with Kirishima’s fresh turmoil, he’d still have to face his crush. But the world didn’t stop for him to wallow and apparently that meant that during the course of the movie night, Bakugou ended up with his head in Kirishima’s lap.

It was official Kirishima was going to die. He was going to die a very unmanly death all because he could not handle his crush laying on his lap.

But that’s exactly where Kirishima was in life right now as he tried to focus on the movie. And he couldn’t really focus now could he? Not when Bakugou kept making vague pouting faces at Kaminari. And just how adorable was that fact. Yet still, he couldn’t quite figure out why Bakugou was pouting in the first place. Kirishima made another mental effort to bring his attention away from Bakugou. And this time it worked until Bakugou started to lift his head up from Kirishima’s lap, drawing Kirishima's eyes back towards him. Kirishima watched yet again something unbelievable happen.

Bakugou had apparently lifted his hand to grab Kaminari’s wrist, stopping the electric boy's motions to and from the bowl of popcorn. With withering glare he spoke at Kaminari.

“Just give me a piece already,” Bakugou growled and then ate the popcorn from Kaminari’s fingers and licked them.

Oh god.

What?

All of the sudden everything went dark. Literally.

“What the fuck Pikachu!” Bakugou called amongst a chorus of their other friends also complaining.

“S-sorry,” Kaminari sounded dazed and shook.

Bakugou immediately responded in anger. “You fucking shocked me!”

“You just- the popcorn,” Kaminari's voice now embodied the desperation that Kirishima felt.

What just happened?

“Yeah, I wanted some goddamn popcorn. Now figure out how to get the shitty power back on.”

The rest of their friends, having no clue what just transpired, continued in kind. Sero got up and headed to find the dorms breaker panel to try and figure out if the could get the power back on. Meanwhile the girls were calling out to him, letting him know if there was any change in the power. Despite the dark, Kaminari and Kirishima stared at each other in disbelief.

Neither could compute what had just happened and both needed the other to confirm what they’d experience.

That’s when it hit him. Midoriya. He had done a similar thing to Midoriya and Kirishima had thought it meant that they were in a relationship. But what if it hadn’t? He had just done the same thing to Kaminari after all. And Kirishima knew they weren’t a thing.

But why on earth did Bakugou do that? Looking at Kaminari, Kirishima realized he should probably explain his findings to his classmate. After they fixed the power and finished their movie night, the two went to Kaminari’s room and Kirishima filled him in.

“He did what?” Kaminari asked at the end of his retelling of the events.

Kirishima nodded, “Same thing dude, but to Midoriya.”

“Midoriya?”

“I know.” It was just as bizarre to Kirishima as it was to Kaminari. If they weren’t actually dating, then why did that happen?

Suddenly Kaminari looked as if an idea had struck him, “Let’s try it again.”

“Try it- Try what again?” Kirishima asked in confusion.

“Giving him food,” Kaminari explained. “But you know, like actually feeding it to him like today.”

“Do you want him to kill us?”

Kaminari paused at that. They both knew if they crossed a line, they were dead. And this plan? It was a death wish.

Kaminari brightened again. “You should do it then, man!”

“No! How’s that fair?” Kirishima spluttered. Why should he be the one to be killed? It was Kami’s idea.

“Come on, you know he likes you best,” Kaminari whined and Kirishima blushed. “If anyone can do it you can.”

Kirishima thought about it. Bakugou probably wouldn’t kill him right? Like he might get mad but Kirishima could try and play it off as just offering Bakugou food. It couldn’t go that wrong. Plus if Midoriya and Kaminari could do it, surely Kirishima could too.

With that flimsy reasoning in mind, Kirishima agreed to the plan, much to the other boys delight. And at lunch the next day, he could feel Kaminari watching him in anticipation. He could also feel his heart pounding with nerves.

Could he really do this? Or was he really just going to die?

He had to be manly and just do it. Screw the consequences, he wanted answers. So without a word, Kirishima brought a grape towards Bakugou’s mouth and the table fell into a stunned silence as Bakugou opened his mouth to accept the fruit.

And fuck, Bakugou was adorable.

After eating the fruit, Bakugou adopted the most content look Kirishima had ever seen on him. His shoulders relaxed and he was far calmer than he usually ever was with the Bakusquad. Kirishima could feel his eyes were wide staring at Bakugou and Bakugou must have realized this too.

“What?” He asked and to everyone’s bewilderment, he didn’t even sound mad.

“Nothing,” Kirishima answered quickly before a thought occurred to him. “Would you like some more?”

Bakugou eyed the grapes and nodded. So for the rest of the lunch period, Kirishima would randomly feed Bakugou grapes and each time, he could feel his classmates' attention drawn to the action. Later that day, it was Ashido who led the confrontation.

“What was that?” She hissed. “Are you two dating now?”

And just like that, Kirishima explained his discovery for the second time. At the end of the story, his friends stared at him in an awed silence. It was Sero who finally broke the silence.

“Do you think he’d let us do that too?”

They all looked at each other. Would he? Would he let them all feed him different foods?

As it turned out, Bakugou would let them. The entire Bakusquad started giving the volatile teen treats throughout the day and it had an almost unexpected result. Bakugou, just like he had been when Kirishima fed him the grapes, became much more content throughout the days. Eventually the class started to take notice of the change and, while none of them asked about it directly, Kirishima could’ve sworn he saw Todoroki feed Bakugou some chocolates one day. On another occasion, Kaminari actually did adopt a death wish.

“What the FUCK WAS THAT YOU GRUBBY LITTLE POKEMON?” Kirishima was pretty sure the entire building heard Bakugou’s yell.

Kaminari snickered, “What? You like hot peppers.”

“Yeah, but not covered in fucking chocolate, you fucking moron!” Bakugou’s anger radiated from him. Kaminari was as good as dead.

That much was confirmed a few booms and a power outage later. Kaminari looked downright traumatized after snapping out of whey mode. And Bakugou…

Well Bakugou was sulking. A pout had once again found its way onto his face and if Kirishima didn’t value his life, he’d even say that Bakugou looked like a petulant child. Kirishima thought he might have an idea of what had put that look on his crush’s face. Later that night, Kirishima carried a bowl of chocolate strawberries to Bakugou’s room to try and test his theory.

Bakugou opened the door, took one look at the strawberries and opened his mouth.

Cute.

Kirishima put a strawberry in his mouth and was promptly let into Bakugou’s room. With that, Kirishima found themselves in a similar position as the day of the movie night. Bakugou’s head was placed in Kirishima’s lap and Kirishima was sat on top of Bakugou’s bed. The only difference was this time, Kirishima's fingers were carding through his spiky hair… And he was feeding Bakugou strawberries.

“Hey Bakugou,” Kirishima started in a soothing voice. “I’m sorry Kaminari didn’t give you the right food.”

“Dumbass Circuit Boy,” Bakugou grumbled.

Kirishima smiles at the pout on his face. “Feel better now that you got the strawberries?”

“Fuck off.”

Kirishima just gave Bakugou another strawberry, paying the comment no mind. Before he left that night to go back to his room, Bakugou stopped him with one last comment.

“Thanks.” Kirishima looked at Bakugou waiting for more. Bakugou continued, “For the strawberries. Now go to bed. I don’t want to have to yell at you to wake your shitty ass up in the morning.”

“Aww, Bakubro! You do care!”

“Get the fuck out.”

So manly.

After he left, Kirishima decided to do that again. He started taking random treats to Bakugou’s room and the other would let him in so they could either lounge around or eat while watching a movie. After a while, it almost became routine. During the day, everyone would give Bakugou random treats, they might hang out after classes, and in the evenings, Kirishima and Bakugou would just be together.

They didn’t ever do much but it was always special to Kirishima. It was enough just to exist around Bakugou and it seemed like Bakugou thought the same. At this point, the crush had long since graduated into love.

He loved everything about Bakugou. The way he’d fuss at people in a totally mom friend manner. The way his nose would crinkle at any candy flavors he didn’t like. The way he’d always make time for Kirishima so that they could talk or not talk and just be together.

He loved every single thing.

That’s why Kirishima was convinced Bakugou had just tried to kill him.

They’d been in the cafeteria and Jirou was primarily giving Bakugou snacks when it happened. Bakugou, instead of taking snacks from Jirou, turned to Kirishima and took his fries from him.

Except he took the fry that was halfway in his mouth.

And Kirishima was now dead. His heart was beating out of control and his eyes were wide open but he was still quantifiably dead. His brain had definitely stopped working and he couldn’t move because Bakugou had practically kissed him.

Bakugou kissed him.

Woah.

And worst of all he had no idea if it even counted. Judging by the looks they were getting, his classmates seemed to think so. Kirishima surely hoped that’s how Bakugou meant it at least. Upon the stares Bakugou felt the need to explain.

“I want fries instead, assholes. Stop staring like a bunch of idiots.”

With that command everyone went back to their business. And that left Kirishima confused. He decided it was finally time to man up and ask Bakugou where they stood. When that evening came, Kirishima marched his way towards Bakugou’s room with a bowl of strawberries in hand.

He was going to get some answers today.

Bakugou opened his door and smirked at the determined look on Kirishima’s face.

“Finally figure it out, Shitty Hair?” Bakugou asked with a challenge in his eyes.

“Huh?” Kirishima had not, in fact, ‘figured it out’.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “I like you too moron. Wipe that stupid look off your face and give me strawberries.”

…

Kirishima got a boyfriend!

Later Bakugou told him that Kirishima had a ‘stupid cute look on his face’ and took a gamble that it meant that Kirishima was either going to tell him that he liked Bakugou, or ask if Bakugou liked him. And that he wanted to ‘skip the mushy shit’ and just ask. After that, they were an actual couple.

It had taken Kirishima a very short amount of time to realize that they were basically a couple before. In almost everything but title, they were together before they put a name to it. And months after they started dating, Kirishima finally asked the thing that had been bugging him.

“Hey Bakugou,” Bakugou looked up at Kirishima from where he stood. “How come you always eat food that we give you?”

“Because I’m hungry, idiot. I’ve always done that,” he said as if that were an explanation.

“But why?” Kirishima whined.

“Have you never seen any movies?” Bakugou smirked. “All rulers have their subjects feed them.”

...

His boyfriend was so goddamn manly.

End.

How’d you like it? Izu had asked me basically to do a story where Bakugou had just always been fed food throughout life (as in everyone did it) because he saw it on tv (like how you’d feed a god grapes thing) and UA finding out and being shook.

And that’s me condensing her idea. She also had described a lot of the different scenes that happened in here and had a lot more outside of what I wrote. They just didn’t know how to put their ideas into a story and I was more than happy to help! And of course I put a lawgrain vibe into it as always (Like I doubt they expected me to make it a KiriBaku fic and they probs didn’t know that the thing would be all Kiri’s pov. I had fun ^_^)

#fanfiction #lawgrain fanfic #who decided I should be allowed to tag things?#i still don't know what i'm doing #bnha fanfic #fluff #oneshot #fic request

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princesssarisa · 4 years

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“Beauty and the Beast”: Belle’s beautiful discontentment (warning: long)

In my Feminist Defense of the Animated Belle, I addressed most of the issues I’ve heard people complain about regarding Belle’s character. But there was one I didn’t touch on, because it has very little to do with gender roles: the common complaint that Belle is a “snob.” I’d like to discuss that topic now. I’d also like to use it as a springboard to discuss a valuable aspect of Belle’s character that sets her apart both from certain Disney princesses who came before her and from depictions of Beauty in other Beauty and the Beast retellings: her willingness to own her discontentment.

I do understand the “snob” accusations. After all, Belle’s neighbors are poor peasants working hard to eke out a living. It’s only natural that they have little time for books or dreams of adventure and think Belle’s passion for those things is impractical. It’s reasonable to sympathize with their perspective more than the movie seems to want us to. It’s fair to argue that the movie has a (probably unintentional) classist undertone by portraying the villagers as small-minded and bigoted and by having Belle only find a kindred spirit in a prince, albeit an enchanted outcast prince, and find her ultimate happiness by leaving the town in favor of a royal castle. I’m grateful that other BatB retellings exist (e.g. Megan Kearney’s webcomic, or Robin McKinley’s Rose Daughter) that portray Beauty’s peasant world in a more positive light, depict the historic cruelty of royal court life in the Beast/Prince’s backstory, and have him leave the castle in the end to become a peasant rather than Beauty becoming a princess.

