#anyways. i love going to ollie's its the best place in the entire world (and by entire world i mean a reasonable drive from my rural town)

[stxend]

god is real and he wanted me to get a little treat

[fandomscombine]

Baseless Jealousy

Oliver Wood Cousin!Reader x Jealous!Fred Weasley

WC:2307

BG: Fred and y/n’s relationship is currently 3 years long strong. After a summer apart, it seems to be a 3rd party had become closer to y/n. Is it something that Fred has to worry about or is it just baseless jealousy?

a/n: The pairing the won for this fic is Oliver Wood Cousin!Reader x Jealous! Fred Weasley, Thanks so much for voting!

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

>>JOIN MY WRITING CHALLENGE!<<

--

You and Fred started dating 3 years ago. Fred would like to believe that the relationship is strong, other people believes it so too. However ever since the start of 5th year, something started to get on his nerves, or should he say someone.

See, Fred had noticed you getting closer to his Quidditch captain, Oliver wood. He didn’t want to blame it on the summer you two spent apart but he could quite help himself. You had spent the entire apart, no letters whatsoever. At first, he tried to be understanding, it was after all a summer you and your family spent in Italy while attending your aunt’s wedding, you had told him that this was the first time in 8 years that the whole side of your mother’s family was present as they were all scattered into various parts of the world. He understood the importance of family so he had let it slide that you and he hadn’t communicated in the past 2 months- besides, it must be really exhausting to overwork the owls to post cross country.

Which was why he was so excited to finally see you in person at Platform 9 ¾ on the first of September, to his dismay, you had arrived with Oliver Wood. Back then he had pushed his jealousy aside and concluded as a coincidence that you had turned up together at the barrier. You and Oliver are just friends, he told himself, and that was completely fine.

Fred had sneaked a hug behind you and whispered into your ear. ‘Had a great summer?’

You had jumped at the touch but once you realised who is was from you relaxed. ‘Ohh Freddie!’ You turned and hit his chest. ‘Don’t scare me like that!’ Earning a laugh from him. ‘I did, I had such great times catching up with my cousins! You wouldn’t believe how much trouble we almost got into. But of course.’ Your fingers played with the back of his head. ‘I missed having my love around.’

~

‘Hey love I’m off to Quidditch practice now.’ Fred informed, kissing your cheek. ‘Will you be there?’ Ever since you and Fred got together 3 years ago, you would go cheer him on during Quidditch practices whenever you can.

This year however, more are at stake.

During the semi-finals, Quidditch matches are dotted with professional quidditch team mangers in hopes to scout for potential recruits to join their team upon graduation.

It is rumoured that the manager for Puddlemere United would be attending the next match, Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor. Puddlemere United being Oliver’s favourite and dream team, he had been pushing the team with more frequent trainings then ever, hoping to perform the best game they would ever play, to further increase his chances to chosen to be part of the team.

You looked up from the letter you were writing. ‘Yep, just gotta make a quick stop to the owlery. I’ll soon you soon okay?’

~

Arriving at the owlery, a large parcel instantly caught your eye. ‘Oh mum..’ Examining for any potential damage, which thankfully weren’t any.

The barn owl nearest it hooted. ‘Alright! Alright! I was looking if there were damages.’ The owl flapped its wings in annoyance. ‘Here,’ offering your owl some treats. ‘You’ll need to store up some energy on the way back.’ Another hoot sounded, this time from a grey owl, that you recognised belonged too your mother. ‘There’s some for you too.’ After the 2 owls finished their food, you attached your letter your owl’s leg. ‘This is for mother, a thank you note on behalf of Ollie. I’ll write another when we see his reaction to this-I can’t wait.’ You bid the 2 birds goodbye, watching until they disappear unto the horizon.

Now you turn to face your major problem. You had thought that your mother would have had it placed in a box, rather what you got was a large parcel that is clearly wrapped with parchment, with no subtlety in hiding what it truly is.

~

You had finally manged to sneak the parcel into the Gryffindor boys’ locker room, though it had taken a lot more effort than you thought.

You were just leaving when you had bumped into someone.

‘oopf! Sorr-‘

‘y/n love! What are you doing here?’  Fred wondered, looking over your shoulder, trying to figure out what you were up to. ‘You missed the whole practice.’

‘ohh it’s nothing really----Ayyeee! Not so fast!’ You grabbed Harry’s shoulder, preventing him in enter any further. In all honestly, you hadn’t hidden Oliver’s surprise well, there aren’t a lot of hiding places in the changing room. Determined to not ruin the surprise, you need, you must get Oliver to see it first. ‘Had any of you seen Oli-‘

Right then you heard his unmistakably Scottish accent. ‘I’m just saying George, with this new and improve game plan, we are for sure going win the House Cup!’

‘Oliver!’ You shouted, pushing your boyfriend and Harry aside to reach him. ‘Come quick, I’ve got something to show you!’ With all your strength you hauled him to move faster.

‘What is it now y/n? Can’t you see I’m……..’ Oliver had come to a stop. Based on his sudden lack of complaining, you knew he spotted it.

‘It’s a gift from mum and dad. We thought it would future help your chances to be in the professional league.’ You noted. ‘I wasn’t sure which one of these was your locker, so I decided to just hide it behind the benches.’

Oliver hurriedly torn away the wrappings. ‘Oh my…. y/n! A FIREBOLT!’ He turned towards his teammates with eyes watery. ‘A FIREBOLT, A 1993 EBONY WOOD WITH BIRCH TWIGS FIREBOLT!’ He declared with glee.

Too caught up in your cousin’s precious reaction to your gift, you however had failed to noticed Fred displeasure.

‘I think I’m gonna be sick. So much for a girlfriend.’ He grumbled to George. ‘Excuse me.’ Shoving his broom to Harry, Fred walked out of the locker room.

The next thing you knew, you were spinning through the air. Oliver had lifted you in celebration, ‘Thank you y/n thank you so much!’ He mumbled into your hair. ‘Pass on my gratitude to Aunty and Uncle.’  

‘Wait? Did you just say Aunty and Uncle?’ voiced a very confused Harry.

‘Yea.’ Confirmed Oliver. ‘Y/n is my cousin.’

George’s bafflement turned into a startle. ‘You’re joking right?’

‘No, why would be joking George?’ You frowned. ‘Didn’t you know?’

‘Nope’ He replied, popping the “p”. ‘Now it clears everything up. Freddie is going to be--.’

‘Speaking of, where is Freddie?’ You scanned around, wondering where he might have gone to. Which was when you spotted Harry holding up not one but two brooms. ‘Harry…’

‘y/n listen…..Freddie is uhh ’ George was trying to come up how to break it to you gently.

When Harry blurted out. ‘He left.’

‘He whot?’ demanded Oliver.

‘He left, said something about being sick of his girlfriend.’ Commented Harry frankly. ‘owhh!’

Even though it would have been too late to stop Harry from spitting out more wrongfully worded sentences- the damaged has been done- It still made George happy to put some sense into him. Praying that a smack on the head would have made Harry shut up, George took control of the situation, hoping it could still salvage the weakening remain of his twin’s and y/n relationship.

‘Listen y/n. Regarding my idiot brother, you got to know that he, like everyone else in the room, had thought that you and Oliver were flirting with each other.’

‘eww!’ You couldn’t control your reflex.

‘yeah, his emotions got to the best of him when he witnessed everything that got down here and stormed out because of jealousy.’

‘Oh gosh.’ You head towards the door, you could see a red figure walking towards the castle, kicking at fallen leaves every now and then. ‘I’ve got to get to him.’

You felt someone grab your arm ‘No let me handle this y/n.’ voiced Oliver. ‘I’m part of this… complication after all, besides I bet Fred’s fuming right now and as your older cousin, I am willing to take the heat and make him see reason until he has finally calmed down to talk to you with a clear head.’ He explained reassuringly.

‘But---

‘No buts.’ Oliver kissed your forehead. ‘Stay here and send for him back so all this misunderstanding could be sorted out. Now…’ he addressed Harry to get his new firebolt. ‘I’ve got a relationship to fix.’ Oliver hopped on the broom and sped away.

~

‘Fred! Fred!’ Screamed Oliver.

Fred choose to ignore him, picking up his pace.

Leaving Oliver with no choice but to cut him off.

‘WEASLEY!’ Oliver jumped off his broom.

‘Get Out of My Way Wood!’ Fred raised his hand to shove the other boy away but met with resistance. ‘I SAID GET OUT!’ Fred tried to free his fist from Oliver’s grasp, but the older boy was much stronger.

‘Not until you calm down and listen to what I have to say.’

‘Fine.’ Oliver let go of him, he raised his arms high in surrender. ‘y/n sent you, didn’t she?’

‘No. I came here on my own will. I told her to stay behind to protect her.’ Oliver confessed.

‘To protect her?’ scoffed Fred. ‘From what? From me?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

‘Oh of course, it’s HER who needs protecting and not me. Not me, after I see you both shamelessly act so close to one another, closer, might I tell you then her own boyfriend! If was as if I wasn’t there’

‘Fred,’

Fred brushed his hand away, ignoring Oliver’s interruption. ‘When did you two get so close anyway? You know at first, I tried to pass it off as friendship but as time when on, I could help but think-‘

‘Y/N IS MY COUSIN!’ blurted Oliver, unable to hear another person thinking that they were other than family. ‘THERE’S NOTHING GOING ON BETWEEN US!’

‘what?’  

‘Apparently for some reason most of you lot don’t know. George and Harry were just as surprised too. But yes, y/n is my cousin, on my father’s side. My father and her mother are brothers and sisters. I thought with all these years we’ve known each other that you’d know we’re related. Guess I was wrong.’

‘I….I didn’t know.. I’m sorry.’

‘Apology accepted but we both know there is someone more deserving of hearing that apology.’ Oliver nodded towards the locker room. ‘She’s there waiting.’

‘Thank you, Oliver.’ He held out his hand. ‘Friends?’

‘Friends’ Oliver shook his hand, the stared straight into his eyes. ‘BUT…’

‘but?’

‘But if you hurt her again Weasley, you have me to answer for, that is of course after she’s done her share.’ Without another word, Oliver flew off, testing out his new gift.

~

Fred ran full speed ahead, praying that he didn’t completely ruin a wondering 3-year relationship with the girl of his dreams. Before entering the room, he conjured up a bouquet of your favourite flowers, hoping that could help out his image.

Testing the waters, he called. ‘y/n? are you in here love?’

‘In here’ you sighed. He hated hearing you so sad. He hated it more that it was him causing you to feel that way.

Cautiously he made his way to you with arms outstretched. You accepted the flowers, to that he let himself relax a bit, bringing them up to you nose, you noted. ‘They smell nice, thank you.’

Fred was grateful that you hadn’t scolded him off on his baseless jealousy, still he knew he had to apologize and win his girl back. Kneeling in front where you sat, Fred took your hands and poured out his heart.

‘Y/n, I am sorry. I made a huge mistake, I… I got jealous of how you had gotten close to Oliver this year.’ He confessed.’ Ever since the start of this year, I thought that Oliver was stealing you away from me. I thought that perhaps you two had something going on behind my back.’

Chuckling to himself he continued. ‘I didn’t even realise that you were cousins until he told me just now. I feel so stupid. 3 years together, 5 years of knowing you. It was so obvious.’ Fred closed his eyes.

‘Still, with my worries, I should have asked, asked what you and Oliver were.’ He stressed. ‘I should have come and talked to you, to sort this out like what a, healthy, trusting and understanding relationship would. But instead I keep all my doubts and insecurities brew, I went deep into my own conclusions that were without evidence, I let my jealousy get the best of me.’

Fred brought your knuckles to his lips. ‘y/n love, I’m sorry. I love you and if you want a space, I understand. But there is no a day in this world where I would not rather be back in your loving arms. I hope that you could forgive me.’

‘Freddie, I forgive you.’ You cup his tear stained cheek. ‘It was just a stupid misunderstanding.’

Gesturing for him to sit beside you ‘I thought it was common knowledge that Oliver and I are cousins. Apparently not. Yes, we weren’t that close before.’ You admitted.  ‘But we really did get to know each other in the summer. 5 weeks either being sounded by adult relatives or small children, we hung out often, being the only 2 cousins similar in age.’