But none of the above is any reason to criticize Belle.

I don’t think she looks down on her neighbors. She most certainly doesn’t shun them, as some critics claim she does. Just look at her meeting with the baker during the opening song: she tries to have a friendly conversation with him and tell him about the wonderful story she’s read, only for him to rudely brush her aside with “That’s nice... Marie! The baguettes!” I don’t interpret her subsequent shrug and eye-roll as showing disdain for his “low-class” disinterest in books – just as “Oh well, as usual, no one shares my interest.”

Nor do I buy the claim that she shows disdain for the “I need six eggs!” woman (and by extension for all struggling mothers) when she rides past her. It’s true that she does seem to be smiling, which might imply amused contempt, but she might also just be enjoying her ride on the wagon while at the same time wistfully yearning for a new life, with her expression having nothing to do with the woman. I don’t know what the animators meant to convey. And even if that overwhelmed mother does represent the life Belle doesn’t want for herself, and if Belle sings “There must be more than this provincial life!” in response to seeing her, what’s wrong with that? I don’t think it’s an insult to women who choose to have big families. Even a woman who chooses to have five kids shouldn’t be expected to wrangle them all by herself while also doing her grocery shopping, with no help from her husband or from anyone else. That’s the kind of unpaid labor women have too often been forced into and it’s not “insulting other women” for Belle to yearn for something different.

Belle has the right to be bored by her small town life and want something more. She’s not some rich girl looking down on the poor peasants; she’s a poor peasant too. A person trapped in a dull, stifling lower-class existence has every right to long for a different life. Would we accuse Cinderella of being a “snob” and “ignoring the value of domestic work” because she dreams of escaping from her enslavement by her stepfamily? Of course Belle’s life in the village is more comfortable than that, but it’s still reasonable that she should want to break free from its limits.

“But Belle is clearly richer and more privileged than her neighbors!” some critics argue again and again. “Most peasants in those days were illiterate, so the fact that Belle can read shows she’s had a higher-class education, and in the stage musical, Maurice tells her she’s ‘class’ while their neighbors are ‘the common herd’!” I don’t buy that argument. I’ve never bought it. Not one bit. The movie’s setting isn’t the real late 18th/early 19th century France – it’s the Disney version of it. The village has a bookshop in the animated version and a church library and schoolhouse in the live-action remake. There’s no indication whatsoever that Belle's neighbors can’t read. (Gaston holding her book askance as he looks for pictures in it and Le Fou’s inability to spell Gaston’s name don’t count; the first is a “parental bonus” gag implying that Gaston is looking for a centerfold, while the second is a “Le Fou is stupid” gag. Gaston quotes Shakespeare in “The Mob Song,” so he’s clearly had some education.) Belle just stands out because she has a passion for books, instead of only reading now and then during breaks from “more important” things, and because she would rather read than engage in smalltalk about practical everyday matters. Belle is shown borrowing her books, not buying them, which I presume implies she can’t afford to buy them, and Maurice builds his invention out of ordinary household items (e.g. a wood stove, an axe, a teapot), so he presumably hasn’t spent much money on it either. Nor are they any better dressed than their neighbors, nor does their house look any fancier. They certainly don’t seem richer than Gaston, who apparently owns the village tavern and can afford to arrange a wedding party on short notice and bribe Monsieur d’Arque with a bag of gold to help him blackmail Belle. As for Maurice’s remarks in the stage version, they’re clearly about her personality, not about social class.

Belle also has the right to be an individualist and a misfit. That’s part of the whole point of her storyline. It seems to me that critics who complain that she “looks down on normalcy” are doing the same thing the villagers do, which is supposed to be wrong: saying “It’s a pity and a sin she doesn’t quite fit in.”

It’s no surprise that people should complain about Belle’s complaining, though. Traditional fairy-tale heroines aren’t supposed to complain. As much as we can joke about the cliché that the “I want more” heroine became during the Disney Renaissance, we shouldn’t forget how innovative that kind of heroine was in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. Just think back to Snow White: at the beginning she’s dressed in rags and forced to work as a scullery maid by her stepmother, but we find her smiling and cheerfully humming as she scrubs the castle steps. Then there’s Cinderella: a bit more complex and openly discontented than Snow White, but in general she still goes cheerfully about her chores. The heroine who lives in unhappy circumstances but “bears it cheerfully and without complaint” is a mainstay of classic, old-fashioned fairy-tales (and other stories too). The early versions of Beauty and the Beast are no exception. After Beauty’s family falls into poverty, we’re told that her sisters constantly wail and cry over their lost wealth and status, but Beauty swallows her grief, resolves to be cheerful, patiently shoulders all the household chores, and devotes her days to consoling her father and siblings. For this she’s held up as a role model, in contrast to her complaining sisters, who despise her and insult her for it, but whom she always loves and forgives.

Of course there’s value in that kind of character. Resilience in the face of adversity and finding happiness where others find none is a strength in its own right. But it can be overdone. The more that women, poor people and outcasts are encouraged to be cheerful, patient and uncomplaining, the more they’re expected to “stay in their place.” Any righteous desire or demand for a better life or better treatment is labeled “rude,” whiny,” “petulant” and “selfish.” It doesn’t always cross that line, but it can.

Linda Woolverton, the head screenwriter of Disney’s BatB, knew that she wanted Belle to be different both from the traditional Beauty and from the likes of Snow White and Cinderella. So did lyricist Howard Ashman, whose experience as a gay man did much to influence the outcast heroes and heroines of the three Disney movies he wrote for. As noted in this Time Magazine article, they resolved to create a heroine for “the next century,” who wasn’t “based on being kind and taking the hits but smiling all the way through it.”

They definitely succeeded.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s wonderful that Belle owns her discontentment. It’s beautiful that she doesn’t try to fit in or put on a patient, cheerful mask, but unabashedly yearns to escape from her dull, small-minded village and find adventure in the great wide somewhere. It’s wonderful that she has no patience for Gaston’s rudeness and arrogance and that she loathes the thought of having to give up her reading and intellect in favor of a mundane marriage and raising a gaggle of children. It all leads beautifully into her friendship and romance arc with the Beast, where she refuses to tolerate his bullying, refuses to let him control her even though he’s the master of the castle, only forgives him when he earns her forgiveness, and inspires him to change for the better. The happy ending comes about precisely because Belle was willing to be discontented and shamelessly wanted more than she was given at first. This makes her almost the opposite of the original tale’s Beauty, whose story was written as an allegory for arranged marriage and whose purpose was in part to convince girls to submit to unwanted circumstances for their families’ sake. I love that instead, Belle refuses to submit to what she doesn’t want, and her refusal becomes the catalyst for all the positive growth and transformation in the story.

Let’s hear it for heroines who want more!

#beauty and the beast #disney #belle #meta

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lovelylaurie · 4 years

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I’d like to formally request a fic that’s wedding day/night with Laurie with the reader as a March sister (if possible could you make her age be in between Beth and Jo) thank you so much!

Everything Forever

Laurie x (March) Reader Words: 2042 Request:

I’d like to formally request a fic that’s wedding day/night with Laurie with the reader as a March sister (if possible could you make her age be in between Beth and Jo) thank you so much!

You sat alone in your childhood bedroom, the one shared between you and your sisters for so many years. It was cramped but homely, less like sardines or pearl onions, packed into their pickling jars, and more like a basket of kittens, all piled together to maintain warmth and closeness.

It was an incredibly grown-up thing, getting married, but you yourself didn’t feel grown-up. You still felt small in comparison to the world and there was an innate desire tugging at your mind to crawl back into your little box, your little home. Your entire family was bustling about downstairs to get everything ready on time: Marmee, your sisters, your father, Hannah, Mr. Laurence, Brooke, and Demi and Daisy (ring bearer and flower girl respectively, of course). Aunt March, too, was there, but you could more easily see her perched on a couch, judging the minutest of details with a trained and scrupulous eye, than deigning to get involved in the mess. You could hear them, faintly, but up here the air was silent. Memories lingered around you like the smell of sweetness, of a cake baking, heartwarming and delicious but undeniably out of reach. There’s a certain lucidity to remembrance that just isn’t possible in the present moment. It allows you to savor what would otherwise be neglected details while also knowing that the time to truly appreciate them has come and gone. And so we sit from afar and long for times past, miss the present, and resent the future for eternally failing to match our expectations. As you emerged out of childhood and into teenhood and then very quickly into adulthood, the future had begun to scare you. While it had previously been always more of the same, it now morphed into something unpredictable. It was, truly, the forever unknown. It took you a while to notice, but being with Laurie melted all that away. Anxious thoughts of future responsibilities dissolved into thin air. Like steam from a boiling pot, they came from a place of torrid churning, but the rising vapor just seemed to disappear after a few seconds. It wasn’t that he returned you to that safe and carefree home. It’s that he was that home for you. You had spent so long worrying about marriage and making mistakes. While Jo rejected the idea and Meg yearned for it, you dreaded not the act itself, but choosing poorly. You feared being falsely swept off your feet and lured into an unhappy marriage just as much as passing by acceptable options for too long and being forced into a lonely life. It wasn’t that the future seemed clear with Laurie, it’s just that it made more sense. The future could go do whatever it wanted because you were enjoying the now. The image of his face and his grin filled your head and you found yourself smiling. Laurie… There was a sound at the door and Jo peeked her head in. “Ah!” She smiled. “I’ve found you.” You suspected she might try to speak with you privately, so her arrival was no surprise. “Are you going to try and talk me out of this? Meg warned me.” Your voice was quieter than you expected, its soft tone humming through the golden-hued room. “No, no, I…” She fumbled with her fingertips nervously. “I’m happy for you.” “Oh, Jo!” You held out your hand for her and she crossed the room in a heartbeat to sit beside you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You loved her, your caring and brave-hearted big sister. “I know you were excited at first, but I was worried that if you really thought about it, you wouldn’t be…” She spoke to you softly, “Meg may be content with her stale bore of a husband, but you’ve somehow managed to make Laurie my brother, and for that, I will be forever grateful.” You grinned and your laugh was breathy and weepy. Jo just held you, but you could tell tears were brimming in the corners of her eyes, too.

You were sitting quietly at the dining room table eating a late-morning breakfast with a book propped open before you, quietly accompanied by Beth. Then a stampede of footfalls thundered down the stairs and Jo burst into the room, almost running into the table in her haste. “(y/n), Laurie has a surprise for you!!!” Laurie ran in after her and clamped a hand over her mouth, “I’m never telling you anything ever again.” You were understandably confused. Glancing between them and Beth for some explanation, you noticed a glow of realization dawn on her face. She beamed and turned to Jo. “I think I know what it is…” Jo nodded vigorously and Beth squealed. Betrayal… “Does everyone know except me?” Beth was still grinning “That’s what makes it a surprise.” “Well not Meg,” Jo pointed out. “Actually…” Laurie looked down bashfully. “I went over yesterday to see Daisy and Demi and told her.” You glared at him and he expertly avoided your gaze. “But not Amy, she still doesn’t know.” Jo rolled her eyes, “Well of course not, she can’t keep a secret to save her life.” “Neither can you!” Laurie looked petulant. “You do realize you have to tell me now, right?” Laurie was giving you an odd look, one of tender anticipation but also of unbridled love. “Not yet, but you will, and it’ll be splendid!” Jo gushed. “Wha-” You tried to get some sort of explanation, but she flew back up the stairs from whence she came. Laurie walked over to you and placed a sweet kiss on your lips. The way he looked at you now was so precious, so special. You felt so lucky to be in love with such a beautiful and kind young man. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you, too.” He kissed you one more time before leaving. Smirking as he went, you could see his usual air of mischief brimming behind his eyes. “What was that?” you questioned, but Beth simply smiled.