You return back into a more serious tone. ‘Of course, I did wish you had voiced it out, we could have avoided this conflict altogether. So, promise me this. Whatever problems may arise, before we delved into our own assumptions, we would always talk it out. Alright?’

‘I promise.’

~

Taglist [All/General]: @gruffle1​

Tagging also all those who voted for the~Oliver Wood Cousin!Reader x Jealous!Fred Weasley~ Thank you! @jenniweaslee​ @ najiler @ im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @ gweaslvy and the lovely anons!

[secretlittlerandezvous]

The Cliffs Of Étretat - Olli Määttä

Summary: The reader always wanted to go to France. Olli takes her there and prepares an unexpected surprise at an unexpected place.

Note:This one was requested by this gorgeous babe @coocoocatchoo! I hope you like this. I enjoyed writing this 💘💘 (Btw someone show this to my boyfriend for inspiration)

Words: 1400

“I long for your arms around me. I long for your warmth to keep me company. I long for you to be by my side.”

Olli wanted something special for their vacation. He set his mind to take her on the best vacation possible a few months ago when the hockey season started again. He was aware of how hard it was on her when he was away on road trips or tired from the games. She put on a brave face each time he canceled a date and supported him no matter how sad or disappointed she was. Olli never fully believed her, but she never lied when she said she understood and that it was fine with her. Y/n knew what she was getting herself into the first time they met, and she accepted the hard truth of dating a hockey player; distance, never enough of free time, canceled dates, and sharing him with everyone else. She understood it all and she fully supported him no matter what. Olli was aware she had to sacrifice a lot and he decided to always do whatever he could to make each date and each vacation unforgettable. Four years ago, when he took her on the first date he asked her about her dreams. Her dream was to travel and one of her most desired destinations was Northern France. Now, after four years of dating, after dozens of tropical destinations they visited together it was time to take her to the place she always wanted to see the most.

They spend a couple of days in Paris and then the couple moved on to discover the cities of Northern France. Olli didn’t care about the beauty of the cities, small villages, and nature as much as she did because he had other things in mind. He liked to stop and watch her fall in love with the smallest of things, he adored her smile or how excited she looked while taking pictures. He chuckled at her when she happily ran from place to place and when she couldn’t decide what to see and do next. She wanted to discover everything.

Both of them felt quite differently. It was something entirely different, some other kind of joy. It was the feeling of complete happiness, a feeling of being content with everything, and everyone. The vacation had a good impact on not only their mood and feelings but also on their relationship. It was just the two of them, no family and friends, no teammates and coworkers, no fans. Just Olli and Y/n. She didn’t want to admit it but he knew anyway how jealous she was when she had to share him with so many people and how she wanted to keep him to herself just for a few days. Olli enjoyed how they were never disturbed by anyone, he got to hold Y/n’s hand for as long as he wanted, he could kiss her and tell her how beautiful she looked without anyone bothering them.

They were in Étretat. A beautiful village in Normandy and they were both stunned by the beauty of its nature. When they looked out of the window in the mornings, they saw locals walking through the cobblestone streets. Some of them were on their way to the market. This activity was something the couple picked up on and they started each morning like the locals by buying some fresh cheese and pastry for the breakfast and from time to time some olive oil and good wine. Some were on their way to work while others were just now coming home.

“Olli! Will you finally tell me where you are taking me?” She asked faking an angry voice and then she laughed because she knew he didn’t buy it. She loved surprises and she was beyond excited to see what Olli planned for them, but she was also getting a little impatient.

“Come on babe,” he yelled from the distance. She looked over her shoulder only to realize how far away he already was. Y/n spent the last five minutes or so sitting on the cliff watching the waves crash against the cliff and trying to figure out what Olli planned to surprise her with. This whole time she believed he was right behind her. The sounds of waves and the scent of air filled her with nostalgia. “We need to hurry up before it gets too dark.” With that Y/n stood up and ran towards Olli to catch up with him.

“For how long you are gonna keep it to yourself?”

“We’re almost there,” he said with a smile. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

They climbed the cliffs, walked through the endless tunnels in the rocks, they took in each moment, each smell and sound as they wanted to remember this forever. Y/n thought Olli wanted to catch the sunset at the beach and have a romantic evening and so she didn’t expect to see what she did when they arrived to the beach. Right between the huge rocks, there was a small table with two chairs, a long white tablecloth with dozens of candles and flowers decorated it perfectly together with a bucket of food and champagne. A floral and bulb decked up frame stood above the table and the view at the sea added to the magic.

“Olli!” She yelled out in excitement before she covered her face nervously because she felt her eyes watering and cheeks getting more red with each second. “This is so beautiful!” She whispered as she walked closer to the romantic setting.

“I promised you it will be worth the wait,” Olli said with a cocky grin as they both sat down. “Well, at least I hope it was.”

“Are you kidding? This is beyond beautiful Olli!”

“I’m glad,” he said with a satisfied smile on his face. He checked his pocket one more time before he stood up walked up to Y/n.

“Olli?” Y/n asked with a shaky voice unsure of what he was doing.

“My dear Y/n,” he grabbed her hands and she intuitively stood up while he got down on one knee. “All jokes and all sarcasm aside, I cannot live without seeing you dance while you prepare the breakfast or without your sassy attitude. I think it would be impossible to live without your support and cheerfulness. I want you by my side for the rest of my days and mostly I want to spend the rest of my life proving you how much I love you. Y/n, the love of my life, will you marry me?”

As he said the last sentence, he opened the little box he had in his hand the entire time and reached out for her hand. He kissed her to calm her down because he noticed she was shaking and then he slid the diamond ring on her finger. She stared at him as the tears fell down her face, the wide smile never left her face, and every time she opened her mouth to say something she started crying even more. Olli, although he believed in a positive answer was getting nervous, his hands were sweating, and his heart was beating so fast he thought it would jump out of his chest in any second. After a while, she started nodding her head in a shock and kneeled down to hug him. “Yes! It’s a thousand times yes!” She whispered once she calmed down.

“Thank god,” Olli breathed out, all nervousness left the moment she finally answered, and his heartbeat eventually slowed down a little. “I promise to be the best husband and the best dad in the world.” He said and then he kissed her deeply.

“And I promise the same to you,” she nodded. “I mean to be the best wife and the best mom.” She said jokingly. They could never be serious together for longer than a few minutes. They were constantly joking and being sarcastic together.

Y/n rested her head on his chest, his hand was protectively wrapped around her while the other hand stroked her cheek. Every once in a while, he kissed the top of her head while she adored the beautiful ring on her finger. “I love you so much Olli.” She said softly looking up at him.

“I love you just the same,” he said with a bright smile.

[nightqueendany]

Game of Thrones and Lawrence of Arabia

I’m just going to copy and paste relevant parts of the Wikipedia summary below and go through point by point:

The story then moves backward to the First World War, where Lawrence is a misfit British Army lieutenant, notable for his insolence and education. 

Hmm, who do we know from the story who is 1) a misfit, 2) joins a type of “army” and 3) is known for his insolence and education.

Oh yeah, JON FUCKING SNOW. 

Over the objections of General Murray, Mr. Dryden of the Arab Bureau sends him to assess the prospects of Prince Faisal in his revolt against the Turks. 

Who also is sent on a mission that his Lord Commander isn’t entirely chuffed about, at the request of another commander, in order to assess/take care of a situation regarding a foreign group?

Oh yeah, JON FUCKING SNOW.

On the journey, his Bedouin guide, Tafas, is killed by Sherif Ali for drinking from his well without permission. Lawrence later meets Colonel Brighton, who orders him to keep quiet, make his assessment, and leave. Lawrence ignores Brighton's orders when he meets Faisal. His outspokenness piques the prince's interest.

Brighton advises Faisal to retreat after a major defeat, but Lawrence proposes a daring surprise attack on Aqaba; 

Now, this bit I could see being Dany vs Jorah, when he’s trying to convince her that she doesn’t need Yunkai and she wants to take it to save the slaves there, but the parallel is really weak. 

The parallel of Lawrence being a young but capable military commander could belong to both Jon or Dany.

its capture would provide a port from which the British could offload much-needed supplies. The town is strongly fortified against a naval assault but only lightly defended on the landward side. He convinces Faisal to provide fifty men, led by a skeptical Sherif Ali. Teenage orphans Daud and Farraj attach themselves to Lawrence as servants. 

Again, this parallel could belong to either Jon or Dany. Missandei for Dany, Ollie for Jon.

They cross the Nefud Desert, considered impassable even by the Bedouins, traveling day and night on the last stage to reach water. One of Ali's men, Gasim, succumbs to fatigue and falls off his camel unnoticed during the night. When Lawrence discovers him missing, he turns back and rescues Gasim—and Sherif Ali is won over. He gives Lawrence Arab robes to wear.

The crossing of the desert could parallel Dany’s journey through the Red Waste - but the purposes for crossing these deserts are two totally different motivations. Lawrence and co are heading for battle. Dany and co are just trying to survive.

Dany is never given native garb as a reward. She adopts the garb of her people to show them respect. However, Jon is given a white fur by Mance when Jon successfully convinces Mance he wants to change sides from Night’s Watch to Wildling. 

Lawrence persuades Auda abu Tayi, the leader of the powerful local Howeitat tribe, to turn against the Turks. 

This could parallel Dany convincing Daario and co to fight for her rather than Yunkai...I guess? Or perhaps it’s Dany convincing the slaves of Yunaki to turn against their masters. Or perhaps it’s Jon convincing the Wildlings and Northmen to fight together against Ramsay? Who fuckin’ knows?

Lawrence's scheme is almost derailed when one of Ali's men kills one of Auda's because of a blood feud. Howeitat retaliation would shatter the fragile alliance, so Lawrence declares that he will execute the murderer himself. He is then stunned to discover that the culprit is Gasim, the very man to save whom he risked his own life in the desert, but he shoots him anyway.

This could be Dany in S5 executing Mossador, but remember, that was a show-only add-in. 

The next morning, the Arabs overrun the Turkish garrison. Lawrence heads to Cairo to inform Dryden and the new commander, General Allenby, of his victory. While crossing the Sinai Desert, Daud dies when he stumbles into quicksand. Lawrence is promoted to major and given arms and money for the Arabs. He is deeply disturbed, however, confessing that he enjoyed executing Gasim, but Allenby brushes aside his qualms. He asks Allenby whether there is any basis for the Arabs' suspicions that the British have designs on Arabia. When pressed, the general states that they do not.

This is Jon Snow to a T. Jon is promoted to Lord Commander, he gives rations to the wildlings who agree to help man the Wall, and he’s in a delicate negotiation with Stannis in regards to the wildlings fates in relation to the Seven Kingdoms.  

Lawrence launches a guerrilla war, blowing up trains and harassing the Turks at every turn. American war correspondentJackson Bentley publicizes Lawrence's exploits, making him famous. On one raid, Farraj is badly injured. Unwilling to leave him to be tortured by the enemy, Lawrence shoots him dead before fleeing.

This could be both Jon/Dany or neither. There are *some* parallels to both their wars taking back their homes - Jon with Battle of the Bastards, Dany with the Loot Train Battle. But it’s a weak parallel for them both at best. 

When Lawrence scouts the enemy-held city of Deraa with Ali, he is taken, along with several Arab residents, to the Turkish Bey. Lawrence is stripped, ogled, and prodded. Then, for striking out at the Bey, he is severely flogged before being thrown into the street. The experience leaves Lawrence shaken. He returns to British headquarters in Cairo but does not fit in.

Daenerys is captured and beaten by the Dothraki in Season 6. Jon is captured and beaten by the wildlings in Season 2.

However, the “returning but not fitting in” is a parallel that belongs to Jon solely. When he returns to the Wall after being undercover with the wildlings, he is very much changed by his time with them. He “talks like a wildling” because he “ate with the wildlings, climbed the Wall with the wildlings, and lay with a wildling girl.” He gained an understanding of them and their culture and has adopted their ways of thinking as his own which is why in S7 Tormund tells him, “You spent too much time with the Free Folk, now you don’t like kneeling.” Dany, throughout her story, is both adoptive of all the cultures she encounters and also loyal to none of them, only participating in cultural practices to show respect, not because she has become fully immersed in the culture.

A short time later in Jerusalem, General Allenby urges him to support the "big push" on Damascus. Lawrence hesitates to return but finally relents.