As you stood across from Laurie now, you could barely remember the past few hours. Putting on your dress, doing your hair, it was all a complete daze. But honestly, right now, at the altar, they didn’t matter one bit, one tiny, measly, insignificant iota. The only thing in your mind was Laurie. The way he looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world, the way he ran his thumb over the backs of your hands as he held them. Your heart was beating erratically and you could tell his was, too. Every fiber of your being felt jittery and electric, and you wondered, for a moment, if this was the exact physical feeling of love. You were so focused on Laurie that you could barely hear your father as he spoke about how love can brew quietly for a long time, and how that love is always the softest and the easiest kind of love. It dawned on you, then, how perfectly lucky you were that you would get to spend the rest of your life in such splendid and wonderful bliss with Laurie. Your Laurie… “I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” In the blink of an eye, Laurie was kissing you, with a hand held tenderly on your cheek. There was so much passion and emotion in that kiss, it was as if he had been waiting the entire day for that exact moment. To be fair, so were you, and so was everyone else. It was a wedding, after all.

After breakfast, you joined Jo and Laurie upstairs in the attic to listen to her read aloud from a book she had just finished. Beth followed soon after, curling up next to Jo like a sleeping cat. You and Laurie sat entwined, half sitting and half laying down. Then Jo switched to the book Aunt March was having her read, for comparison, and she put on the most dry, drawling tone that somehow had you laughing in spite of it. Jo and Beth left eventually, but you and Laurie stayed. You couldn’t pass up an opportunity to lay in each other’s arms in the playful warmth of the attic. You’d think an attic to be dark, but not this one. The windows were positioned perfectly, in such a way that light shone in and filled the room with a golden glow. You played with Laurie’s hair idly, petting the dark curls and twirling them in your fingers. It was the easiest thing in the world to love him. He mumbled something that you couldn’t quite hear. “Hm?” you asked lazily, “Did you say something?” He gazed at you with mossy eyes, and you noticed in that moment how odd and pretty it was that they were simultaneously green and blue. You were lost, and scarcely caught his whispered response. “I want to marry you.” It took a few moments before you realized what he said. “Laurie…” you sat up, almost frozen in shock. “(y/n),” he reached down and held one of your hands in both of his. “I can’t imagine a world, a life without you in it. I can’t love anyone else, it’s only you.” He started to look worried as you just sat there, mind curiously blank. You loved him, you loved him so much. This was a dream you didn’t realize you had. You’d been so focused on being with him and loving him now that you hadn’t found the time to imagine it lasting forever. All of a sudden the realization hit you that this was everything you could ever want and then immediately after it was yours. It was one moment, one instant containing an entire tidal wave of emotion, of yearning and dreaming and loving and requiting that astounded you, dumbfounded you, and left you utterly speechless. Laurie waited, as patiently as he could, but something in him was falling apart. “You want to marry me?” He nodded anxiously. “Of course, Laurie.” He let out a breath of relief and rushed to kiss you. It was wonderful, passionate, and half-desperate and you kissed back like your life depended on it. “Was that the surprise?” you whispered a moment later. “Yes,” he laughed, “and the ring, too.” Your brain kinda broke again for a moment there, but it was alright. Everything was alright, more than alright. Everything was perfect. Later, as you came downstairs with a smile on your face and a ring on your finger, Beth, who was sitting at the piano, began to play Here Comes the Bride. You blushed, “Beth, stop that!” Without a moment’s hesitation, she began to play Pachabel’s Canon. You decided to ignore her and sat down on the couch, Laurie beside you. “Is Amy back yet?” you asked. She had left early to spend part of the day with some posh friends that were having a garden brunch. “The carriage arrived a few moments ago, Jo went to greet her.” “Oh no…” you realized what that meant as the front door burst open and Amy ran into the room, a flutter of pale blue fabric and ribbons. “YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED?!” Now Amy had changed a lot in the past few years, shedding her childhood boisterousness and replacing it with the serene calm of a sophisticated society lady. But this, of course, was Amy as you had always known her. “Yes?” you managed before she noticed Laurie sitting next to you. “And you! How could you??” Laurie was obviously confused “What?” “Did you not think to tell me?? Did you think I wouldn’t want to be here?” “Oh, you’re excited,” you realized. It wasn’t always obvious with her. “Of course I’m excited!”

The sky darkened and filled with stars as the long and joyous day began to die down. Music was still playing, but with tired feet and tired minds, there was now less dancing and more quiet celebrations in talking and enjoying each other’s company. You stood in front of Laurie, with your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around you, watching your friends and family all together. You couldn’t imagine being happier.

Taglist

@sadhwstudent @ihaveaproblem98 @isletsoflou-gerhans @minninugget

#request #Anonymous #laurie #laurie laurence #laurie x reader #laurie laurence x reader #little women #little women fic #laurie fic #laurie laurence fic #fic

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leverage-commentary · 4 years

Text

Leverage Season 2, Episode 8, The Ice Man Job, Audio Commentary Transcript

Christine: Hello, I'm Christine Boylan, Writer on this episode.

Jeremiah: Jerimiah Chechik, I directed this.

John: John Rodgers, Executive Producer.

Chris: Chris Downey, Executive Producer, and this is The Ice Man Job.

John: The Ice Man Job was- where did The Ice Man Job come from, Boylan?

Christine: Like all great ideas, Albert brought this into the room obsessed with a certain heist.

John: The Antwerp diamond heist.

Christine: The Antwerp diamond heist. And we just tore the article apart, and we all tried to figure out, you know, what was gonna happen, and what was gonna happen in our version of it.

John: See the thing is, when you write a con and heist show that goes past even 10 episodes, you are now one of the longest running con and heist shows on earth. So as soon as a new diamond heist article hit, we attacked it like piranhas.

Christine: Absolutely.

John: Jeremiah, what was it like shooting Russians stealing stuff in the middle of Portland? Cause this is the middle of the freaking street, middle of the day.

Jeremiah: It was pretty easy.

John: Yeah?

[Laughter]

Jeremiah: I could really do this all day. I think the fun of it was the bridge.

John: Yeah?

Jeremiah: Which kind of kept a lid on the composition, and we found a wonderful driver who is in this scene.

John: Vince Valenzuela.

Jeremiah: And he is a stand up, as you've said.

John: He’s a stand up. I had totally forgotten, Vince and I had worked together for 15 years ago- 20 years ago doing stand up in Seattle.

Jeremiah: He lives in Portland, he came in, killed the audition, and in this particular scene, I just love that he just slipped into that Bostonian sensitiblity and just really sold it to me. I loved it, and-

John: We had a lot of good vics this year. We had a lot of good vics this year.

Christine: Yeah, we did.

John: And that was mostly the Portland talent base.

Chris: I would say, yeah, always.

Christine: Absolutely.

Chris: Now Jeremiah did you- was there any movies that you looked at or anything you wanted to get for the feel of this episode?

Jeremiah: No, I didn't want anything to influence me at work; I like to come clean.

[Laughter]

John: He's a tabula rasa, he just takes a ton of peyote and channels the muse.

Jeremiah: I meditate for a week before and then I just go and do it. Rarely do I even read the script.

John: I know that.

Christine: Oh, I know.

John: He just knows who’s in the scene. He has a rough idea how to shoot it.

Jeremiah: But in this case, I actually did, because the script was really very very fun. It was quite clever and anyone who has seen this episode knows. And if you haven't seen it, then you shouldn't be listening to me, you should be watching the episode.

John: Should go watch the episode.

Chris: You're already gonna be lost.

John: No idea.

Christine: This is another one of those great episodes that every single one of us had a hand in.

John: Yes. Everybody has something.

Christine: Everybody has something- some gem in here.

John: And that was a nice bit with the glass. This is the first episode Sophie's gone-

Jeremiah: This is Elijah’s? cup.

John: Yes this is Elijah's cup. I'm Irish, I kind of know what that is. This was the first episode where Sophie was gone. This was originally gonna be the winter season opener, with the idea that she'd been gone for awhile. And we were really faced with the idea- we wanted to keep Gina and Sophie as a character present, and so that's where the subplot to this came up, the idea that what happens when we’re a man down? Because this is something we faced in the writers room - what are we gonna do when we’re a man down?

Christine: Absolutely.

Chris: Well this one kind of is a piece with 3 Days of the Hunter Job where we have- since Sophie's gone, people have to shift into different roles and that's really- we couldn't really break this episode until we came up with that. What’s-

Jeremiah: Excuse me, can we talk about me now?

[Laughter]

John: Yes.

Chris: I threw it to it you about the influences. You didn’t want to-

John: You didn’t want to talk about it! Do I need to get you more scotch? Is that it?

Jeremiah: Yeah.

Christine: You were influenced by the drinks of the Thai restaurant.

[Laughter]

Jeremiah: I like the dynamic of Christian and Beth in this, being petulant children.

John: Yes.

Jeremiah: Always fun to do.

John: They really fell into a brother/sister vibe this year and it really paid off; it’s a lot of fun. And the gemological institute was nice enough to help us with this.

Christine: Those guys are fantastic. We had a great-

Jeremiah: Didn't we win some award from the gemological institute?

Christine: They were definitely pleased. We got their blessings and then some.

Jeremiah: Best presentation of jewels in a television drama.

John: There’s valuable lessons for those kids out there writing the spec scripts. People like to talk about their jobs.

Christine: Research.

John: Because really, this has got a lot of really fine detail in it and the- this is- Beth is about to introduce the plot point: diamonds are registered. And not even just big diamonds are registered. They have, essentially serial numbers, on them and you called the GIA and you found out the size. They sent us a lot of information, exactly how it's done, how it’s inscribed.

Christine: Answered every question we had - really were terrific.

Chris: We’ve got beer koozies from the GIA now, we’ve got letterman jackets.

Jeremiah: You know my aren’t, but I just implied blood diamonds.

John: You just implied- really.

Jeremiah: I really gotta trade up.

Christine: This is- a lot of the registration is to combat the whole blood diamond issue.

John: Yeah. And that was-when we were writing this, for a while the first act was all about getting the certificates, and then it was just easier- and it was interesting because Chris was actually out of town. He came back, we were explaining the episode with all the certificates and stuff and then I said - it’s like filing the vin number off your car. And you were, ‘that’s it! I get that! That's-’ I was like, ‘Oh, alright.

Jeremiah: But I bet you didn't know years and years ago I did a big commercial for De Beers where they flew me to London and I walked through those vaults.

John: Really?

Christine: Wow.

Jeremiah: Where I realized diamonds don't have any real intrinsic value at all.

John: No they do not, sir.

Jeremiah: There are more diamonds than anything. More diamonds than atoms.

[Laughter]

John: It's a manipulation of perceived value. No, it’s very-

Jeremiah: Well sold.

John: Yeah, exactly. Now this is interesting. ‘Yes! I get to be the con man’. What- how did we wind up with assigning these roles? I’m trying to remember the logic we fell on? I think we wanted to sort of pay off Aldis- Hardison always tends to go too far.

Christine: Right and also Parker playing the inside here, she knows so much more about the product than anyone else.

Chris: It was also a product of - we wanted to figure out why we would get our team of thieves breaking into a vault.

John: Yes.

Chris: That was really the thing that stymied the episode was, we had a great idea behind this which was this diamond heist, but why would our team of robin hood thieves do that? And ultimately what we figured out was if one of them was being forced to do it, and they would have to break in ahead-

John: Then we were like alright, is Maggie being held hostage? And the thing is- I personally, and this is a really irrational thing, I hate hostage episodes. I despise them. They're a cheap manipulative trick. And so really trying to find the most interesting way to do, which was Aldis being grabbed in the middle of the episode because he had gone over; that at least felt motivated.

Christine: But being grabbed and used, he wasn't just like held in a room.

John: Exactly.

Chris: I don’t know if-

Jeremiah: So Die Hard is that one of the movies-?

[Laughter]

Chris: Apparently he doesn’t.

John: No, now you know why? Because she's actually got an agenda in that movie.

Jeremiah: They're hostages!

John: They're hostages, but you know what? I think in TV- in a movie it's viable, in a TV it’s not because, you know-

Chris: You're saying you think it’s schmuck bait.

John: Exactly its schmuck bait. In American TV you're not gonna kill off-

Chris: We can’t keep arguing about this during this shot.

Jeremiah: I really loved shooting this.

Chris: This is a really incredible shot.

Jeremiah: Yes I-

John: It's not bad.

[Laughter]

Chris: Talk to us about this shot.

Jeremiah: I planned this shot. I planned this shot. And how I planned it was I was gonna shoot her in slow motion. This is another shot that was very complicated. I'm always very competitive with Dean Devlin, when he directs, about how many of these moves I can do in a piece. I felt I was reasonably successful here.

Chris: Boy is she just stunning here.

Christine: Gary Camp, our operator, doing heros work again, right here.

John: Just the sort of mantra ‘shut up, trust.’ What's interesting-

Christine: ‘Trust the diamond.’

John: This mantra she's saying is actually the opposite of how Hardison plays this con. We’re actually laying in for the audience here how and why Hardison's gonna wind up screwing up. It's also- now this actor is-

Christine: Sal Xuereb. Fantastic.

John: Great job. I like that he looks at the diamond first, you know.

Jeremiah: And you can't help but look at that diamond.

Chris: Yeah, no it- yeah.

[Laughter]

John: Everyone’s a little hypnotized by Beth Riesgraf.

Chris: I’m a little hypnotized by her right now.

John: Well, you know, because she tomboys every episode. Every episode she's in the Nikes.

Jeremiah: That’s why it's nice to dress her up, and she felt great doing this, and she had a great time doing this. And what I liked about it, I got to walk to the set; that was one of my memorable moments here. I was close to the hotel. That's everything.

John: That is everything. That's how you decide how to take gigs, is whether you can walk to set or not.

Christine: That was a nice morning.

John: And Portland giving us great locations.That bridge, the street- shooting that scene in LA, we would’ve snapped our own necks.

Jeremiah: We’d still be shooting.

John: We'd still be shooting. Portland, yet again, coming through.

Jeremiah: This is good. I like the french reverses that I do here. It’s a style-

John: What is a french reverse my friend?

Jeremiah: It's not a direct over, it’s an indirect over, a left side over.

John: I trust that. and this is-

Jeremiah: This is where we feel his Cockney accent, which he worked so well, and I had to really back him out so we could understand him.

Christine: He was too good.

John: Who was our vocal coach up there?

Chris: It was- what, Mary- Mary Mack is her name.

John: Yeah, Mary Mack.

Christine: Mary McDonald.

Jeremiah: Insert edit here.

John: Mary McDonald and she worked with us for the accents all the way through Gina, Aldis, everything; it was a lot of fun.

Jeremiah: Pasha Lychnikoff playing a Russian, which was not a stretch.

John: Not a big stretch.

Christine: Nice and easy for him.

Chris: The accent you had to write this [sounds like: petoir], what did you do?

Christine: My favorite thing beside speeches is writing in accents.

Chris: Now how did you do that? Cause they were hilarious.

John: Now hold on, I'm going to get Jerimiah scotch cause he's out of Guinness.

Christine: Oh here we go, we’re pouring scotch.

John: Don't get that on the soundboard.

Jeremiah: Fight, fight.

Christine: I did it with pleasure.

Chris: Where did you find it?

Christine: You know, there is a lot of things I find difficult like plot and story, but things I find fairly easy-

Chris: But I mean, did you go on the web, were you going and looking at clips?

Christine: I've been an anglophile since I was a kid.

Chris: So this is all-

Jeremiah: Character and story are your weakest points-

Christine: Are my weakest points, you know that.

Chris: So all the-

John: Why am I bringing you back next year?

Christine: I don't know, are you? I don’t know what’s happening.

Jeremiah: You didn't say that about me, though.

Chris: So all the jargon and stuff you knew.

Christine: Yeah, this was a lot of watching a lot of Guy Ritchie movies, watching a lot of- just the usual sort of British television that I enjoy and a lot of the Brit movies that I like.

Jeremiah: This was reasonably complicated to stage, because there are so many people in this scene and-

John: Yeah, you're shooting 6 people in there.

Jeremiah: Yeah, identifying the coverage, exactly what beats to shoot, was a bit of a trick in that it’s a pretty dark place, and I had to use their, kind of, blocking to move them in and out of the light.

Chris: And to orient the geography so the audience knows where everybody is.

Jeremiah: Yeah. Especially me.

John: I like that nice little, subtle beat she does as he lists her crimes.

Christine: And that she gets more and more-

John: More and more frustrated and he can tell that she's pissed off.

Christine: Oh, she’s brilliant.

John: Where did the mute Eliot bit come from? Was that was Dirty Rotten Scoundrels? I think that was the-

Christine: I don't know, I thought that was just shutting him up. It could've been Dirty Rotten Scoundrels unconscious reference there.

Chris: I think it was general- we wanted him to get under their skin.

John: Yeah.

Christine: Hubris.

John: The whole premise of this episode was, what is the most asshole-ish stuff that Aldis can do? You can swear on these, by the way, the most asshole-ish stuff that Aldis- that Hardison could do.

Jeremiah: Can you say fuck on theses things?

John: Sure. Just don't do it unnecessarily, like in a fake prerogative it's alright.

[Laughter]

Christine: Fucking what?

John: That's good. Oh hey mom, I hope you’re enjoying the commentary.

Christine: My moms heard that.

John: And this is, sort of, the hook and the push. This is- he's- the trick to, and Apollo is very clear about this, the trick to a lot of these cons, is convincing the guy he doesn't want it the first time around.

Christine: You have to refuse.

John: You have to refuse, exactly. And you know, then put pressure on the guy that he winds up coming back to you, so it's his idea when it actually hooks.

Jeremiah: Pasha, knowing better, takes a little bit of the bait for later.

John: And this is great. We actually managed to hit this pretty well, she's gonna- Parker’s got a habit of picking locks when she's annoyed or nervous.

Chris: Yes.

Christine: That's the first part of this.

Jeremiah: This is a very cute little high school bit of business between the boys and-

John: Nice rack focus there; bouncing back and forth.

Christine: This is Nate doing exactly what John Rogers does in the room.

John: What's that?

Christine: When you walk in, and you've stood outside so you've heard what we’re talking about.

John: I don't stand outside, you’re just very loud and I hear what you're saying.

Christine: And then you just walk in, and start in on the conversation, ‘Huh, what?’

John: Do I have the same magnificent presence as Tim Hutton when I do it?

Christine: I would like to- well, no. Sadly, no.

[Laughter]

Chris: Gives the scene a little energy to have somebody enter.

Christine: Absolutely, it’s great.

Jeremiah: ‘Not. Gonna. Help.’

[Laughter]

Jeremiah: And I remember being very specific about this.

Christine: I love this shot.

Jeremiah: With this piece of direction, period, full stop, each word-

John: Each word, land it.

Jeremiah: Take a beat. I think Christian said, ‘No, I'm just gonna say not gonna help.’ ‘No.’

Chris: Now shooting- talk about- talk about shooting through this.

Jeremiah: I shot this in a reflection; this is all reflected.

Christine: In the jewelry store.

Chris: How is that difficult?

Jeremiah: Because it’s a semi-silvered mirror and I put it off-axis and avoided seeing myself.

John: Nicely done.

Chris: That’s great.

John: And that's planting the fact that this is a security guard who shows up later.

Jeremiah: And it's a jewelry store, and all in one iconic image.

John: Yeah, it all moves along very quickly. I don't know why Tim chose to do this as- cause he's playing Sterling in this. And he's chosen Sterling, and he's not really doing Mark Sheppard, I think, just more sort of doing the impression of Mark Sheppard that- the impression of Sterling that Nate would do at like the Christmas party at IYS to piss him off.

Christine: Absolutely.

Jeremiah: In fact, I had that exact conversation.

John: Yes, I'd like to know the motivation.

Jeremiah: Because I said, ‘Are you playing Mark? Or are you playing a fictitious character that you are inventing?’ ‘The latter.’

John: Oh.

Jeremiah: And he was very consciously making that decision. He was not gonna play Mark. He was gonna invent a character that he felt was more appropriate to deliver the kind of bait.

John: Yeah, and this is kind of a fun-

Jeremiah: I think it was right, by the way.

John: Yeah, it was right. It's also a fun recurring bit with Nate Ford's character development this year - he’s a jerk. Nate Ford enjoys screwing with people. Now that he's sober, he's an unpleasant human being and he really does- like in the episode right after this, Papadakolis, Tim loves playing Nate when Nate is playing just that really manipulative jerk.

Jeremiah: And the question is: is Mark’s character becoming more likable?

John: Yeah, possibly.

Jeremiah: And there you go.

John: And there you go. And this was interesting, because we wanted to make everybody check in with Sophie, and- but Eliot would never ask for help.

Christine: He's the only one not asking for help.

John: And that was a big deal, was the fact that instead he's just like, ‘I'm going to kill these people. Please come back.’

Christine: Yeah, he doesn't want to change roles.

John: No, he's happy!

Christine: He wants to do his job.

John: ‘My job was to get punched and kicked.That's my job,’ as he says in 206. This was a lot of fun, clearing people out.

Christine: That’s hilarious.

John: This is actually based on that story when I worked on that gas pipeline. Remember in that high school? I worked on a gas pipeline in my 20s when I quit university for a while, and we were looking- investigating a gas leak, came around the corner and found high school students smoking. Because it was out of line of sight of the principal office. In the middle of a gas leak. So we basically did this, we just like wearing these masks were in full respirators and were like, ‘Get the fuck out, you’re gonna kill us all!’

Jeremiah: I thought the art department really overdid it on that piece of cotton.

Chris: It's a little bit over the top, but you know, it works.

John: A little bit.

Jeremiah: But again, as we say, we’re on the fun train here.

John: We’re on the fun train.

Jeremiah: Whatever it takes.

Chris: And did Marc Roskin do this?

Jeremiah: Yeah, he shot- we were so pressed for time, this scene was done while I was shooting the-

John: The vault? Or the van?

Jeremiah: No, the robbery.

John: There you go. It's always fun- by the way, if you're writing your con or heist show, dropping the jumpsuit to reveal the sexy outfits-

Jeremiah: Always a good-

Christine: Never hurts.

John: Have that tool, have that screwdriver in your toolbox.

Jeremiah: It's always good, even in a hostage show. You can use it.

Chris: What was this place?

Jeremiah: It improves it.

John: ‘Oh no, he might die.’ He's not gonna die!

[Laughter]

Christine: This is a lab facility.

Chris: It is a lab, OK.

Jeremiah: It’s a real facility, they actually etch information on acorns.

[Laughter]

John: Really?

Jeremiah: Yeah.

John: Is that big?

Jeremiah: It’s huge. It will be!

John: It will be, there you go. It's a big industry.

Jeremiah: Advertising on grains of rice.

John: Wow, there you go.

Christine: We just gotta give Nadine a nod for the costumes in here, they were really brilliant.

John: Yes, they’re very nice.

Christine: Everybody's outfits were terrific.

John: Why did we name the laser? I can't remember that.

Christine: Glinda. I don't know.

John: I don't remember who came up with it.

Christine: I can’t remember who came up with that.

John: Cause it feels like an improv; I don’t remember that in the script.

Christine: I feel like that was you. Because most of the other Cockney stuff I wrote, but Glinda did not come from me.

John: I think it was an improv.

Christine: Could be Aldis. He’s hilarious, by the way.

John: Cause remember I was working on the next, the 209- 210 with you when you guys, so I really just bombed in for the heist, for a bunch of the det cord stuff, and solving a lot of the heist problems. I like heist problems. Now how difficult was this?

Jeremiah: This was not difficult in that it just took a while of second-unit- you know, we were shooting inserts, and that machine was, it actually- I know I'm giving too much away, it actually did not laser diamonds.

John: What? They don't use the same laser on acorns they use on diamonds?

[Laughter]

Christine: You're kidding me - that's a laser, look at that!

John: That’s madness! That clearly looks like a laser.

Jeremiah: I'm wrong! I'm wrong! I'm watching TV, and I stand corrected.