Lawrence recruits an army that is motivated more by money than by the Arab cause. 

This actually most closely parallels CERSEI in Seasons 7/8 and her purchasing of a contract with the Golden Company. So who the fuck cares? LOL

They sight a column of retreating Turkish soldiers who have just massacred the residents of Tafas. One of Lawrence's men is from Tafas; he demands, "No prisoners!" When Lawrence hesitates, the man charges the Turks alone and is killed. Lawrence takes up the dead man's battle cry; the result is a slaughter in which Lawrence himself participates. Afterwards, he regrets his actions.

The “guerrilla war” on the Turks and this scene in particular are the only ones I can think of as to why Dany’s arc is compared with this film. However, in this last battle scene in Lawrence of Arabia where Lawrence “goes too far”, it’s not an entirely unprovoked act of senseless violence. Yes, in the film, it’s meant to be horrific. 

However, 1) they are killing Turkish soldiers, not civilians, and 2) the Turkish soldiers had just slaughtered an entire city. So it’s not as if they’re innocent men. 

(Please keep in mind, I am not a history buff. I have no idea about any of this stuff in actual historical context or if the film is historically accurate. I’m not saying the Turkish soldiers deserved this but again, not saying they’re innocent in the way the film frames them either). 

This more reminds me of Dany’s attack on the Lannister/Tarly troops after their sack of Highgarden than the massacre of King’s Landing. 

OR, it could be Jon Snow “getting the crazy eyes and losing a bit of his goodness” - Miguel Sapochnik - in Battle of the Bastards. 

But this is definitely not Dany’s King’s Landing moment. The Bells isn’t Dany going “just a little too far.” That’s Dany going outright batshit and killing full on innocent people with no hint of regret - which Lawrence does regret his actions. So this fucking parallel is idiotic. If Emilia were meant to see Dany as “Lawrence of Arabia”, then that arc would be finished long before Season 8 because Season 8 Dany has no regrets of the violence she’s participated in. Lawrence struggles with that question constantly - as does Jon Snow. 

Lawrence's men take Damascus ahead of Allenby's forces. The Arabs set up a council to administer the city, but the desert tribesmen prove ill-suited for such a task. Despite Lawrence's efforts, they bicker constantly. Unable to maintain the public utilities, the Arabs soon abandon most of the city to the British.

Lawrence is promoted to colonel and immediately ordered back to Britain, as his usefulness to both Faisal and the British is at an end. As he leaves the city, his automobile is passed by a motorcyclist who leaves a trail of dust in his wake.

The bickering among Arabs could be the bickering among the Northmen when Jon is King, or it could be Dany dealing with the former slaves and masters in Slaver’s Bay, but it’s unclear. 

HOWEVER, being useful to neither cause and getting tossed out like trash when his usefulness at bringing people together and fighting their fights is at an end, is full on Jon Snow, and like Lawrence, he’s sent back to his place of origin: the Wall. 

If Dany’s story were to be parallel to Lawrence, she wouldn’t have slaughtered King’s Landing and would have gone back to Essos. 

Add to all this, Lawrence is a bastard son of an English Lord, struggles with his identity, struggles with his place between serving the British Army and his love for the Arab people, and lastly his squeamishness with unnecessary violence, and you’ve got Jon Fucking Snow.

I really have no idea when or why D&D told Emilia that Dany’s story was like Lawrence of Arabia. Honestly, after now having watched this film, I think they likely told her this back in the early days of the show, so of course Emilia wouldn’t connect this to Dany’s “dark turn” because Lawrence doesn’t fucking have this gigantic 180 like Dany does. That’s not what happens to his character so why would Emilia have expected that? Or expected Dany to die the way she did?? Dany’s “go too far” moment, in the series, would have been crucifying the masters. That’s it. The masters were evil and did something horrible and she was “punishing” them for it. And it was a great morally gray moment, which she later questions about herself. Just like Lawrence regrets his actions in the slaughter of the Turkish soldiers in the final battle in that film. 

But to compare Dany’s “The Bells” moment to the final battle of Lawrence of Arabia does not fit at all. 

It makes no fucking sense. Just like the rest of this pathetic dumpster fire of a season. 

[whentommymetalfie]

But you can have me

A/N: in response to a nice little assortment of requests -domestic fluff, gift giving, Tommy wearing Alfie’s clothes, and the 5+1 thing. Aka all my usual things in one fic: Blankets, flowers, gratuitous fluff and hurt/comfort. Tommy suffering. 

Summary: Five times Alfie told Tommy that he loved him. And one time Tommy said it first. 

Wordcount: 10K (I KNOW pls forgive me!!!) 

Warnings: descriptions of injury and illness 

It’s something rare and precious, to have Tommy Shelby love you. That much Alfie realizes. Because he’s terrified to love, which in and of its own is terrible and sometimes Alfie wishes that he could… burn the entire fucking world for making him so afraid. And not only that, but he’s got this idea that he’s not worthy of someone else’s love either. These are things that Tommy would probably rather die than admitting out loud, but Alfie knows. He sees.

So that first time, when he tells Tommy that he loves him, he’s absolutely stunned when he says it back. And not only says it back but actually means it. Alfie can see it in his eyes, because there’s a spark of absolute terror there. So yeah, he means it. Right then, it feels like Tommy gives him a tiny piece of his heart, and Alfie is just doing everything he can not to break it. And slowly, he gets more pieces. He can always tell when it happens, because it’s in those rare moments when Tommy looks insecure. He gets more pieces, and he is equally gentle with all of them. To the best of his abilities.

Alfie tells Tommy that he loves him as often as he can manage. Partly because life is short and you never fucking know when it’s going to end. But most of all, it’s just because he does love him, and he’s never been one to not speak his mind.

Sometimes Tommy says it back.

Sometimes he just smiles.

Sometimes, on bad days, he looks away.

And he never says it first.

Alfie doesn’t mind- Tommy loves him, and if Alfie  has to be the first to say those words out loud each time, that’s fine. The problem is that he suspects -no, is absolutely convinced- that Tommy never says it first because he’s terrified that Alfie won’t say it back. Again, nothing that Tommy has ever admitted out loud. Just another one of those things that Alfie knows.

And that, he can’t have.

Not much to do, though, except taking care of all those pieces and hope that eventually, Tommy won’t be so afraid anymore.

-One-

Tommy is still in bed when Alfie wakes up, a rare occurrence on weekdays. He’s usually down in the kitchen, on that spot on the counter -the best place to sit in the entire house, apparently- smoking and making no efforts what so ever at making breakfast. But more often than not these days, Tommy will have made tea by the time Alfie gets down there. A solid arrangement, that -Tommy makes tea while Alfie takes care of the food.

But not today. Today, Alfie opens his eyes, blinks to clear them from sleepy gravel, and finds Tommy curled up into a ball right next to him on the mattress. He smiles and inches forward, running a hand over his back as he leans in and kisses his forehead lightly. As expected, Tommy opens his eyes a fraction, but closes them again just as quickly

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Alfie pulls him into a hug, enjoying the feeling of Tommy’s body, relaxed and warm from sleep, in his arms. Tommy lets out an incoherent hum and makes no effort to move or speak any actual words, but Alfie is just as happy to just continue holding him, placing occasional kisses on different spots of his face. Like his freckled cheek. Or the tip of his nose. Or those pouty lips. Alfie has plenty of spots to kiss.

After a few more minutes of this, however, it becomes clear  that Tommy isn’t planning to move anytime soon.  

“Fine then, suppose I’ll take care of breakfast, as usual,” Alfie says, kisses his forehead, and climbs out of bed. “Which I’m more than happy to do, mind you. Since I’m such an exemplary specimen of a man…”

Tommy remains quiet under the duvet.

Alfie goes downstairs to make breakfast, whistling a bit to himself as he pours water into the kettle and puts it on the stove. It’s good that Tommy stays in bed for a bit, as strange as it feels. Things have been moving a bit too fast for Alfie’s liking these past few weeks, in this never ending cycle of tasks that need to get done. They’ve both been working long hours, but as a rule, if Alfie works long hours, Tommy works even longer. So, yeah, it’s good that Tommy for some unfathomable reason has decided to sleep in today.

But when the tea is ready and the eggs are in the pan, Tommy still hasn’t showed up in the kitchen. And at that point, Alfie goes up to the bedroom to investigate.

Tommy is sitting on the edge of the bed, back turned against the door.

“Haven’t gotten further than that, have you?” Alfie says. “And here I thought you were the punctual one out of the two of us. Always nagging me for trying to capitalize on the time I get to spend in this bed with you by-“ he cuts himself off, because Tommy isn’t responding. Isn’t moving at all or even acknowledging his presence.

“Tommy?” He walks around the bed and puts himself in his line of sight. Tommy glances up, but his gazes shifts to the floor again, as if it’s too… heavy, to even lift. A surge of worry stabs at the pit of his stomach.

“Are you sick?” he asks, reaching to put a hand on his forehead. The skin feels cool and smooth underneath his palm.

“No.”

Alfie runs the palm down to cup Tommy’s cheek. Strokes the dark circles underneath his eyes gently with his thumb.

“You didn’t sleep well,” he states.

Tommy doesn’t answer. His chest rises, as if drawing in breath for a sigh, but no air comes out. Sometimes, a sigh can be completely silent and just hang in the air instead.

Alfie sinks down onto the mattress next to Tommy.

“Maybe we should stay home today? Just rest for a bit. Things have been a bit hectic lately, I reckon. We could both use a break.”

Tommy shakes his head but makes no effort at all to move.

“We should… go to the office. There’s a delivery coming at eleven,” he says and Alfie curses silently. Of course Tommy remembered that. Tommy always remembers.

“Fuck it, they can deal with that on their own.”

“You know they can’t,” Tommy says without a hint of a smile. He rubs a hand over his face. Then he says something that nearly physically knocks Alfie from the bed, “I think I’m… I’m just going to sleep for a while. I’ll come in a bit later.”

Alfie watches in stunned silence as he crawls back under the covers and draws his knees up to his chest. The worry has turned from a quick surge to a heavy lump now.

“I’ll stay here with you.”

“No. Go. I’ll be there in an hour. Is that okay?”

“Of course, yeah, reckon you’ve put in enough time to last a lifetime,” Alfie says and everything feels absolutely surreal.

Afterwards, he thinks that it may be a selfish instinct, deciding to go to the office anyway. Because he can’t bring himself to pace around the house, worrying about whatever is going on with Tommy today. Better then to distract himself with work.

He brings Tommy a cup of tea, and a slice of toast that he cuts up into small pieces. An ingrained habit that is solely reserved for when Tommy isn’t feeling well. After some hesitation he puts Tommy’s cigarettes there on the tray, and his lighter.

“Try to eat something, love,” he says when he puts the tray on the nightstand. Knowing full well that he won’t. Then he checks again to make sure he doesn’t have a fever, and Tommy doesn’t even supply with some annoyed comment about him fussing and that does nothing to calm him down.

Then he goes to the office.

The following hours he’s so wrapped up in everything that goes on there- his employees do have a tendency to keep him busy with their utter fucking incompetence, so for a while, he forgets to think about Tommy every single moment. And suddenly it’s afternoon, and the sun is shining in through a dirty windowpane in his office, hanging low in the sky. He sinks down behind his desk, and that’s when he finally realizes that Tommy never showed up. He stares at the empty chair behind his desk, where the papers are stacked as neatly as ever in meticulous order. And he decides that it’s time to go home right this second, to hell with everything else.

Leaving Ollie and Eli in charge, he decides that if the bakery burns down, it’s fate, and drives home.

He expects to find Tommy in the drawing room. Or possibly the living room. Anywhere downstairs really. Thinks that he probably just needed some time to brood over some thing or another, and that he’ll be hunched over a pile of papers with a cigarette by now.

But instead, he finds him in bed.

It’s way past noon and Tommy is still in bed. The cup of tea sits untouched on the nightstand, and the ashtray is empty. Leaving him alone the entire day was most likely a mistake, Alfie now realizes.

His back is turned against the door, and he doesn’t move when Alfie sits down.

“I’m home,” he says. As if that’s necessary to point out. “Did you get any sleep?”

Tommy doesn’t respond.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?”

“I’m fine.”