John: By the way, that's a great visual effect. That looked really nice, with a little bit of mist off it.

Chris: That looked really great.

John: Beautiful lift, nice pass.

Jeremiah: The handoff.

Christine: These two could live a life of crime.

John: They could, they could. Very nice hands. And now the sale.

Jeremiah: Beth does the, kind of, blank look very well.

John: Yes, she does.

Chris: This is a great shot, too. That's a beautiful shot.

John: You like an inside shot, whenever you're shooting a piece of machinery like that.

Chris: Microwave oven from inside, I love it.

John: Fridge- like a good inside the fridge shot.

Chris: Like a good fridge shot.

Jeremiah: What about shoes?

Chris: I have not done shoes.

John: Why would you shoot shoes? That’s madness, just a foot coming at you. Here.

[Glass Clinks]

John: You’re 21 years old, you could have sex with this scotch in every state in the union.

Christine: It’s legal. By the way, I did wait until we were on set to have- to tell Aldis, ‘When you're walking, can you just say, “The Ice Man cometh”? And he did and I was the happiest girl in the world.

[Laughter]

Jeremiah: He didn't know what it meant, though.

Christine: He’s young.

John: That is a very 70’s look, that is really Chris rocking the Life On Mars look there.

Christine: Seriously, right?

Chris: The mod squad right there.

John: There's the mod squad! Right there!

Christine: The mod squad shot.

John: Why aren't they running down a storm drain?

Chris: That's a beautiful car, too.

Christine: Wow.

John: I think you can actually see, though, people watching the shooting in the top floor. I think we kind of missed them that day.

Christine: Didn't Aldis learn how to drive that car in like 5 minutes? It's a stick, right?

John: Well if you remember correctly, if you watch the first season DVD, The Bank Shot Job was the first episode we shot, and he didn't know how to drive a stick and the van was a stick. So the first time the van starts to peel out it [coughs] just rolls away. But it-

Jeremiah: I like not seeing it, and then the car is there.

John: There's a nice locked off comedy frame right there.

Jeremiah: I like that.

John: You’ve could’ve made that- we've done some abductions and really, unless there's a fight or something, you wanna, you know-

Jeremiah: I actually really enjoyed shooting this scene, which was in the most grotesque environment ever, but-

Christine: We were close to death.

John: Really? What was wrong with it?

Jeremiah: It was the basement of a pulp and paper mill and-

John: Oh boy. There were union organizers buried in the floor, you know that. There's some rabble rousing communists from the 30’s in the cement.

Jeremiah: And Pasha is always good. He's- first of all he's a lovely person, but- he may have changed by the time this DVD is released, but when-

John: I don’t think things have gone horribly wrong.

Jeremiah: But this is a- I love this shot.

John: This, by the way, is kind of an homage to a running joke we have in the show, which is- this is in theory downstairs or back- the back rooms of the night club they were in, right?

Christine: The Russian club.

John: And there was a- there is a trope in espionage and spy movies of that moment and Chris and I used to do this sound effect, which is you know the deal that's going on in the back of the Russian bar. Which is, you know, just the sound in the background of, you know [imitating bass-heavy club music] ‘uhn ch uhn ch uhn ch’ and then the guy opens the door [louder] ‘uhn ch uhn ch uhn ch’ and then the door closes again, [quieter] ‘uhn ch uhn ch’ I don’t have the plutonium ‘uhn ch’.

Jeremiah: I love that; that’s well performed.

Chris: See almost every episode of Alias.

John: Almost every episode of Alias there's the uhn-ch uhn-ch in the background.

Christine: She walks through the club - she walks all the way.

Chis: She walks through the club with the ‘uhn ch uhn ch’.

Jeremiah: You have to walk through the club to designate that you are a hip show.

Christine: That’s right, that’s why we walk through the club.

Jeremiah: You know what I mean, if you just cut to the back-

Chris: I'm gonna say, 25th Hour is another movie, there's an ‘uhn ch uhn ch’.

Jeremiah: Oh forever.

John: That's a good blog post is: the top ten ‘uhn ch uhn ch’ scenes.

[Laughter]

Chris: Top 10 uhn ch uhn ch scenes.

Christine: You have to write that.

Jeremiah: Aldis’ phone call here is kind of fun, it's very nice.

John: It’s a ton of fun.

Christine: ‘What accent is that?’

Jeremiah: This is England, this is how I see England.

John: It's rainy and there's cabs.

Jeremiah: And, you know, we actually got caviar for him and I wanted it so bad.

Christine: He loves it, he loves caviar. We had a nice chat about it.

John: I love that Sophie basically, ‘As long as you're not in the current parenthesis (situation you're in) you're fine. I can absolutely get you out of there.’

Christine: I’m a fan of that construction whenever we can use it.

Jeremiah: ‘As long as it's nothing to do with Russians.’

John: Exactly. And this is the fact that she's- again, we talked about this on the other commentaries, every now and then this turns into the detective show where you showcase people that are criminals that in theory- part of their skills is they can put together information very quickly, and Sophie pretty much knows exactly what’s going on the second-

Jeremiah: Even before it happens.

John: Really as soon as Hardison calls.

Christine: The tone of his voice and his failed accent, she can discern the entire thing.

John: Yeah, exactly. And there's a gun on the table. This is the bad day.

Christine: Not his best day.

John: And now the call for help and to take-

Jeremiah: I'm happy with the staging and cinema of this scene.

John: It’s beautiful. Is this also in the pulp and paper mill?

Christine: Yes it is. Oh, breathing that in was wonderful.

Jeremiah: It was a delight.

Chris: Oh wow, look at that. Couldn't ask for more smoke, could you? I mean...

Christine: I had a little mask and one of the crew members said, ‘Don’t use that.’

Jeremiah: It’s funny you said that, I did ask for more smoke.

John: And now this is the-

Chris: The beautiful thing here, is the camera constantly moving swooping around-

Jeremiah: Well I always felt that that is one of the, kind of, operative iconic themes, visually, of the show, and really trying to keep it moving all the time. But not to upstage the actors, I’m always careful never to say, ‘Hey, camera, where are you going with that scene?’ I really do try to- sometimes I fail, but often I succeed.

Christine: It supports them, the way you reveal Parker in that last bit, it really-

John: That's another thing we did this year a lot, which is we never see Parker come in or out of a room.

Christine: She just appears.

John: She's just always there somehow.

Christine: Like a genie.

John: And the- this is competence porn. This is them basically brainstorming- this was the fun of the episode. We had to come up with a heist that wouldn't work, then come up with a heist that did work, but the key to that heist was somehow making the heist that wouldn't work, work.

Chris: Making the failing element of the other heist the key to success.

John: A lot of index cards on the wall that day.

Christine: So many.

John: A lot of stuff.

Jeremiah: This is more than my favorite moments, visually anyway.

John: Yeah, it's really nice; it’s very creepy, you know.

Christine: It really is.

Jeremiah: It’s very-

John: We don't usually see guns on our guys, is the thing.

Christine: Nope.

Jeremiah: Well I wasn't looking at the gun, I was looking at the elegance of the rotation.

John: Well I'm saying the elegance of the rotation, the beautiful light around a very dark moment-

Chris: And the light and the dark on his face.

Jeremiah: It was poetically dangerous.

John: Exactly. It really- it brought home the-

Jeremiah: Entertainment value.

John: I was gonna say menace.

Jeremiah: That too.

John: The vertigo.

Jeremiah: Always love those shots.

John: And another recurring thing, when Hardison’s gone, no one knows how to use the computer.

Chris: Yeah.

Christine: Can’t even check email.

Jeremiah: Which is why I put them on the little computer because I thought it was more manageable than the big computer.

John: Yeah, it is absolutely a great choice. Also that space over the course of the season became the family space.

Jeremiah: I like that space.

Christine: Yes. That's not the computer space, that's the brother/sister-

John: That's the family- family arguments happen around that counter.

Chris: Well you've already- by this point in the episode, you've already been at the briefing so you kinda want to be at another part of the set.

John: It's also great that-

Jeremiah: Guess what kind of store this is?

[Laughter]

Chris: Pork store?

John: Pan up from jewelry to pork?

Jeremiah: Butcher?

Christine: Butcher?

Jeremiah: Cheese shop? No, it’s a diamond shop.

John: I love the fact that Parker gives Nate the hair spray with the implicit understanding that Nate will know what to do with that. And this is part of the fun and this was-

Jeremiah: Also, I love the way she does it without looking at him.

John: Yeah, she knows he’ll take it. What's a lot of fun here, is the- is Nate kind of playing a corrupt version of himself, and really getting to do the- you want more scotch? Alright there you go, alright hold on. [Moves away from mic.]

Jeremiah: Yeah.

John: Really getting to make fun of the guy he used to be, and that's one of the themes of the season, which is Nate Ford's identity-

Christine: And using Sterling, too, to distance himself.

Jeremiah: Notice the receding vocal quality of John's voice.

Chris: Scotch in the back of-

John: Getting more scotch.

Christine: Uhn ch uhn ch.

Jeremiah: Uhn ch uhn ch.

[Laughter]

John: Careful, there you go.

Christine: So he's playing the corrupt version of Nate, and using Jim Sterling's name to distance himself from it.

Jeremiah: This is a vault, this is a very very important kind of- this is the vault, this is how hard it is-

John: You're setting the specs.

Chris: Did we build this? What is this?

Christine: No, this is a vault.

Chris: This is a vault.

Jeremiah: Real vault.

John: That door- getting to her to swing on that door, you're not just gonna build one of those.

Christine: It was fun to be in the vault.

John: And this is, again, the fun of the construction, which is we now must make seem utterly impossible and then solve it.

Jeremiah: Those two shots where they were almost looking at the camera.

John: Yeah. That's- we don't usually do that. Why that choice?

Jeremiah: It was a conceit.

John: A conceited choice or just a conceit?

[Laughter]

Jeremiah: Both. It was hard to do both at the same time, that was one example.

John: This is, by the way, I like to say this is kind of elegant, because a lot of shorthand in both movies and television would just have them take you through the schematics on the computer, or show a film or something like that. Having a guy do the tour with a goal, with a character is-

Jeremiah: I think it's very important to do that since we revisit later in a whole different way.

John: Exactly.

Chris: Right.

Christine: Yup.

Jeremiah: And, you know, I particularly like the way we, kind of, solve the vault problem visually, too. I mean it feels real, it feels solid.

John: And all the security in here is real, I mean, including the fogger, which you were obsessed with. You love the fogger.

Chris: I love the fogger.

John: Calling the security expert you were checking up on.

Chris: This was pre-production, it was ‘Let's just see what's out there in terms of vault security.’ And the guy told me, ‘Oh, you know about the fogger, don't you?’

John: ‘No, tell me more.’

Chris: And I think I said the link with the description of the fog, I think ended up verbatim in the script. What the fog’s made out of.

Christine: Absolutely.

Chris: I think when we were doing pre-production, I made a point to say to Jeremiah, ‘It’s not Batman fog, it's gotta be like thick fog.’

Jeremiah: I mean, if it wasn't fog, it'd be foam.

[Laughter]

John: Foam? Oh. I wish we’d filled the place with foam, my god that'd be great.

Jeremiah: They do on [unintelligible]. They have rooms that, if you breach, it fills with foam in less than 2 seconds.

John: What does the foam do?

Jeremiah: Suffocates you.

Christine: Really?

Chris: Wow.

John: That's cool.

Jeremiah: Not if you're a terrorist.

John: Oh, there you go.

Jeremiah: Or somebody who accidentally enters the wrong office.

John: Yeah I know, Jesus.

Chris: Wow, we got to work that-

John: I don't want that.

Chris: Foam next year? Can we do foam?

John: That’s awful. Sometimes I’ll walk in offices accidentally, that seems harsh.

Jeremiah: There you go, suffocating foam.

John: There you go. And-

Jeremiah: Again, the computer is not exactly working perfectly.

Christine: Nothing works here.

John: Again, the challenge this year- first year we established the team was so good, a lot of the challenge this year was constraints. How do we put them off their game? How do we take one element away from them? And you know Sophie gave us the natural one in this one, everyone off their game, everyone’s in a different role and what was the fun here is, Parker kind of diving back into full thief mode for the first time this season, you know.