“Well you’re definitely not fine, because as far as I can see, you’ve been here in bed all day and that’s definitely not fucking fine.”

The room fills with that heavy kind of silence that weighs down on his shoulders. For a while he just sits there, uselessly, watching the steady but slight rise of the duvet as Tommy breathes. When several minutes have passed, he decides that doing… something, anything, will be better than doing nothing at all, so he shrugs out of his waistcoat, lies down behind Tommy on the bed and hugs him tightly. At first, Tommy tenses up, becoming stiff as a board in his arms. But then he slowly begins to relax. Alfie can pull him a bit closer then, until he’s snug against his chest and he buries his nose in his hair. Tommy’s feet are cold. His hands too. In fact Tommy’s entire body seems to run a few degrees colder than Alfie’s, always. He breathes warm air against the back of his neck. Wraps his hands around his wrists and rubs them gently.

Outside the window, the sun is setting, shining soft light in through the window.

“Talk to me, love,” Alfie whispers and hopes it doesn’t sound as much as a plea as it actually is. “Did something happen? Something I don’t know about?”

Tommy shakes his head.

Silence. A car passes by outside. Alfie listens to the sound disappear in the distance. The city outside seems unusually quiet today.

“I don’t know what’s wrong I just- Things are just… bad today,” Tommy finally whispers. He draws a shaky breath. Alfie pulls him closer. Not much else he can do, when things are like this. Bad. Tommy might not understand it himself, but Alfie does. It’s the same kind of bad that makes him work endless hours at the betting shop, going through piles of paperwork and smoking just to keep his head and hands busy. Same kind that makes him go all quiet and close himself off, so that Alfie has to reach across fucking oceans just to get to him.

This is just a new way for it to manifest.

Tommy’s hands have gone a bit warmer. Alfie fits his palms over the back of them. Holds them and pulls them against his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers. Just that.

Tommy’s ribcage rises under his hand and he waits for the inevitable question: why? It’s the usual response on days like this. Alfie always answers, of course. Doesn’t mind listing the reasons over and over again and he’s done it a thousand times and he’ll do it a thousand fucking times more.

But this time, Tommy just releases the air into a long breath. Then he rolls over to face Alfie, and when Alfie pulls him close to his chest, that last bit of tension finally drains from his body, leaving him relaxed in his arms.

He doesn’t ask.

He just let’s Alfie hold him.

-Two-

“Good morning to the man of my dreams!” Alfie makes sure that the exclamation is loud enough to wake Tommy up -though that really is no hard feat considering he’s a light sleeper at best.

And sure enough, the long eyelashes flutter and Tommy peers up at him as he walks up to the bed, sets the tray down on the nightstand and seats himself on the edge of the mattress. He kisses Tommy’s cheek, soft and warm from sleep.

“Morning,” Tommy mutters and blinks a few times. His gaze first lands on the roses on the nightstand. This is a particularly large bouquet, and the flowers spill over the edge of the vase into a huge cloud of red petals. As always, Tommy’s eyes sparkle when he looks at them. And as always, he tries to hide it.

Tommy would deny it to his dying breath, but he loves it when Alfie gives him flowers. Alfie could see it the very first time he bought him some. Back then it had felt strange and bordering on absurd; surely they’re not the kind of fucking couple who buy each other flowers? But then he passed that flowershop on some godforsaken street on his way to Tommy’s house, and after spending a solid minute just marveling at the fact that there’s a fucking flowershop in fucking Birmingham, the urge to just… buy some for Tommy hit him for some inexplicable reason. Maybe because he never thought he’d have someone to buy flowers for, and the suddenly he did. And whether that person actually wanted to receive the flowers or not seemed less important.

So, he showed up at Watery Lane with roses -which for some reason felt like the best choice- and extended the bouquet to Tommy when he opened the door. And Tommy didn’t laugh or come with some snide remark -both were reactions that Alfie was prepared for. Instead he just blinked in surprise.

“Are these for me?” he asked after a while. Are these for me? As if Alfie would show up with flowers for someone else at his fucking doorstep. Which Alfie had to point out before Tommy finally accepted the flowers, taking them in both hands and holding them carefully, as if they were made out of glass. The ‘thank you’ was so quiet that Alfie just barely caught it. And for a short, surreal little moment the indifferent veneer just washed away and Tommy looked heartbreakingly insecure

And he suddenly realized that it’s likely no one had ever bought flowers for Tommy. And that Tommy probably didn’t expect to ever receive any, either.  

So after that, he’s continued to buy flowers for any and all occasions. Tommy mutters about it sometimes; tells him it’s not necessary because flowers really serve no purpose. But he blushes prettily every time.

This time is no exception, and Alfie is as delighted as always to be privy to such a sight.

“What’s the occasion?” Tommy asks and looks at the huge bouquet with bright and happy eyes.

“Oh, absolutely none at all.” Alfie shrugs. “Other than it being yet another day which I get to spend in your presence, love.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking impossible.” He laughs and props himself up on his elbows, meeting Alfie halfway when he leans down to kiss him. He tries to keep it chaste, but Tommy hungrily deepens the kiss, eagerly pulling him closer.

“The tea will get cold,” Alfie points out, but willingly settles on top of him when Tommy spreads his legs.

“The tea can wait,” Tommy mutters against his lips. Tugs him closer and hooks one of his legs around his waist. He smiles up at Alfie. “If we’re quick about it, it’ll still be warm afterwards.”

And who is Alfie to turn him down when he makes such a reasonable and excellent point?

The tea is miraculously still warm afterwards, despite Alfie making sure Tommy is taken very good care of, in several positions -because he’s nothing if not thorough. Good quality pot, he points out when he pours them both a cup. Tommy just responds with a hum as he lies there on the mattress, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. It’s a very nice view to have while he drinks his tea.

After a little while, Tommy rolls over onto his side, and Alfie catches him looking at the roses on the nightstand. But he pretends that he hasn’t noticed. Because Tommy has this look on his face; this dreamy, happy little smile coupled with eyes that seem to sparkle. And Alfie is entirely sure that if he’s made aware of it, the look will fade and he’ll never get to see it again.

“It’s getting to be pretty expensive, this,” Tommy mumbles and reaches out to carefully run his finger along one of the petals. He glances quickly at Alfie, tucking his hand back under his chin. “You really don’t have to, you know. I don’t need… all this.”

Alfie isn’t sure if he’s just referring to the roses, but his heart clenches painfully none the less.

“One of these days, I’m going to plant you an entire rose garden,” he says. “Just… rows and rows of rose bushes. And our house will just be overflowing with them.” He pauses, and adds as an afterthought. “Did you know that there’s this whole system with flowers, yeah? Where different numbers and colours and what not mean different things?”

“I had no idea.” Tommy smiles and it’s not clear whether he actually doesn’t know or if he’s just indulging Alfie. Alfie decides to explain none the less.

“White roses are all about… chastity and purity you know.” He runs his fingers through Tommy’s hair and Tommy closes his eyes. “A single red rose is something along the lines of ‘you’re the one’ and then twelve of‘em means ‘be mine’ or ‘I love you’, depending on who you ask I reckon”

“Mhm, and how many is this?”

“Think it’s about… fifty,” Alfie answers and very much enjoys the way Tommy’s eyes snap open and widen into a look of poorly concealed horror.

“And what does fifty roses mean then?” he asks, quickly straightening his features. Alfie sets his teacup down so that he can wrap both arms around Tommy and pull him close.

“Oh, just that I love you more than… all the flowers in the entire world could say.”

Tommy blushes in such a deep shade of red that he’s beginning to look like one of the roses and promptly squirms out of his arms to hide his face in a pillow.

“You just say things like that to torment me,” he accuses from within the feathery depth. Alfie chuckles fondly and settles behind him, deciding to let him hide in there for as long as he’d like.

“Sure I do, love.”

- Three-

When Alfie steps into the hallway at Watery Lane, he is greeted by a surprised Tommy. Who almost walks straight into him on his way towards the door. Alfie’s heart skips a beat. Tends to do things like that, when he’s been away for a few days and finally gets to see him again.

Before Tommy can protest or say anything in greeting, Alfie slides a hand to the small of his back, pulls him close and kisses him. Tommy lets out a muffled yelp in surprise, but then kisses him back. Alfie drops his suitcase unceremoniously on the floor and wraps the other arm around him too, but when he tugs him yet a bit closer, Tommy winces. And whines in pain. It’s quiet and he quickly stifles it, but it’s enough to  abruptly pull Alfie out of his pleasant haze. When he opens his eyes and takes a step back, he just catches Tommy clutch at his left arm before he manages to straighten his features again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Tommy says, way to quickly and completely unconvincing. His eyes dart towards the door. “I was just on my way out, so I-“

Instantly suspicious, Alfie reaches for his arm but Tommy snatches it away, taking a step back. Alfie follows, pinning him with his most stern look.

“What’s with your arm?” He tries to grab it again but Tommy shrinks away from him like a spooked animal, clutching it to his chest protectively. Somehow, it’s not until now Alfie discovers the bruises. There’s one on his neck, right below his jaw. A scrape above his collar. And underneath the cuff of his left sleeve, a bandage is peaking out.

“Tommy…” Alfie folds his arms over his chest. Tommy glares.

“I hurt it when I was helping Uncle Charlie with something in the yard,” he mutters. Alfie raises both eyebrows and stares him down. “Go on.”

“The shutter to the hayloft was broken, I climbed up there to fix it, one of the floorboards broke and I fell.”

“And this was your job because…”  Alfie gestures for Tommy to fill him in and gets a halfhearted shrug in response.

“Everyone else had left for the day and it was either me or him,” he then says.

“It didn’t fucking occur to you to wait?” he asks sharply. “I know that you can’t fucking let anyone else do their job without interfering, but honestly that’s only half the fucking issue here-” He tries really hard not to raise his voice, but that proves near impossible. “The other half is that we’ve had multiple bloody conversations this past week, right, and you didn’t bother telling me that your fucking arm is broken. I do remember even asking you if everything was alright.”

“It’s not broken. Doctor says it’s just a crack in the bone,” Tommy says dismissively, and then heads for the door. He holds himself differently, Alfie notices now. Gingerly, as if simply standing up hurts. Alfie reaches out to grab his arm but stops himself in the last second, letting the hand fall to his side. He opts for walking around Tommy and blocking his way again instead.

“Where do you think you’re fucking going?”

“The stables,” Tommy answers simply. “We have a new horse.”

“You’re not going anywhere in this state.”

“Don’t bother,” Ada mutters as she passes the hallway on her way to the kitchen. “Everyone’s been trying to get him to stay in bed. It’s no fucking use.”

Yeah Alfie is well aware of that. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to try, though.

“We’ve been over this fucking time and time again,” he snaps at Tommy. “You’ve got to stop treating your body like some disposable fucking thing that you can just… use until it completely breaks. You’ve only got one.”

Tommy squares his jaw and scowls at him.

“Go on, leave him be. Nothing to do about the pigheaded men in this family!” Esme calls from the kitchen. “Come in here and help me with dinner instead.”

While Alfie have been busy listening to Esme, Tommy has ceased the opportunity and slipped out the door.

Spouting a long string of the worst curse words he knows, he tugs his coat off and goes to the kitchen. Hopefully whatever Esme is up to will be enough of a distraction to take his mind off Tommy and his idiotic ideas for a few hours.

Tommy actually shows up for dinner. And despite only greeting Alfie with a sour look, he even sits in his usual spot next to him, quietly and very slowly getting through his meagre portion -and really, would it fucking kill him to eat a normal amount of food?-using only one hand. Which turns the whole thing into an even longer affair than usual. For a brief moment Alfie considers offering to cut the food for him, but that would no doubt end with his hand skewered on Tommy’s fork.

The tension between them is so thick that you could cut it with a knife, something the rest of the family tries very hard to ignore.

And really, he reasons, Tommy is the one at fault here. Alfie should give him the exact same treatment and silently brood until the end of fucking time, because that’s how long this will go on for. Tommy rarely is the first to apologize. But the truth is, he’s fucking missed him. And he’s not in the mood to fight. Better then to just swallow his pride. So after a few minutes of tense silence, he reaches under the table and puts a hand experimentally on Tommy’s thigh. Tommy doesn’t move his leg away. And after a few more minutes, a hand comes to rest on Alfie’s just briefly, squeezing gently.

The rest of the meal is considerably nicer.

After dinner, Tommy excuses himself, and quietly slips upstairs. When Alfie comes into the bedroom, he’s already in bed, hidden far underneath the covers. Alfie chooses not to comment on the early hour, or ask why Tommy has suddenly decided that now would be a good time to sleep. Instead he strips down to his underclothes and slips into bed next to him

Tommy’s left arm is wrapped tightly in gauze. He gently runs a finger along it, featherlight, barely touching.

“You in a lot of pain, love?”

“It’s fine,” Tommy replies softly.

He turns on his side and shifts a little closer. Alfie carefully wraps his arms around him. It’s more familiar than it should be, this, gingerly holding Tommy to avoid various injuries. Alfie is overwhelmed by another just as familiar feeling: of wanting to lock him up somewhere, just to keep him safe. Or at least take him away from all of this. Far away. And he knows that it’s completely impossible, but it’s a nice little fantasy, still. For now, he has to settle for listening to Tommy’s steady, quiet breaths.

His last coherent thought before he falls asleep is wondering if it’s not common practice to put a cast over cracked bones. But he decides to ask Tommy about it tomorrow.

Alfie wakes up from the sensation of fire against his skin. At least that’s what it feels like in his sleep. Charred, glowing coals that sear the skin on his chest and neck. The fire licks his arms too, so he struggles to get away from it, his muscles feeling sluggish and weak. The coal feels oddly soft, not at all like brittle wood- But it’s too warm, so he shoves it as far away as he can manage-

Someone whimpers. A quiet, heartbreaking sound that he immediately recognizes, and it prompts him to open his eyes.

“Tommy?” Alfie reaches for the bedside lamp and warm light flickers to life. Thankfully he hasn’t shoved Tommy entirely out of the bed, just to the opposite side of the mattress. He lies there, sprawled on his back, breathing ragged and mouth hanging open. His face is pale save for the bright red flush on his cheeks and sweat is beading on his forehead. Suddenly Alfie is wide awake.

“Fuckin'ell,” he mutters and sits up. He brushes Tommy’s sweaty hair away from his forehead, flinching at the heat radiating from his skin. “Tommy, hey, wake up for me, will you?”

Tommy remains completely unresponsive and he pulls the duvet away. His shirt is clinging to his body, soaked with sweat, and he’s clutching the injured arm against his chest. The undershirt has bunched up around his elbow, and Alfie grimaces when he sees the gauze, soaked through with blood and puss. Things that definitely shouldn’t be leaking from a cracked bone. Alfie curses, and when he shakes Tommy he finally opens his eyes. They’re bright and glazed with fever, not completely meeting Alfie’s.

“You have a fever,” he tells him. “Guessing it has something to do with the state your arm is in.”

Tommy whimpers again and tries to pull away when he grabs his wrist.

“Hold still,” he grunts and fumbles with the gauze. “What have you done to yourself, eh? Silly boy.” Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and he focuses on unwrapping the arm. The heat is absolutely radiating from it, increasing the further he gets through the layers of gauze. When he gingerly removes the last bit, Tommy winces. Alfie does too. Impossible not to.

“For fucks sake, Tommy…”

There’s a cut across Tommy’s forearm. A deep gash with red, inflamed edges, leaking blood and crusted with other vile substances.

“Did you snag it on something when you fell?” Alfie asks. Tommy lets out a feeble hum. “And let me guess, you haven’t actually been to a doctor to have it looked at? Or made sure it got properly cleaned?”

“I cleaned it,” Tommy mumbles. “Promise I did- I didn’t- mean-“ he trails off and turns his head away, burying his face in the pillow.

“I’m calling a doctor,” Alfie states and climbs out of bed, ignoring Tommy’s quiet ‘no’. The cut is infected, clearly, but it doesn’t seem to have turned into a full blood poisoning yet. But he’s not taking any fucking chances, not with this. Not with Tommy.

He knocks on Polly’s door and musters up all his willpower to then stand in the hallway and wait for it to open. Luckily it only takes a few moments. Not the first time he’s had to drag Polly out of bed due to their mutual and constant struggle to keep her nephew somewhat alive and well.

“What’s happening?” Poll asks the second she opens the door, dressing gown pulled taught around her body and hair disheveled.

“Tommy’s got a fever,” Alfie says and experiences a strange moment of déjà vu. “His arm’s in a right fucking state. Got himself an infected gash. I think he might need a doctor-“

Polly is already ushering him back towards the room.

“I’ll handle this. I know my way around an infected wound better than that hack of a doctor. Just stay with him and I’ll gather some things-“ She glances in through the open door, hissing: “Fucking idiot, is what he is…”

Despite the sharp words, the worry is clear on her face when she turns and hurries down the hallway.

Alfie returns to Tommy’s bedside, feeling quite useless. He settles for stroking his hair while he waits for Polly to come back.

Polly soon returns with her arms full of bottles, cotton wads, a basin of water and about a million other things Alfie can’t fathom how she’s managed to carry, and he’s quick to stand up and help her set the supplies down on the nightstand.

“Alright,” Polly sighs and rolls her sleeves up, eyes sharp as she looks from her unresponsive nephew to Alfie. “You hold him, this is going to hurt like hell.”

Alfie ends up seated with Tommy halfway pulled into his lap, with the infected arm stretched out and supported by his knee. He tries to not look too closely. He’s never been squeamish, but it’s different when it comes to Tommy. Always been.

Polly drenches a wad of cotton in some liquid that smells vaguely like hay and a lot like strong booze, grabs Tommy’s wrist and says: “Remember that you brought this on yourself.” She glances at Alfie. “You got him?”

Alfie grunts and tightens the grip on Tommy’s arm. Tommy winces and his eyelashes flutter. And when Polly begins cleaning the wound, he pitches forward and lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Alfie steels himself for what promises to be a hellish few minutes, and holds him tighter.

The following half hour or so -fucking impossible to tell- is equal parts chaotic and unpleasant. Tommy squirms and whines throughout the entire thing, switching not only between languages but between cursing them both, and moments later sob brokenly into Alfie’s shirt and cling to him for comfort. The ruckus succeeds in waking the rest of the house up of course; worried faces appear in the doorway, but disappear just as quickly when both Polly and Alfie snap at them to leave. Even Finn is up at some point, Alfie is certain he sees him for a brief moment before another adult comes to usher him back to bed.

Ten minutes -half an hour, or an absolute eternity later Alfie has absolutely no clue- Polly finally straightens up and reaches for a clean roll of gauze.

“There we go, that’s what not taking basic fucking measures to clean a wound will get you, remember that Thomas,” she says brusquely, but her eyes are soft when she looks at Tommy who has fallen limply against Alfie’s lap, drawing shuddering breaths. Alfie gently wipes away the tears that have run along the curve of his cheekbone while Polly wraps the now clean cut with gauze. And he doesn’t miss the way she lingers, squeezing Tommy’s hand gently, before she gets to her feet.

“He should be alright. The fever will break soon, hopefully, now when that’s taken care of.” She nods towards the arm. “But keep an eye on him, make sure it doesn’t start rising again.”

She gathers the supplies in her arms again, brushing an unruly lock of hair away from her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You’ll be alright from here?”

Alfie grunts in response.

She closes the door on her way out and then he’s alone with Tommy again. He sets about freeing him from the clothes, soaked thorough with sweat as they were. It’s not the easiest thing in the world considering Tommy is completely limp on the mattress. Tommy has stolen -or ‘borrowed permanently-’ several of Alfie’s larger shirts by now, so he finds him one of those and gets him dressed. He remains just as unresponsive through this procedure, but when Alfie can finally tuck him back in under the covers, he comes to again, blinking sluggishly up at the ceiling before fastening his gaze on Alfie.

“Hey, love,” Alfie says softly, lying down next to him and stroking his cheek. “You did really good. All done now.”

Tommy nods slowly. His head fall to the side, resting heavily against the pillow. Alfie strokes his hair. It’s damp from sweat and the fever is still burning under his skin.

“How am I gonna get you to start taking care of yourself?” he sighs. To himself, mostly. “And if you’re not gonna do that, the least you can do is fucking tell me when you’ve… torn your fucking arm to shreds.”

Tommy glances up at him through tear drenched lashes. “Are you angry?”

The question sounds utterly sincere and Alfie guiltily realizes that, yeah, maybe he hasn’t handled this whole thing in the most composed way. And despite the mix of worry and frustration Tommy’s inability to stay out of trouble causes him, it’s still not… right.

He sighs. “No, I’m not angry.” He pauses, thoughtfully stroking Tommy’s temple. “I know that I… don’t always react in the most calm and composed way when I find out you’ve been hurt. Alright? I can admit that. But I don’t want you to be afraid of telling me about shit like this because you think I might get angry.”

Tommy closes his eyes and relaxes a bit under his hand. He lowers his voice to a whisper.

“So if it would make it easier I promise to… try to behave, in the future” he says. “See I don’t mean to get so heated about stuff like this. It’s just that… I love you, alright? Love you so much that it scares me sometimes. And I just want you to be safe.”

“I’m safe.” Tommy crawls a bit closer, burying his face in the crook of Alfie’s neck, sighing when the contact sooths his burning skin. “I’m with you.” It’s not the kind of thing Tommy would say when he’s all there in the head, Alfie is aware of that. And it’s clear that he isn’t; His voice is slurred and his eyes are still glazed with fever when he opens them, craning his neck to smile faintly at Alfie. “You keep me safe.”

And still, despite knowing that it’s probably the fever talking, Alfie’s throat feels oddly thick. He tries to clear it.

“Well, I do my best, love.”

One day, it won’t be enough.

He brushes that thought away, wraps his arms around Tommy and reminds himself that today it was enough. And he’ll have to settle for that.

-Four-

When he hears the knock on their front door, Alfie wakes up from his nap on the sofa and instantly knows two things: one, Tommy has forgotten his key. Again. Because he’s the only person who knocks in that particular way (as if the locked door is some kind of personal offence to him). And two, it’s pouring down with rain outside.

Both of these things are confirmed when he opens the door to reveal an absolutely soaked Tommy. He looks like a drenched kitten where he stands on the steps leading up to the house, shivering visibly and with the wet coat hanging off his shoulders. He’s in fact shaking so hard that Alfie thinks he can hear his fucking bones rattling, and realizes it’s not entirely his imagination -Tommy’s teeth chatter together between his closed lips

“Bloody hell, Tommy, decided to take a little swim, did you?”

Alfie moves aside to let him in. A moment later the rainwater is creating a puddle on his hallway floor, staining the wood.

“It started raining,” Tommy says through those chattering teeth, stepping onto the rug instead to presumably save the floors in an usually considerate gesture. Alfie begins tugging off the soaked coat.

“Oh, you don’t say? Seems more like you threw yourself into the Thames, by the looks of things,” he grunts and hangs the coat up instead of just discarding it on the floor, which was his first instinct. Tommy firmly dislikes having his clothes handled with such negligence.

“It started raining a lot,” Tommy offers instead and moves to untie his shoelaces. Judging by the way his hands are trembling that’s a mission doomed to fail, so Alfie crouches down to help him. There are no comments from Tommy on the matter, instead he simply puts a hand on his shoulder and lets Alfie help him. The hand chills him, even through his shirt and Alfie shakes his head. Silly boy. Bound to get fucking pneumonia now, isn’t he? And Alfie will have to spend every second of the coming days worrying, listening to every single little sniffle and constantly wonder if Tommy isn’t a bit warmer than usual… The kind of prize he has to pay to have this man in his life: the constant fear that he’ll eventually get himself killed… And with that thought, he pulls off Tommy’s second boot, straightens up and ushers him towards the staircase.

“Go on, let’s get you upstairs and into some warm clothes before you catch your fucking death.”

Tommy mutters something under his breath about being coddled, but willingly lets himself be led upstairs.

Once there, Alfie efficiently removes the rest of Tommy’s wet clothes -a task he can do without even thinking at this point, so instead he uses his mental energy to mutter various disapproving comments to Tommy, making it clear just how lethal it can be, getting cold like this.