Jeremiah: Yeah. Close-ups of these guys. Close-ups I like, they feel right. I like that. One-eyed close-ups.

John: One-eye close-up is that a style? Do you have a name for that, too? The one-eyed close up?

Jeremiah: The one-eyed close-up.

John: That's not bad, I would call it the Chechik.

Christine: The Chechik.

Chris: He sent her out with that $400,000 necklace on, very trusting.

Christine: Oh yeah.

John: He has her phone number, he knows where she works.

Christine: He did- we gave him the line, ‘You'll earn it later.’ Which was the filthiest thing I think I've ever seen.

[Laughter]

John: You know what? No, it's a bonus; she works there.

Christine: Oh that’s right she’s a counter girl, she’s a model.

John: She’s an employee. So what he's talking about is her pension.

Chris: Oh right.

Christine: Right. See? He still gives employees pensions.

John: There you go, and a little apology.

Christine: Innocent guy, he feels kinda bad about it.

John: We tried to make a deal out of the fact that Eliot doesn’t like doing this.

Jeremiah: Oh I like this.

Christine: Oh yeah.

Jeremiah: This is real, she’s up there.

Christine: She's really up there.

Chris: That's a great shot.

Jeremiah: That’s a nice smile from her.

Christine: A lot of people in Portland loved watching this shot.

Chris: Oh what a beautiful shot.

Jeremiah: Yeah, and others didn't.

John: And in the season finale, when you eventually see it that's her on the roof of the City Hall- of the Portland City Hall, a ridiculous height-

Jeremiah: I think you tweeted that.

John: I took a couple pictures of that because I was stunned. There was a moment where I was like, are we out of our minds? Beth Riesgraf on a rig hanging like 6- 8 stories up.

Jeremiah: Tim is particularly funny in this scene. I find him engaging, funny.

John: Whenever he's being corrupt, there's kind of a kernel of truth and funny to it.

Christine: Nate enjoys putting the screws to people.

John: Nate Ford is not the honest man he thought he was. And that's something we had a lot of fun playing with this year. Also the blocking, because this is crucial, because he's playing a role here. Did you- now did you come in and it was set up this way? And then you block or did you-?

Jeremiah: No, I set it up in order to block it a certain way, thereby making my life easier. In other words, I actually thought about it.

John: Oh, that's very nicely done.

Christine: Pre-production meetings were great.

John: The magnetic plates- the trick with the magnetic plates is from the Antwerp diamond heist, that I wound up demonstrating on the writers room doors with two pieces of cardboard and tape.

Christine: Two pieces of cardboard and tape. Yes.

Jeremiah: As one does.

John: As one does, cause people kept reading it and going ‘I don't get how this works.’ And I actually wound up building it.

Jeremiah: Now this is a door- this- I love all of this stuff.

Chris: The cutting here is great, too, all the little bits.

John: Great heist cutting. Yeah this was- it was, again -

Jeremiah: It's gotta be a black van; they would never come in a white van.

Christine: Never.

John: You wouldn't be any self respecting Russian hitter in a white van, you know.

Jeremiah: It wouldn't happen.

John: ‘Oh look at that - there's a scuff on the side.’

Christine: ‘Can I take this one?’

John: But again, you know, people think when you write television shows, you've got this enormous plan and everything. You learn how to write every tv show while you're doing it. And again, part of the struggle this year-

Jeremiah: That was a good punch.

Chris: That was great.

John: That was a great punch. Is realizing we can just watch these people do stuff for an act. You know, you don't have to-

Chris: These guys are so funny. The line here-

John: ‘I'd like to see you do an accent.’

Chris: ‘I’d like to see you do an accent.’ Made me laugh.

Christine: We had many many different ad libs at the end there. The two of them were unstoppable, it was great.

Jeremiah: It was extremely fun to do all of this. This keeps going. Now we're approaching one of the absolute super fun shots.

Chris: Now let me ask you, when you're looking at a script like this and you know there are certain places you're gonna have to make compromises in the budget and what not, I'm imagining this sequence you're like digging in on, the break in sequence.

Jeremiah: Yeah, I mean, I try to dig in on everything.

Chris: But I mean, if you’re looking at one part of the show.

Jeremiah: I actually- I know where the, kind of, emotional roots are. I have to determine where that is on the show. Like, what is the real emotional tracking relationship-wise? And I have to know where everything comes together. Once I make that determination, that's where I- kind of spend my time and really focus, and to the extent that I'm right, it's a good episode.

[Laughter]

John: Those- that is a great outfit on Hardison in that and so, sort of big props to Nadine for that hilarious looking piece of work. What was I gonna say? The- yeah this shot this is an iconic shot for the show.

Jeremiah: This is one of my favorite shots and this happened almost by accident; I'll explain. When we visited the vault and we were scouting- and it wasn't written like this, the problem was that there was no way for her to be on the door. And I just thought, the only way for her to get on the door, or to get in and not trip the wires, is those kind of window cleaner suction cups so I just ordered them up and then positioned her body in such a way that made such a great shot. Because we had a glass door with that iconic- I can watch that shot over and over again, even though I did it.

John: This entire act is like - I will watch Beth Reisgraf as Parker break into a vault for 15 minutes; I'm totally cool with that.

Chris: Yes, absolutely.

John: By the way, that character uses those suction cups in other episodes. And she actually uses them-

Jeremiah: Oh good, I'm glad we didn't buy them just for-

Chris: No no no.

John: She actually used them in the first season, too, and we used them and then we forgot about them.

Chris: On an armored car.

John: On an armored car. Yeah. This is a lot of fun, him hamming it up, trying to-

Jeremiah: This is the fake break in, this is very good. I mean he’s holding it up.

John: Nice little comedy beat.

[Silence]

John: Sorry, scotch is kicking in.

[Laughter]

Christine: Cross-cutting conversations.

John: ‘I'm gonna kill you-’ it's nice. It's the little-

Jeremiah: And then silence befell the entire- as we kind of were.

Christine: But how much fun is it to write the conversations where they’re all on-?

Jeremiah: I love this shot.

Christine: Everyone’s doing different things.

John: Yes, exactly.

Chris: It’s a beautiful shot.

Jeremiah: Love the upside down of it.

Christine: I love this. I love the security cam just capturing everything that's going on, it's great.

John: Yeah it's great work, Derek, our computer graphics guy-

Jeremiah: I know we liked it. I hope everyone watching it liked it.

Chris: Here we really- we have every single character engaged in this, in the plot here.

John: That's the challenge-

Jeremiah: The cutting rhythm is what really translates that.

John: Yeah, that’s really nice. That's the challenge of the show is, there's a lot of shows where there's one star and a bunch of sidekicks. We’re a real five-hander; everyone has to be doing something at every moment of the script.

Jeremiah: It's very challenging when you're cutting, you always have to be aware of it. And when you're shooting you have to be aware that that's what is gonna fit. Again, lovely.

John: That’s also a great shot.

Jeremiah: Classic.

John: Classic heist shot. The little smile she's got when she stands up, that’s what makes her happy.

Christine: Kid in a candy store.

Chris: And no laser grid.

Jeremiah: She likes that. I like doing that with-

Chris: As much as you hate hostage stories, I hate the laser grid.

Christine: I'm with Chris. I'm so with Chris on this one.

John: You hate the laser grid.

Chris: I never wanna see a laser grid on this again.

Christine: I was so happy.

John: I think we'll never top the laser grid we did in 207 - the moving laser grid - and that was pretty great. Even the reflection in her eyes-

Chris: That’s it.

John: That's it, you're done, you're out, cause that was it. We can’t do another one.

Jeremiah: Excuse me, can we talk about me again?

[Laughter]

John: Jeremiah, tell us the challenge of this opening the door with people walking in scene?

Christine: That door is beautiful.

John: That's tough. That's like-

Jeremiah: Those doors you can open with a finger.

John: Yeah exactly, but you gotta act like ‘ugh’. Give them the impression of weight.

Jeremiah: Here it is again.

John: An act reset. We don’t usually do an act reset.

Chris: We do sometimes.

John: Yeah, but it is not a big deal. This is tricky. This is a timing one- this is a timing joke.

Christine: This is all about to-

Jeremiah: This was challenging to stage.

John: Really, how so?

Jeremiah: Timing-wise, this particular moment wasn't, but as soon as everything breaks, it's complicated. You had to hit the-

Chris: It's a lot of people, too.

Christine: A lot of people in play.

John: This was kind of complicated to figure out, I'm mean- I think I was- I was up in the room. Remember? I came down, you were like ‘Ok, we've got everything except how they get out of the vault.’ And I was like, ‘That's kind of a big thing, guys.’ And then it was Mythbusters that came to the rescue.

Christine: Absolutely.

John: I remembered-

Christine: As usual.

John: The det cord for the instant burn through. Well, it was originally thermite.

Chris: It came from two things - it came from det cord and the fact that we had tunnels available in Portland that we had not- on our list of unused locations. We had these fantastic tunnels and that were used- weren't they used to take people onboard ships?

John: They were press gangs. Shanghai tunnels.

Jeremiah: They were press gangs. In other words, they were bars and they used to get people drunk. Shanghai them, punch them out, take them down to the tunnels, wake up at sea.

John: Exactly how I run the writers room.

Christine: What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Jeremiah: Exactly how I became a Director.

John: Boylan was working on another show, and you came to a cocktail party we had and she woke up in our writers room-

Christine: I have no memory of this. What, am I on cable now?

Jeremiah: Me, I remember working on in, you know, probably a death ship Shanghaied and woke up and I was in the DG].

Christine: I used to be a pirate, I don’t know what happened.

Chris: Here we go, here's the fogger.

Christine: Oh the fog, and that red light off the fog is great.

John: Yeah, nice choice. And then the reset to sort of reestablish the geography and -

Jeremiah: -what happened.

John: Again, we have very strict rules about how you use these shots, and this is a nice-

Chris: I knew when I read the script, this was gonna be my favorite shot.

Christine: I love the-

Jeremiah: Nice, good chemistry.

Christine: Oh these two.

Jeremiah: Beth’s look, beautiful.

John: Cause he's a little oblivious right at that moment.

Christine: A little high from the heist as well.

John: And then the moment-

[Laughter]

Chris: Sex and violence folks. Right there, that's a sex/violence sandwich.

Christine: Yes it is. Who doesn’t like a sex/violence sandwhich?

John: What’s the bread on a sex/violence sandwich?

Christine: You don't need bread, it’s carb free.

John: It’s carb free, it's all meat.

Jeremiah: Or all bread.

Christine: Or it’s all bread.

Jeremiah: If you’re into that.

John: And this was great-

Jeremiah: A steadicam in the vault like this, moving was challenging, obviously.

Chris: It’s hard.

John: There's not a lot of room in there, right.

Jeremiah: No, not a lot of room. And again, Gary, our operator, really brilliant. And this had to move to land on specific lines. We did it a lot. I was very focused on just hitting exactly the right beats and ending up in the right place.

Christine: And speaking of brilliant actors-

John: Lieutenant Bonanno. What's really nice was, we finally- it was nice to start to develop a recurring character that we could go to for law enforcement, and it sort of built the Leverage world and he-

Jeremiah: Into the diamonds!

John: He actually became super important in the season finale. We were looking for someone to use in the season finale and that became a character. Now, mostly because we love the Columbo and he really rocks the Columbo.

Jeremiah: He also enjoys doing this a lot.

Christine: He is a pleasure on set, and so consistent.

Jeremiah: Yeah, he’s wonderful.

John: We beat the hell out of him in the finale, too, and he did everything we could throw at him. And now the villain suffers. That’s Dean’s rule.

Chris: Dean’s rule.

John: The villain must suffer and there's always a little gloat going on.

Christine: Often a petard hoist of some kind.

Chris: Here we go.

Jeremiah: Love this shot.

Christine: Look at that.

John: Where the hell is that?

Christine: Edge of nowhere.

Jeremiah: That is under the pulp paper plant on the river.

Chris: Nice.