“-See you’re like the opposite of a seal, Tommy. Seals, right, they’ve got this layer of fat-“ He tugs off a shirtsleeve that is plastered against Tommy’s arm- “All under their skin, yeah? And sure they’ve got a good coat, too, but the fat’s important-“ Tommy tries to help along with the second sleeve, probably afraid Alfie will somehow rip it, but his hands are shaking too hard so Alfie takes care of that too. “This enables them to live in those ice cold waters, doesn’t it- lift your foot, sweetheart, can’t get these off otherwise-“ Tommy steadies himself by putting a hand on Alfie’s shoulder again as Alfie pulls one of the trouser legs off his foot. “But you’ve got none of that, do you? Nah you’re just… skin and bone. Bit of muscle, sure, but fuck that does absolutely nothing to keep anyone warm-“ He tugs the second trouser leg down.  

“Lucky then that I don’t live in the fucking arctic sea,” Tommy mutters surly but lifts his arms so that Alfie can remove his undershirt. Which prompts Alfie to launch into a long speech about how the shitty weather in London could easily compare to the arctic sea, a subject that lasts until he’s gotten every single one of Tommy’s soaked garments off.

Once this is over and done with Alfie opens the closet and begins sifting through contents. When he’s reaches the end of the row without finding what he’s searching for, he turns back to face Tommy.

“Why don’t you have any jumpers?”

Tommy sniffs a little. He’s clad in his rarely used pajamas, still shivering and looking quite miserable.

“Or any… decent fucking socks,” Alfie mutters and goes to rummage through Tommy’s half of their dresser. Or rather… ‘Tommy’s two thirds’ of their dresser. “Or have you just left them all in Birmingham eh?”

“I don’t need a fucking jumper,” Tommy mutters and wraps his arms around himself, presumably in an attempt to preserve some nonexistent body heat.  

Alfie straightens up and looks him up and down, from the tightly curled toes to his hunched shoulders. Tommy glares, but the effect is somewhat matted by the fact that he’s still visibly trembling and his lips have turned a peculiar shade of blue. Without bothering with a reply, Alfie goes to the closet and pulls out one of his own jumpers, a huge yellow thing knitted in thick yarn, which he can’t quite remember ever buying nor receiving as a gift. Fuck knows how it ended up in his possession. He finds a pair of thick socks and holds the items out for Tommy, who stares at them as if Alfie just handed him a deer carcass.

“I’m not-“

“Just fucking put them on, I’m going to make you some tea,” Alfie grunts. “And if you choose not to, don’t think you can come crawling to me later with those ice cold feet and dig them into my calves. No you’ll be staying all alone on the opposite side of the fucking bed, mark my words-” He stomps out of the bedroom, knowing full well that all of that is a fucking lie, because the mere thought of rejecting Tommy’s need for a warm embrace at night is just absolutely ridiculous. Still, an empty threat is still… a threat.

He makes an entire pot of tea, slicing some bread as well because Tommy has most likely neglected eating today, so then it’s Alfie’s duty to make sure he does.

When muted footsteps approach he looks up from the bread to see Tommy entering the kitchen. It’s a sight alright. The sweater must be larger than Alfie remembers because he’s had to bunch the sleeves up around his hands and the garment overall looks like it could just swallow him whole. The socks seem to be extending far beyond where his toes end. Alfie feels a smile tug at his mouth.

“Not. A. Word,” Tommy mutters. The sleeves fall down over his hands when he shuffles forward and steals the edge of the bread loaf, still glaring daggers at Alfie. Alfie’s heart aches. It tends to do that when he looks at Tommy. As if it’s so full of all these feelings that it can’t possibly fit them all so it threatens to simply burst.

“For fucks sake wipe that smirk off,” Tommy snaps and steals another piece of bread. Alfie just puts a hand on his back and steers him out of the kitchen towards the living room. With its large fireplace where a warm fire has been crackling all afternoon, it’s a great deal warmer than the rest of the house. Alfie snatches a blanket from the armchair.

“No more!” Tommy protests when he holds it up.

“You’re warm then?” Silence. “Didn’t fucking think so,” Alfie mutters and wraps it around his shoulders. Then he plops Tommy down on the sofa. “Now you just stay here and focus on getting warm and I’ll be back with some tea in a bit.”

Tommy gives him a look and scoots backwards into the corner of the sofa. Then he shrugs the blanket off and demonstratively pushes it to the opposite side of the cushion and then down onto the floor using his foot. Alfie leaves the room before Tommy can see that he’s smiling.

When he returns to the living room a little while later, now carrying a tray, he finds Tommy on the sofa, curled into a ball with the blanket pulled all the way up over his head. He’s shrunk so far down into the jumper that only his closed eyes are visible, and appears to be rather comfortable. So perhaps the blanket wasn’t such a terrible idea, after all.

Alfie sets down the tray on the table and seats himself right next to his feet, reaching out to rub his back carefully.

“You asleep, love?”

Tommy opens one eye and blears at him momentarily before straightening up and looking mildly embarrassed. But when Alfie opens his arms in an inviting gesture, he shuffles closer and curls himself into his side. And if Alfie lets out an undignified squeak when a cold hand finds its way in under all his layers of clothing to rest on his stomach, well that’s neither here nor there is it? He makes sure Tommy is equipped with a teacup in his free hand before settling heavily against the back of the sofa, resting his hand on top of Tommy’s where it’s slumped against his shoulder. Tommy quietly drinks his tea and Alfie tries not to stare too intently, which proves rather difficult because, well, Tommy makes for quite a sight.

The yellow suits him. It strikes Alfie that he’s never seen him wear a colour like that; it softens him, somehow. Showcases his freckles and the translucency of his skin and goes well with his dark curls. But admittedly, most of all, Alfie just likes that Tommy is wearing his clothes. There’s some kind of deeply rooted protective instinct in him that just enjoys that he gets to provide for him, make sure he’s safe and warm. Tommy usually has to be coaxed into that sort of thing, so it always feels like a bit of a privilege, despite how primal and ridiculous that instinct is in the first place.

Tommy sets the teacup down on the table, pulls the sleeve down over his hand and settles back against Alfie’s chest with a content little sigh.

And Alfie loves him so much that he can’t fucking bear it.

He needs to sit and just bask in that feeling. Tommy’s head becomes heavier, his knees slumping down across Alfie’s lap as he sinks further into his arms.

Alfie leans his chin on top of Tommy’s head. Buries his nose in his hair and whispers the words so quietly that they almost blend together with the crackling from the fire.

“I love you.”

Tommy’s voice comes from somewhere in his shirt.

“Mhm. I love you too.” He huffs out a laugh. “Even though you’ll probably smother me to death with all these blankets, one of these days.”

-Five-

Alfie doesn’t get sick. It’s as simple as that. He could probably count the times he’s even had the slightest cold on one hand. Which means he’s forgotten just how miserable it is, and the current ordeal really comes as a shock: the sore throat, the headache, the way every single fucking crevice of his head seems to be full of fucking mucus.

The breaths rattle as he drags them down into his lungs, and despite lying perfectly still with closed eyes for what feels like an eternity, he’s no closer to falling asleep.

“No fuck, this, I’m moving to the guest room,” he rasps, but makes no effort to move. He needs some time to gather himself before actually doing something about the situation. “I’ll just keep you awake otherwise.”

“No point, I’ll hear you snoring through the wall,” Tommy mutters. “You’d need to take in at a hotel or something. At least five blocks away.”

“I’m dying, Tommy. Dying. And you mock me?”

“You’re not dying, it’s just a cold.”

Alfie huffs indignantly, but regrets it immediately. Harsh outlets of air are not well received by his throat.

“Well it can’t be good, this,” he says, indicating to how close Tommy is. “You might catch  it too. Always been far more susceptible to these things haven’t you, fragile little thing as you are.”

Tommy yawns and moves yet a bit closer. “Fuck off. Be quiet and try to sleep now.”

Alfie is quiet. For a few minutes at least, as he thinks about how incredibly parched his throat is. It’s becoming impossible to ignore, but it feels equally impossible to get out of bed and do something about it. His limbs are heavy and sore, and his head is even heavier. Feels like he can’t even lift it. The mountain of pillows and his propped up position helps somewhat to ease  the clogged feeling in his nose but is not doing his back any favors, nor is it helping with the pain in his throat.

It gets to the point where he can’t possibly swallow and he gives up.

“Tommy…”

“Mhm.”

“Water.”

“Get it yourself, you have a cold, not two amputated legs.”

“But I’m sick.”

Tommy groans and sits up. “You’re a giant child.”

But he does fetch water.

It helps. Not a lot, but a tiny bit. When he’s drained the glass, Alfie closes his eyes and tries to avoid swallowing. His lower back is beginning to get sore from this position, and he’s only been in it for the better part of the evening, having stubbornly spent most of the day at the office before finally admitting defeat and going home to ‘avoid spreading whatever plague he’s contracted to his entire workforce’ as Tommy put it. Tommy didn’t go home, of course, no he came home as late as any other day and seemed honestly surprised that Alfie hadn’t gotten any better during the afternoon.

His back hurts a bit more on the right side so he shifts a bit in an attempt to take some pressure off of it.

“For fucks sake, Alfie stay still,” Tommy whines.

Alfie can’t muster up the energy to explain the situation but he does try to relax and remain still.

“You know, you don’t have to stay home tomorrow and take care of me,” he mumbles after a while. A muffled snort comes from his side.

“I wasn’t planning to either, it’s just a cold. Sleep now. I’ve heard that’s the best medicine.”

And as if by some miracle, Alfie does eventually manage to fall asleep.

It’s not a very peaceful sleep: His dreams are strange and confusing, and so vivid that it’s hard to know what is real and not. Most of them involve Tommy, as they tend to; Tommy is lost somewhere in a thick fog, or he’s injured, sick, scared… a whole plethora of unpleasant scenarios to choose from. And Alfie can’t move, his body feels cold and oddly numb, and then it’s too hot, and the muscles are just melting off his bones-

At some point during the night he wakes up from a pleasantly cold flannel being placed on his forehead, and to the sound of a soothing hushing. He opens his eyes and sees Tommy sitting there next to him.

He looks scared; it’s written straight across his face, in his too wide eyes, the crease between his eyebrows. But there’s nothing to be afraid of, that much Alfie knows. The fever unpleasant, sure, and yes he does feel incredibly fucking miserable, but it’s not particularly high.

“Alfie?”

“It’s fine, love, nothing to worry about,” he rasps out and pats his knee reassuringly. “Just a bit of a fever.”

Tommy nods, but doesn’t seem wholly convinced. He takes the glass from the nightstand and helps him drink.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Alfie says once the water has washed away some of the gravel in his throat. Tommy nods again, but doesn’t lay down. Instead he takes the cloth from his forehead, soaking it in the bowl of water he’s holding in his lap, before placing it back. He begins stroking his hair. Alfie’s eyelids are feeling impossibly heavy so he closes them again. The cloth on his forehead is changed several times before he falls asleep again.  

The bedroom is still dark the next time he wakes up, but the sky outside has gone from black to a greyish blue. Tommy is asleep right next to him, sitting awkwardly slumped against all the pillows, and with the bowl of water precariously balanced in his lap, the cloth lodged tightly in his hand. Alfie moves slightly, about to reach out and move the bowl, and Tommy’s eyes instantly snap open. He straightens up, just barely avoiding tipping the bowl, and puts a hand on Alfie’s forehead. The relief is palpable.

“The fever seems to have gone down a bit.”

Alfie hums in agreement, already feeling himself drift off again, “Yeah, it’s way down. Don’t you worry, love. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.

Then he falls asleep.

He has no idea what time it is when he wakes up the third time. But the sun  is spilling in through the curtains, and it’s enough to tell him it’s somewhere between seven and… well, noon.

Tommy is gone from the bed, and Alfie has a feeling that he’s gone from the house all together. At this hour he should reasonably be at the office. That’s all fine, not like Alfie expected him to stay. Tommy is bad enough at taking care of himself when he’s sick, would be a fucking miracle if he could take care of others.

Alfie is still, to put it mildly, feeling like shit. The past night’s headache has faded slightly, but his throat is still sore, and yes it does feel like his entire head is just filled with mucus. His stomach growls angrily, telling him that he’s hungry. But there is absolutely no chance that he’ll be leaving the bed. He’ll just have to lie here and starve until Tommy decides to come home from the office, and then possibly convince him to make some... Well toast is really the only thing Tommy can make that won’t end in absolute disaster.