John: And that was part of- that was really hanging a lantern.

Jeremiah: Like, that is Portland.

John: And that's- well that's Boston, it’s Boston.

Jeremiah: That’s the joy- sorry, Boston.

John: No no no, that's the joy of Portland is, you got all of these really interesting places that haven't been shot at.

Jeremiah: And it was joyful to do that.

John: That was really hanging a lantern on it was, we said this heist wouldn't work earlier and that's the key. We’re actually going to just lay it out in dialogue.

Christine: And this was Joey Cospito, named for my uncle. I just have to say during the commentary, he’s a sweetheart.

Chris: Oh that’s nice.

Jeremiah: Also his softening is good here. He's very soft, I love this guy; it’s great.

John: It's a nice payoff and it’s-

Christine: Beautiful scene, these two.

John: Yeah, it was really tricky.

Jeremiah: Cash!

John: Yeah, ordinarily we don't have Nate alone in these scenes and Tim’s, kind of, choosing how Nate plays this was an interesting beat. He doesn't usually- he does some version of the hand off with Sophie or one of the other characters.

Jeremiah: Now he liked doing this scene, he liked working opposite Vince.

John: Of Vince? That’s cool.

Jeremiah: Yeah, loved it.

John: No, that was a smooth flip. This is a dense script; this is an awful lot going on in this.

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

John: I don't mean in the usual way, which I'm trying to cut down one of your four-page speeches in actual dialogue.

Christine: You love them!

John: Yeah.

Christine: You love them.

Chris: Using every part of the animal there.

Christine: What did I get to write this year? Cockney, Irish...

Jeremiah: I use every part of the animal, and that's just in pre-production.

John: This is great. This is the family- the brother dynamic.

Jeremiah: Hug it out.

Christine: Ad lib!

John: Hug it out this time, and then the roll, she’s still pissed and then-

Christine: Oh that’s so-

John: You can see him starting to lose it, too.

Christine: He's laughing.

John: Chris really can't hold it together.

Jeremiah: Now this was a nice, intimate moment. Tim and I really talked about this. I really wanted these moments to be ver,y very charged from his point of view. Because I thought this was the opportunity to invest as much in that relationship, and in the complexity of their relationship. And just seated him alone, and shoot him alone. And I was- we had a good time working on it and dug in with it.

John: This is actually a book end to a huge moment in the finale. We actually- we do the second version of this where he’s, you know, the same but different speech.

Jeremiah: As well?

John: Yes. Not quite as well as this, but the most epically beautiful phone call in television history, Jeremiah; I hope you’re happy. But no, this is- this feels like a coda. It's actually one of the most important moments of the season. Because it really is the moment where Sophie is just like, ‘You know what? I'm actually getting better and you’re not.’

Jeremiah: And here he can't say goodbye. He just can't say goodbye, and he wants to stay on the phone. And I worked that, and I wanted to really make sure he just couldn't hang up.

John: He doesn’t have the emotional equipment for what he's dealing with right now, you know? This is a shut down, angry guy.

Christine: Right.

John: And yeah, even that little frustration look right there, like, ‘Alright, that didn't go like I hoped.’

Christine: Oh, here it is.

Chris: Nice long shot here. You see his isolation.

John: Isolation.

Jeremiah: Very. And her-

John: And then she's done with it.

Christine: There it goes.

John: Yeah. I love she's wearing the mink in the bar.

Chris: Yeah, the mink.

Christine: The mink and that giant cocktail.

John: Yeah. Well that was fun, guys. Do you have anything you wanna say to the nice folks watching before we take off?

Christine: I adore this episode, I adore working with Jeremiah, and I adore everyone here. That's- it’s scotch talking.

Jeremiah: You love everyone.

Chris: [Slurring] ‘Let me tell you another thing!’

Christine: Scotch talking. Let me tell you something else, bartender.

John: This is the scotch-driven commentary. Thank you for watching the episode.

Christine: Thank you for watching.

John: And watch the next one, it’s very good.

Jeremiah: Yeah, watch many more, because they're all good.

#Leverage #Leverage TNT #Leverage Audio Commentary Transcripts #Audio Commentary #Transcripts #Parker #Alec Hardison #Eliot Spencer #Nate Ford #Sophie Deveraux #Season 2 #Episode 8 #Season 2 Episode 8 #The Ice Man Job

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 12: Martin Prime

As soon as he heard the bedroom door shut behind Tim, Martin turned towards Jon. He didn’t even get his mouth all the way open to say anything before Jon’s hands were on his face, and then Jon was kissing him.

It was their first kiss in far too long, since Martin had kissed Jon goodbye and promised to see him on the other side, and thank God it still felt the way it had before. A part of Martin had worried that things would be different—now that they were in the past, now that their plan was on its way, now that Martin was blind. This went a long way to reassuring him that they weren’t, though. Nothing had changed between them.

He gripped Jon’s elbows to hold him still. Jon’s hands dropped from Martin’s face and slid around his neck, seeming to try and pull him closer, although honestly if they got any closer Jon would be inside Martin’s rib cage. He also somehow managed to deepen the kiss, which Martin wouldn’t have thought possible a second previously. He closed his eyes and gave himself completely over to the moment.

The need for air was the only reason they separated, even a little bit. Martin rested his forehead against Jon’s and reveled in the simple fact that they were together again. It had probably been a good thing that they’d had these two weeks apart—it had given Martin a chance to prove to himself, and hopefully to Jon, that he could manage on his own—but he wasn’t going to deny that he’d missed him, and that he wanted him there as much as possible.

Something wet hit his chin, and it took Martin a second to realize what it was. Jon was crying.

“Jon?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. He reached up hesitantly to cup Jon’s cheek and rub his thumb across it, catching the tear tracks coursing down it.

“I was afraid I’d lost you,” Jon whispered. Martin could feel his sweater bunching up into his hands. “I was so damned—sure of myself. I told myself, when I let you follow the Keeper into that door, I told myself it would be okay, that whatever was hiding you from the Eye, from Jonah, I-I was sure it wouldn’t keep you from me, that I’d be able to find you, that I could Know you wherever you were, and then I couldn’t and I—I kept telling myself you were fine, you had to be fine, that I’d see you when I got to the Archives and you’d fuss at me for trying to get in your head and then we’d laugh about it, and then I got to the Institute and I saw all that chaos a-and I couldn’t find you, you weren’t there—”

“Jon. Jon, it’s okay, I’m okay,” Martin soothed. He pulled Jon’s head down to his shoulder, then began rubbing his back in slow, gentle circles with his free hand. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“It’s n—” Jon’s voice started rising, but he checked himself and hissed, “It’s not okay. I promised you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and then everything almost happened to you. You were in the middle of Jane Prentiss’s attack, again, but this time you were alone and blind and helpless—”

“I’m not helpless,” Martin interrupted. He was rather proud of the fact that he managed not to say that in an angry or petulant tone, but quietly and firmly. All right, yes, he was a little pissed at Jon for thinking of him that way, but he did get where Jon was coming from. Still, he’d done perfectly well for himself on his own. He honestly didn’t know if he would have been able to do as well as he’d done if he hadn’t spent time with Melanie before…everything, but he’d done it. He could still handle himself.

All the tension and fight went out of Jon in one long exhale, and he sagged against Martin. “No,” he agreed quietly. “You’re not.”

They held each other for a long moment of silence. Martin could feel Jon trembling, and he guessed it wasn’t all nerves. “Come on,” he said at last. “Let’s at least lie down. When’s the last time you slept?”

“Ah—yesterday? Day before, technically?” Jon stepped back a little, but didn’t let go of Martin. “The—the bed’s over here.”

Since Martin was completely unfamiliar with Tim’s bedroom—he’d only even been to his house once—he let Jon lead him. Getting ready for bed was easy enough, as was crawling into it, the movements more than half-mechanical. Jon pulled the covers up over both of them and immediately curled into Martin’s chest. They both sighed in near unison.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Martin murmured, running a hand through Jon’s hair. He tried to be gentle about working through the knots he encountered. “How long have you been…here?”

“In the past? About a week. Six days, more like.” Jon sighed and tucked his head into the crook of Martin’s neck. He fit there like he was a part of Martin’s body. “I just got to London earlier this evening, though. How—you said you’d been here two weeks. Where did you…come through?”

“The Archives. I think I was in one of the back corners.” Martin bit his lip. “Wasn’t sure where I was at first, until I heard Tim’s voice. What about you?”

“The safe house. I should have expected that, really, but it still hurt knowing you weren’t there. And…walking out the door was harder than I expected it to be.”

“At least the sky wasn’t blinking at you.”

“It took me a bit to convince myself that it wouldn’t before I could open the door.”

Martin wanted to laugh, but he knew Jon was in earnest. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d been there to help you.”

“And I wish I’d been in the Archives to help you. I—I know you don’t need it. I know you’re…I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

“Do what? Stop Jane Prentiss?” Martin frowned. “You did the first time—”

“You may recall that I didn’t do all that much, except make statements and slow everybody down,” Jon interrupted. “It was mostly you and Tim. Some Sasha, and…but that’s not really what I meant.” He reached up and brushed a trembling hand over Martin’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have been able to handle being alone and blind. I’d have been completely lost without you.”

“Well…I mean, I was, too. I even told the others that just before you showed up,” Martin admitted. “It’s just…I’m used to being alone, I guess? There was…I never had anyone to take care of me, other than myself, so I learned how from a pretty early age. Worrying about me was something that happened when I didn’t have anyone else’s needs to worry about, and that almost never happened. I’m always lost.”

“You’re not now,” Jon said fiercely. He pulled Martin’s head down for a kiss. “But that’s my point, Martin. If our positions had been switched, I wouldn’t have lasted two weeks on my own. I’d have broken completely. You’re…so much stronger than I am.”

Martin snorted. “I’m stubborn. There’s a difference.”

“You’re both,” Jon said. Martin didn’t need to see him to know he was smiling—it was obvious in the affection in his voice. “Almost everyone we’ve encountered has mentioned that. It doesn’t change the fact that I couldn’t have done half of what you did. Let alone without getting everyone else hurt, if not killed. You did that.”

“Luck.” Martin hesitated. “I…I couldn’t really…Jon, the others, are they really okay?”

“They’re fine,” Jon assured him. “Except for…well, you. I’m sorry. It—it looks like their Martin took the brunt of the worms. But I didn’t even see so much as a hole on anyone else.”

Martin sighed in relief. “I can live with that.”

They fell silent for a while. Martin concentrated on the weight of Jon’s head against his shoulder, the thud of his heartbeat against his side, the warmth and softness of his skin under his hands. For as little time as they’d had together, or at least how little time they’d had before the world had ended and their clinging had been more desperate than loving, this was still so familiar, so comforting. Martin knew exactly where was safe to touch and where wasn’t, where Jon was overly sensitive and where he had no feeling at all. He literally didn’t need to see a thing.

“You know what’s bothering me the most?” he said at last.

“You don’t know what Sasha looks like?” Jon guessed.

“I don’t—are you reading my mind?” Martin felt his lips quirk upwards in a smile. Just a few months ago (or…whatever the actual span of time since the end of the world had been, he was guessing here), the very idea would have made him indignant, but now it was almost delightful.

“Is it wrong to say ‘I wish’?” Jon chuckled slightly, then sighed. “No. I—even right here with you, I can’t…it was the same with Melanie. Your eyes don’t work, so the Eye can’t use them. I just…know you. Lowercase know. And honestly, I wouldn’t have realized that was her if I hadn’t recognized her voice from the old tapes.”

Martin kissed the top of Jon’s head lightly. It was the closest thing to an apology he would be able to give for something Jon would fuss at him if he tried to actually apologize for. “So? What does she look like?”

Jon hummed. “Well, she’s tall. Not quite as tall as Tim, but taller than me, at least, which must have irritated me at some point. Slender, but…curvy, I guess? Not as waifish as the Not-Sasha was. Long dark hair, brown eyes. Glasses, too—the cat’s-eye type, you know what I mean?”

Martin frowned, trying to remember. “Are they…purple?”

“Yes. Wait. How do you know that? Could you see them?”