The glass of water on his nightstand is empty, and his plan is to lie here for a few more minutes and just muster up enough energy to refill it.

He’s got a feeling is that today is going to be a pretty fucking miserable day.

Then he hears noise coming from the kitchen. Not a lot, just this faint clinking sound that he hasn’t paid attention to until now. It takes a while for him to place It, but it’s definitely coming from the kitchen and could potentially be a very quiet and gentle burglar or a hitman who’s decided to make themselves a cuppa before coming upstairs to shoot him. Honestly that option would be preferable to lying here… He considers his options. He could of course go downstairs and do something about the situation, but the thought of getting up and walking down the stairs makes getting shot in the face sound like a pleasant option.

Then a familiar scent travels up the stairs. And suddenly he finds himself being dragged thirty years backwards, and he’s sitting under the kitchen table watching his mother’s long black skirt swirl by as she walks across the kitchen floor, moving between the oven and the workbench…

Alfie decides that he must be having some kind of strange fever dream. That, or the ghost of his mother is downstairs in the kitchen, baking, and out of the two option, the former seems far more likely.

His mother’s ghost isn’t particularly quiet, because now he can hear soft steps coming up the stairs. He clears his throat and attempts to make some kind of sound. A greeting perhaps. Or a question, but all that comes out is a raspy croak. He clears his throat painfully.

“Hello?”

He should probably be getting concerned about the situation right about now, because the bedroom door creaks open. But it’s not his mother’s ghost, or a burglar, or some scorned business rival, although all those options suddenly seem far more reasonable than who is actually standing on the threshold.

“Tommy?”

“Are you still delirious from the fever? I was hoping you’d recognize me.”

Tommy is standing there in the doorway, hair curling at the ends and sticking out in all directions, barefoot and clad in Alfie’s shirt, with a tray in his hands.

“Stop looking so confused,” he huffs and comes up to the bed, very carefully placing the tray on the bed next to Alfie, moving the teapot and cups to the safer spot on the nightstand. Alfie looks down at the bread on the tray, blinking. It’s pretty wonky looking, and the surface is rather uneven, but judging by the smell it’s definitely a loaf of stolichniy.

He hasn’t smelled proper rye bread like that since…

“You’ve been to the bakery, eh? A proper one.”

Tommy focuses very intently on pouring tea into a cup. “No.”

“Then how-“

“I’ve been practicing.” Tommy still stares at the teacup. “Thought I’d surprise you for our anniversary. Or your birthday. But then I felt that maybe you needed it more today.”

Alfie blinks down at the bread again. He can’t quite connect the dots here. “You’ve been-“

“I know it’s not- it’s not very pretty, but it actually doesn’t taste too bad.” Tommy’s cheeks are bright red and he’s speaking a bit too quickly.

And Alfie, for once in his life, is speechless. Not only that but there’s a lump in his throat for entirely different reasons now and he swallows thickly.

“Go on, sit up,” Tommy mutters and pours a bit of milk into the teacup. He hands it to Alfie once he’s settled against the pillows.

“You learned… how to bake?” Alfie asks, unable to take all of this in.

“Only this specific thing. But I figured that… if I can run a fucking bookmaking business and successfully detonate a bomb it would be a fucking miracle if I couldn’t learn how to do one useful thing in the kitchen.”  Tommy shrugs and seats himself on the bed. He is still blushing. Alfie would tease him, but he feels as if his heart may actually burst in his chest when he looks at him, and now he has to blink away the tears that suddenly well his eyes. It’s the scent of the stolichniy that does it, probably.

Tommy cuts a slice of the bread, spreads some butter on it and hands it to Alfie. He takes a bite, very aware of the way Tommy is watching him. And just as the scent, it brings him right back. To sitting in mum’s lap in front of the fire, listening to her stories of the old country, and her fairytales. Falling asleep there and being carried to bed, still with the sound of happy voices in his ears…

He’s been quiet for far too long and notices the anxious look on Tommy’s face. He swallows.

“Well I don’t know how you’ve managed, but that’s about the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Tommy’s eyes light up.

“You’re not just saying that? It’s okay if you don’t-“

“Shut up and take a bite,” Alfie says and tears off a piece from his slice. “At this rate, you’ll be making challah come next Rosh Hashanah, just you see. You clearly have a talent.” He gives it to Tommy who accepts it and takes a small bite.

“I tasted it down in the kitchen,” he admits. “I wouldn’t have given it to you if it was too bad.”

Tommy can deny it all he wants but he’s beaming with pride and Alfie decides that being sick and miserable is entirely worth it for the sight. He takes another piece of bread.

“So, for how long do I get to keep you at home today, then?”

Tommy shrugs and breaks his piece into two, popping one of them into his mouth.

“Think they’ll survive without me at the bakery today.”

Alfie decides that commenting on this would be pushing his luck, so instead he just basks in the absolutely surreal feeling of Tommy Shelby willingly postponing any and all business simply to stay at home and dote on him. They sit in silence for a while. Tommy refills the teacups and flips absentmindedly through the paper.

“This was my mum’s recipe,” Alfie says. Tommy looks up.

“I know. I figured.”

“It’s not even in English.”

“I got some help with the translation,” Tommy says and turns his eyes back to the paper, fidgeting with the edge. The sun is shining in through the window, catching in the dark strands of hair and giving them a warm sheen.

“I love you.” Alfie says. Because there’s nothing else left to say right then. Tommy smiles down at the paper. Then he’s rewarded with a  quick glance through those long eyelashes.

“I love you too.” Tommy looks shy. Still does, on occasion, when he says those words. He clears his throat. “Drink your fucking tea before it gets cold.”

-one-

Mornings are Alfie’s favorite time of the day. At least this particular kind of morning, when they’ve got nowhere to be and can spend the better part of it either lounging around in bed or sitting by the kitchen table, not doing much good. And it’s taken him a good few months -or really, nearly two years- to ease Tommy into the whole thing. But that just makes it all the better that he finally have begun getting around to Alfie’s way of thinking. Even though he’d never admit it out loud.

It’s one of those good mornings. Outside the window it’s bitingly cold, and the frost has painted the windowpane, but a few pale rays of sunlight are shining into the kitchen and washing it in warm light.

Tommy is sitting opposite him by the kitchen table, wearing that yellow jumper that he’s more or less lived in ever since the first time Alfie forced him into it. He’s pulled the sleeves down over his hands, something that Alfie reckons must be an entirely unconscious move, but that makes it no less precious. He stretches out one leg under the table, propping the foot on Alfie’s knee. Alfie reaches down and warms the icy toes with his palm.

“Where’re your fucking socks?” he mutters without looking up from the  paper.

Tommy makes a noncommittal noise around his teacup.

“Yours got a hole in them,” he says.

That word ‘yours’ is really a question of definition, innit? Just like the jumper Tommy is wearing was once Alfie’s, and the shirt he’s wearing underneath was too, the knitted socks Tommy is now referring to are arguably more Tommy’s than Alfie’s at this point. Not that Alfie minds even a little bit.

“I’ll see if I can mend them. Or maybe knit you a pair.”

“You can’t knit.”

“Never too late to learn, love. Figure that a hobby would be good to have. Could be useful too. I could knit you another jumper.” He scratches his beard and squints down at a particularly blurry picture in the paper. It could be a mop. Could also be a tree. He cocks his head a bit and if he looks at it from the side it looks more like a train. The caption tells him it’s Ford’s new car model, and he wonders if perhaps he needs new glasses…

Tommy huffs out a laugh.

“There’s no way you would have the patience to knit a whole jumper.”

“Oh I pride myself on being very patient.” Alfie flips to the next page.

“It’s very difficult, you know, knitting.”

“I have quite skilled hands. You of all people should know that,” he says. “You’ll see. Might take some time, but we got plenty of that, don’t we? Yeah. Maybe I could even learn how to make… those-“ he gestures with one hand to move his thoughts along. “Those patterns, you know. Get some more colour in there. Would you be opposed to something with hearts all over it?”

“Tell you what, if you manage to actually knit something, I’ll wear it no matter how it looks.”

Alfie hums. “Good. Got yourself a deal, there, mister Shelby.”

Tommy is quiet, so Alfie looks up over the edge of his glasses, surprised to see that he’s watching him with soft eyes and one of those smiles that brings out the dimples in his cheeks. He raises both eyebrows.

“Something on your mind, love?”

Tommy shrugs.

“Nothing- just…” he chews his bottom lip and glances down at his hands. Shrugs. “I love you. That’s all.”

That’s all.

Yeah, it is fucking all isn’t it?

It’s everything.

“I love you too,” he says. The words feel completely new, suddenly. New, and like the best words he’s ever said.

[sadsagittarius96]

Playlist Ideas

Okay, it’s been WAY too long since I’ve done one of these, so I’m going to do a long one. Here we freaking go: 

Japanese Denim - Daniel Caesar (just do yourself a favor and listen to the dude. His voice is like butter melting over morning toast right when the sun is peeking over the trees and you kinda feel like you’re on the only person alive in the entire world) 

Dance With Me Tonight - Olly Murs (one of the most danceable songs I’ve ever heard. It’s really cute, and it makes me want to put on a poodle skirt and go find a Greaser to dance the night away with and then go get a burger and a shake) 

Fireflies - Ron Pope (whew, I went through such a Ron Pope phase in my early high school days. I kind of forgot about it until this song popped back up in my Spotify and I was violently thrown into a memory. This was one of my favorite songs to listen to. He’s the kind of artist I like to put my headphones in on one of my bad nights where I feel like my chest is going to concave and I just turn the sound up and lay in my bed in the dark and try to get through those tough moments) 

While You Count Sheep - Jon Bellion (I really love this song. It’s so funny, and goofy, and has that vibe of the kid that you sit next to in Science class that’s lowkey kind of popular on SoundCloud and is really trying to make it big in the music industry, but it’s kind of weird to you because you can’t imagine anyone from your small town doing anything that will get them any sort of fame, but his songs are kind of fire, you have to admit that) 

Be Alright - Dean Lewis (this song definitely got popular, and its experiencing that downfall after something is a little overplayed, but it still holds a special place in my heart. The first time I heard it, it really resonated with me. It’s one that you’ll genuinely enjoy if you’ve ever been through a strain or loss of a relationship. His voice holds a lot of that pain that’s locked away somewhere under your rib cage that you try to ignore any time someone says that one person’s name) 

Monster - Gabbie Hanna (this is honestly one of my favorite songs period. It really sits with you if you’ve ever experienced any kind of mental illness. She hits the nail on the fucking head of what it’s like to live with a brain that just does nothing but work against you, and that ends up ruining a lot of your relationships. “So used to goodbyes there’s comfort in the sound”. Just think about that line)

Beg - Jack & Jack (one of my fave driving songs. It’s really poppy, but so damn catchy. You listen to the chorus a few times and it’ll be stuck in your head, I promise) 

Invisible - Anna Clendening (she’s easily one of my favorite artists ever since she was on America’s Got Talent. But she’s someone that I always forget about until she releases something, and I’m like oh yea, she’s incredible. I really love this song because her voice is so enjoyable to listen to, but her lyrics are always amazing and relateable as hell. I really do feel Invisible to the stupid boy I’ve been in love with since high school, so thanks for that, Anna) 

Better - Khalid (he really just is the entire love of my life. He doesn’t know how to not release a good song. I want to tell everyone that Location isn’t his only hit! The man has a gift for making absolute bops. This song is really something, though, since I’ve got a personal connection. Just think about one of your most favorite moments in life. Now think of the song that you connect with that moment. This is one of those songs for me, but everyone should be listening to everything Khalid makes anyway) 

Please - William Singe (one of the best songs that explains how fucking hard it is to get close to people, especially when you’re a person that struggles with feeling like everyone is going to leave you all the time, so you push them away and do it first to beat them to it. It’s disguised in one of the boppiest songs I’ve heard, but the lyrics are there) 

Spotlight - Mutemath (who doesn’t love a little Twilight throwback? I don’t care what you say, Twilight has one of the most incredible movie soundtracks EVER, and this song was one of the hypest) 