Jon sounded so hopeful, Martin hated to break his heart, probably as much as Jon had hated to admit he couldn’t actually read Martin’s mind. “I found a pair like that in the Archives once. While you were off on your world tour, I think. Tim made some snide remark about them being possessed or infused with evil energy or something like that, since they pretty obviously weren’t reading glasses.”

“Oh.” Sure enough, Jon deflated against Martin. “I hated that I didn’t recognize her. We were arguably friends for years and I—I didn’t recognize her.”

“That’s…kind of a good thing, though?” Martin didn’t exactly mean to make it a question, but he was uncertain. He hadn’t known Sasha as long as Jon had, even though he’d been with the Institute longer than the entire rest of the Archives staff put together. “I mean, if you did recognize her…it would have meant that she got taken by…”

“The Stranger. I know. I—God, I’m going to have to tell her tomorrow I looked into her head. You know I’m trying not to do that, but—I had to know if she was all right. When I realized the Institute had been attacked…”

“I think she’ll forgive you. I mean, it’s not like you did it for fun.”

“Still.” Jon suddenly tensed. “The table—has it been—?”

“Not yet,” Martin assured him. “Or if it has, someone else signed for the delivery. But I told…my counterpart to let me know if it did happen.” He paused. “Jon, what are we actually going to do with that table?”

“I don’t know. The—the Other was bound by it, not to it, so I’m reluctant to destroy it and risk unleashing it on the Institute. At the same time…”

“Someone’s bound to study it eventually,” Martin completed. “What about sending up a copy of the statement talking about it? I mean, they’ve got the calliope locked up. Maybe if they know how dangerous it is, they’ll let it be.”

“Maybe.” Jon didn’t sound sure. “I—I don’t know enough about the people in Artifact Storage to know how they’d react. We can ask Sasha. She wasn’t there long, but she might know more than, well, the rest of us.” He sighed. “I’m just glad she’s all right. I—I wasn’t sure if we’d even know if she got taken. If we’d get muddled and forget that the voice wasn’t the same.”

Thinking about it gave Martin a headache. “Thankfully, she wasn’t. And your counterpart didn’t get hurt. Or Tim.”

“I worried about that, too. I don’t know how much of…the way he was at the end there was because of the Stranger and how much was because of the worms and how much was just…the general atmosphere of the Institute, and the Archives specifically, but I’m sure him turning into a sieve didn’t help.” Jon pressed a kiss to Martin’s collarbone. “And you didn’t get bitten?”

“Not even once,” Martin assured him.

“Good. That’s good.” Jon paused. “Why did you trust Michael?”

“Honestly? I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.” Martin thought about how to phrase it. Because Jon was absolutely right—the Distortion was incredibly dangerous and untrustworthy, whether Michael or Helen. “He showed up in the tunnels…I don’t remember him doing that when Jane Prentiss attacked us, but maybe it was just because it was in the middle of the day. Or maybe I just wasn’t worth tormenting. But he did this time, and it was, well, it was me or them. Tim and Sasha needed to make it out of the tunnels because Past Me needed to know they were okay. I didn’t want them lost in those corridors for days or weeks on end. And I guess maybe I was hoping it would be less disorientating because I couldn’t see.”

“Was it?”

“Actually, yeah. Or maybe he just made it more…direct.”

Jon snorted. “I can’t see him being so…helpful. Especially not to someone tied to the Archives.”

“Well, I’m not exactly tied to them anymore,” Martin said slowly. “Especially not now. And like he said, I’ve been marked by the Spiral myself, that time Tim and I wound up in his corridors. Mostly, though, I think he was helpful because I told him I’d come back to help save the world.”

“Michael or Helen, I really don’t think the Distortion would care that the world ended.”

“I…might have left out a few key details,” Martin said. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “I told him that the Beholding was the one that had eventually succeeded in its ritual, and that he had been completely and utterly destroyed. He didn’t seem too sure until I described exactly what his hallways looked like, and who he used to be. Then I told him that if he wanted to have any chance not to have those things happen, he’d best let me through safely.”

“God, I love you. Have I told you that lately?”

“Not since you walked in the door, no.”

Martin meant it as a joke, but from the way Jon suddenly went stiff, he realized it hadn’t quite landed. “Good Lord. I—I really haven’t, have I?”

“Well, to be fair, neither have I,” Martin pointed out. “We did have other things to worry about. And, I mean, there’s the whole ‘we’re not going to tell our past selves that we’re in a relationship because we don’t want to rush them’ thing we agreed on. Honestly, Jon, you really think you have to say the words for me to know?”

“No. No, o-of course not. Still…” Jon cupped Martin’s jaw with one hand and kissed him—a soft, tender kiss that spoke volumes, even before he said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Again they fell into a silence, one less heavy than before but still weighted. Martin was tired—not as tired as the others had to be, but still tired—but he was reluctant to sleep just yet. He was perfectly content to lie there with Jon, enjoying the nearly-forgotten sensation of not being in imminent danger for once. The last time they’d been able to rest like this had been…well, all right, Salesa’s house, which didn’t really count with Annabelle Cane creeping about and Jon growing steadily weaker the longer he was cut off from the Eye. They hadn’t been able to relax this much, really, since before the world ended. And there was no telling how long they’d be able to relax now, so Martin was determined to enjoy it for however long it lasted.

He almost thought Jon had fallen asleep until he spoke again. “How much have you told them?”

It took Martin a second to realize what Jon was asking. “Not a lot. They only got here a few minutes before you did, really, and that was the first time I met Past You when he knew I wasn’t, well, Past Me. All I’ve told him so far, that you weren’t here for anyway, was that I was from the future and that we were here to save the world, and that the statements on the tapes were real. And, well, you heard how much Tim and Sasha knew. I told Past Me a bit more, but not much. Just that the Fears exist and that one of them runs the Institute.” He paused. “Actually, he—put things together pretty quickly, but I didn’t go into details. I suppose he’s figured it out, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I told him about the Fears…he asked if one of them had something to do with spiders, and when I said yes, he asked if that was why you hated them so much. I didn’t put it together until I heard your tape about that damned Leitner.”

Jon made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “When did you listen to that tape? I—well, I’m not upset, obviously, and I would have…but I don’t remember actually giving it to you.”

Martin bit his lip. “It was…it was while you were in your coma, actually. I listened to all of them. Every tape I could find. I told myself I was trying to fill in the missing pieces, to find out the things you’d known so I could keep the Archives running for you, because I had to believe you’d be back, but…really I just needed to hear your voice.”

“I know how that goes,” Jon said softly. “Honestly, it’s why I listened to all those tapes you were leaving for me as soon as I did. And the ones you did while I was…gone before.” He paused. “Wait…did you listen to the official tapes or the ones I recorded for myself?”

“Both. I didn’t know they were the same cases at first, but…well, the first time I realized I was listening to something I’d already heard, I went ahead and listened all the way to the end.” Martin tightened his arms around Jon without really thinking about it. “God, I felt awful about them. You were going through so much and I didn’t even notice…”

“Martin, no, it—you did notice. I honestly don’t know that I would have survived those months if you hadn’t been looking out for me. Even when I all but accused you of murder, you still looked out for me.” Jon hugged Martin tighter, too. “No one could have done more for me than you did. What happened wasn’t your fault. It’s never been your fault.”

Martin wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he also wasn’t going to argue, not right now. They’d have plenty of time to argue later, he supposed. And really, if that was the worst thing they had to fight about, he could live with that. “Still. I wish there’d been something else I could have done.”

“Just as I wish I could have done more for you when you were working with Peter Lukas. We did what we could with what we had.” Jon sighed. “It will have to be enough. We can’t change it now—not for ourselves, anyway. And hopefully we can keep our past selves from ever having to face that.”

Martin hummed in agreement. “Jon…do you think we can? That we can actually keep Past You from being…marked by any more powers before we can take out…you know?” He left out the question that had been haunting him during the nights he lurked in the Archives: Could they even take out Jonah Magnus? He’d thwarted their efforts once before, after all, and even though they were in the past now, it wouldn’t be easy. “I know you can’t Know the future or hypotheticals or anything like that. I’m asking for your opinion. What do you think?”

For a long moment, Jon didn’t answer. Finally, he said quietly, “I don’t think we can keep him completely free of marks. Michael…wants his revenge. Despite your warning, I think he’ll go after Past Me at some point regardless.” He pondered for a moment. “Before the Unknowing. We’ve got to take him out before then.”

Martin didn’t question which him Jon was talking about. “Tim’s not going to be happy about us taking away his shot at revenge.”

“If there was a safe way of disrupting it, I’d be all for it, but I don’t think there is.”

“Jon, the whole point is that the rituals can’t succeed,” Martin pointed out. “It’s going to collapse under its own weight anyway, right? Why does he have to disrupt it right at the height of the ritual? Why not just…plant the stuff and let him press the button from a safe distance?”

Jon paused. “That…God, why didn’t I think of that? Of course, you’re absolutely right. As long as they’re all there, it…it doesn’t matter how far along it is.”

Martin could hear the exhaustion in Jon’s voice. He was about to ask if Jon was sure he’d slept within the last week when it hit him all of a sudden. Quietly, he asked, “When’s the last time you took a statement?”

The split-second pause before Jon answered told Martin everything he needed to know. “I’m fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

Jon sighed heavily. “I’ve done a couple small ones for myself since I came back, and, well, I was in the room when they gave their statements. It…took the edge off, at least.”

“Yeah, but it’s not enough. You’re starving, Jon.”

“What do you want me to do, start…pouncing people on the streets? You stopped me from doing that once before, and you were right, but—”

“I can give you one,” Martin said. He pressed a finger to Jon’s lips, forestalling his immediate refusal. “No, listen to me. You need a statement. And you’ve been without one so long, it’s got to be…fresh. Besides, I know you want to know what my trip back here was like. That’s…definitely a statement.” And it’ll probably keep you going for a while, he didn’t say. What he’d experienced, in a place he hadn’t expected to feel much fear, had nearly undone him, would have undone him if the Keeper hadn’t intervened at probably the last possible moment. But if there was anyone he wanted to have it, it was Jon.

“I don’t want you to keep destroying yourself to help me,” Jon whispered.

“Gotowe zdrowie, kto chorobie powie.” Martin quoted one of the old Polish proverbs his grandfather had taught him when he was little. He didn’t bother translating. One of Jon’s “gifts” from the Beholding was the ability to understand languages spoken at him, at least sometimes. He couldn’t speak them necessarily, but he could understand them, when the Eye felt it was important. He also knew that Jon didn’t always realize he was doing it. “Let me do something for you, Jon. Please.”

There was a long silence before Jon said, “Tomorrow. Not tonight. Just…I didn’t start seeing Melanie again after she—quit, but just in case it—one more night without nightmares.”

“Okay,” Martin agreed. “Tomorrow it is. After we’ve answered some questions, how’s that?”

“That’s…honestly better than I expected. I thought you’d try to make me do it first thing in the morning.” Jon sounded relieved.

“I’m trying to meet you halfway here.” They were both stubborn as hell—Martin probably worse than Jon, if he was being honest—but they were learning to make concessions to one another. As badly as Martin wanted to force Jon to just take the damn statement already, he also knew that the need for statements was the one part of the Archivist package Jon still hated. More so after what Jonah Magnus had done to him, done through him. And Jon was right about there being a chance taking his statement would mean both of them had to experience it in their nightmares. It was a chance they’d have to take, though.

“So am I.” Jon exhaled. “I…I don’t know how I’m going to do this. How to find the balance between keeping them safe and not keeping them in the dark. And how to do it without…manipulating them. Without forgetting that they’re people, not pieces on a game board.”

“That’s what I’m here for. To help you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Martin twirled a strand of Jon’s hair around his finger idly. “I don’t want to ever have to find out.”

Jon snuggled against Martin’s chest, and he felt the butterfly kiss of his eyelashes fluttering shut. “Neither do I.”

Translation of the proverb: “Ready the health, who shares the disease.” English equivalent: “A problem shared is a problem halved.”

#ollie writes fanfic #the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#blind!martin #time travel fix it au

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