Lie To Me - 5 Seconds of Summer (okay, I’m still One Direction trash. Sue me. So by default, many of us became 5SOS trash as well, and I’m still chugging on that train. At least they’re still FUCKING TOGETHER. And just like 1D, their music really has evolved as they’ve gotten older. This is a really good song about how you’d rather just hear a lie if it means you still get to be with the person you’re in love with even though things have clearly changed) 

Fraction - ALIUS and Rasmus Hagen - (this one has major first dance at your wedding vibes, and it makes me want to cry every single time. If you’ve ever really, truly, deeply loved a person, to the point that it kind of makes your soul ache, you’ll appreciate this song) 

Santa Tell Me - Ariana Grande (my number one fucking JAM during the holiday season. It’s close to Halloween, and the minute the clock strikes midnight I am playing this song at least four times a day until the end of the year. Listen to it while drinking some hot cocoa, wearing fuzzy slippers, watching the snow fall while picking out your favorite Christmas movie to watch that night. It will NEVER fail to put you in a good and dancing mood) 

Let Me Be Your Wings - (if you haven’t watched the actual masterpiece that is Thumbelina, just go do that now and then get back to me. You’ll understand the perfection that is this song once you do) 

Favorite - Leon Thomas (a funky beat with the beginning of a late 90′s movie vibe to it) 

More Than That - Lauren Jauregui (if you haven’t watched the video of this literal goddess, just do it. It’s a good day to be bi AF) 

Undecided - Chris Brown (apparently I never really left my Chris Brown phase from the early 2000′s. I don’t know what it is about this song, but it’s just so groovy) 

Slow Ride - Beastie Boys (I will stan The Beastie Boys until I die, okay? Fight me on it. They’re amazing. Just accept that the 80′s were a really good time for music. You’ll feel better)

12 Step Plan - PLVTINUM (I haven’t heard a single song by this guy that I don’t like, but this is one of my favorites. Even though it’s upbeat and pop, it’s really got a dark underlying message about how fucking hard it is to let go of a person) 

Will You Be Mine - Kolohe Kai (this was on my summer must listen to list of 2019, and I still love it even though I heard it 8 million times in a few months. It is so damn cute) 

Let’s Fall In Love For The Night - FINNEAS (this. song. is. so. good. Just listen to it and tell me that you don’t absolutely love it. It’s a great song to drive to as the sun is going down, you’ve got a stomach full of snacks and apple cider from hanging out with your friends, and it hurts a little from laughing so much, and you’re feeling so content and just want to turn the tunes up and shimmy your shoulders a bit while you drive home) 

Alright, that’s so many, but I have SO many more. Stay tuned 

[jade4813]

What Lies Between, Chapter 9

itle: What Lies Between

Rating: So very NC-17

Synopsis: Everyone knows the first rule of being Friends with Benefits is don’t fall in love. Westallen College AU.

Chapters: 9/9

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone for your patience! I had several requests for a lot of happy, fluffy Westallen, so this one’s a bit long. I hope it was worth the wait and that you all have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

At loose ends until their date that evening, Iris knew she would never be able to concentrate on her upcoming exams. She didn’t want to waste the entire day, however, so she turned her attention to cleaning her room instead. She started by straightening her things – filing away old papers, shelving unneeded books. She had grabbed a broom and was waging war against the dust bunnies under her bed when her hip knocked against her nightstand, sending a framed photograph clattering to the ground.

Iris winced, hoping the glass didn’t break, as she bent to retrieve the picture. Thankfully, it was unharmed, and she swept away a spot of dust with her thumb as she smiled at the image it held. She loved this picture of herself with Barry. It was one of her favorites, in fact. They were sitting on the front steps to the sorority building. Arms linked, Iris leaned forward, her mouth opened wide on a laugh. Barry was looking at her, a pleased smile on his face, his eyes soft.

Setting her broom aside, Iris frowned down at the picture, a slight line creasing her brow. She was excited for the date ahead, but she was nervous, too. Good intentions aside, they were risking a lot. The most important friendship she’d ever had. What if something went wrong?

Replacing the picture in its place of honor, Iris pulled her phone out of her back pocket as she sunk onto her mattress. She opened her file of pictures and began to scroll through them, her smile growing as she flipped from one picture to the next. Barry was in so many of them – but, then, that wasn’t exactly a surprise. He was in all her happiest memories.

She was still flipping through pictures when her phone buzzed with an incoming text message.

She wasn’t surprised when she saw it was from Barry. “Looking forward to tonight?”

“Of course. You?”

“Absolutely! I’m a little nervous, though, too. Aren’t you?”

Her breath escaped with a whoosh. It made her feel better, somehow, to know he was nervous too, but now she had something new to worry about. “A little. You’re not changing your mind, though?”

“NO!” She let out a breathless little laugh when she received his response. Then he continued, “Ever since we met, when I think of my future, you’re in it. I just want tonight to be perfect for you. For us.”

Pursing her lips slightly, Iris considered her phone in silence. She thought about her fears. Her memories. A future with him. She had an idea, and before she could second-guess herself, she jumped to her feet and texted him back, “There’s something I want to show you. Can you come over a little early tonight? At 6?”

Three dots signaled that he was typing. They disappeared for a moment, then they returned. “I’ll see you then.”

Iris glanced at her phone before slipping it back into her pocket. She didn’t have a lot of time. Grabbing a notebook off her shelf, she jotted down a quick list. Pausing long enough to read it over, she hesitated and added two more entries to the list. When she was satisfied, she raced to Felicity’s room and knocked quickly on the door. After a moment, Felicity threw it open.

“I need your help,” Iris blurted before the other woman could say anything.

Lying on the bed, Oliver groaned. “We aren’t going to have to pretend to break up again, are we?”

Felicity grimaced and then blurted, “Um…what? P-pretend to break up? We didn’t pretend! That was – um – totally real. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “You really are the worst actors in the world, you know that?” she teased her friend. “But it’s okay. If you hadn’t done what you did, Barry and I might not be together right now. Anyway, that’s not what I need right now. I need a diversion.”

Oliver seemed interested, as he raised his head off Felicity’s pillow. “Oh, yeah?” he asked.

Iris handed over the list she’d made. “Yeah. I need you to keep Barry away from these areas – and out of his dorm room – until our date. Think you can keep him busy until I text you?”

“Uh, sure,” Felicity responded as she read over the piece of paper. “I think so. Why? What’s up?”

Grinning, Iris turned to leave. There was still so much to do. “Not much. I’m just going to show Barry the future.”

Barry was going over his plan for that evening in his mind, trying to make sure everything would be perfect, when there was a frantic knocking on the door. He opened it to find Felicity and Oliver on the other side. “Hey, guys. Is everything okay?”

“Yes! Of course! We’re just here because, um –” Felicity paused as she and Oliver exchanged glances.

“She needs help with a computer project,” Oliver finished.

Felicity looked at him in stunned betrayal. “I do?” At his shrug, she sighed heavily and agreed, “I do. I thought maybe you could help. Want to go with me to the lab?”

Barry frowned at the two of them. “We can’t do it here?”

Groaning, she protested, “No! I mean, I don’t think so. We need…um…a certain program. I don’t think you’ll have it.” But when she named it, he nodded.

“No, I have that. Come on in.” He could swear he saw them exchange another look as he stepped back, letting them into the room.

“Oh, I-I’m not sure –” Felicity began slowly, approaching his computer with something distinctly approaching dread. She looked at her boyfriend with wide eyes, and he grimaced and shrugged in response. Though he was confused by their behavior, Barry was happy to have a distraction to keep him from obsessing over his date that night.

As he booted up his computer, Oliver coughed and glanced around the room. “Hey, water! Mind if I have a sip?” he asked, picking up a mug on Barry’s nightstand.

“Well, that’s –” Barry began as Oliver picked up the mug. Before he could offer to get him a new cup, his friend turned. He took a step towards the computer and tripped, throwing the water all over Barry’s laptop. Yelping in alarm, Barry jumped to his feet, looking around desperately for a cloth to dry his computer. Felicity raced to unplug the machine and remove the battery so it wouldn’t fry. “What the hell, Ollie?” he cried.

“Oh – oh god. Barry, I – If anything has happened to your computer, Oliver will totally buy you a new one!” Felicity promised as she helped clean up the mess. “That was drastic,” she grumbled, glowering at her boyfriend as she grabbed a shirt on the back of the chair, which she used as another towel.

“Drastic?”

“Did I say drastic? I meant an accident.” Wincing, she stared at his laptop. “Still, I don’t think we should try to turn it on for a while. Just to be safe.”

Leaning back in his chair, he asked, “Oliver, did you just pour water on my computer on purpose?”

“What? No! Of course not!” his friend protested. “I’m just – I’m nervous. About tonight.” He shot Felicity a desperate look.

Nodding, she rushed to fill the silence that fell between them. “That’s right! I’m meeting his mom tonight. For the first time. We’re a little nervous about it.”

Barry frowned. “Didn’t you go to her birthday dinner a few months ago?”

She gulped. “What? No! I mean yes. I guess I did. But, um, that doesn’t count. All those people, you know?” He really didn’t, but he had a feeling no amount of explanation would help so he let it go. “Anyway,” she continued, “we’re getting together for a private dinner tonight. Just the three of us. Well, four if his sister comes along. And I’m nervous about it. You know, you could help. I needed to…uh…find a dress. Something appropriate to wear. Maybe you could help?”

Now it was Barry’s turn to exchange a look with Oliver. “Me? Huh? You don’t know anyone else that could help you with that? Iris or one of your sorority sisters?”

She shook her head. “No, no. I think you’re perfect for the job. You’re so good with mothers. Come on, we’re friends. You can help, right? We really need to get going.”

“But what about your computer project?” he asked as she pulled him to his feet.

“Oh, that? It’ll be okay. Come on,” she demanded, all but dragging him to the door. Barry shot a desperate look at Oliver, but his friend just shook his head. There would be no help from that quarter.

Barry finally escaped Felicity and Oliver with ten minutes to spare for his date. He didn’t even have time to get changed. He’d tried to break away several times before, but every time, they’d found some reason to keep him around, dragging him from one store to the other. Until Felicity got a text and suddenly remembered she didn’t need a dress after all. She’d ushered Barry back out to Oliver’s car and the two of them drove him back to the sorority house just in time to arrive for his date.

He would have asked what that had all been about, but he couldn’t afford to be late. Wishing he’d at least had time to rush home to change, he jogged up the stairs to Iris’s dorm. As he approached, however, he saw a photo of him and Iris taped to the door. Curious, he pulled it off and smiled at the picture of the two of them. It was an early photo of the two of them at a Halloween party the sorority sisters had thrown shortly after they’d met. Barry was come as a mad scientist (the best he could pull together on short notice), while Iris was dressed as a police officer.

Curious about its presence on her door, Barry flipped it over to read the note on the back.

Barry –

I have something I want to show you. Come to the place we met.

He wasn’t sure what this was about, but if Iris wanted him to go to the classroom where they’d first met, he wasn’t going to protest. Keeping hold of the photograph, he jogged away from Iris’s door, heading towards the classroom in question.

He walked as quickly as possible the couple of blocks to the building and then jogged upstairs to the classroom. The door was locked, but there was another photograph taped to the door. This one was also taken shortly after they met. Barry and Iris had been assigned to work on a group project together and had taken to a grassy area referred to as the Lawn to tackle it. After they’d finished, Iris had jokingly insisted they take a photo to commemorate the moment. It wasn’t the best selfie they’d ever taken together, but he still smiled when he saw it because it reminded him of that day.

“In the mood for some coffee?” He’d flipped over the photograph to find more writing on the back. Getting into the game, Barry grinned and spun on his heel, racing back through the door. He wasn’t sure what Iris was up to, but he was happy to play along.

Barry was still smiling as he flew through the front door to the coffee shop, though it slipped a little when he looked around and saw no sign of his date. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. The coffee shop was packed, every seat taken, but nobody paid him any attention. Surely the trail of breadcrumbs couldn’t stop here?

Lacking another idea, he headed to the counter. It was a long shot, but maybe she’d seen Iris and could give him a clue. As he approached the register, the barista stepped out from behind the pastry case. “Hey, what can I – oh, it’s you!”

Thrown by her greeting, he nodded. “Uh…yes?” he managed in a feeble tone.

Her friendly smile widened. “Your friend left something for you. Hold on. Now where did we…oh, yes. Here it is.” She slid something out from the stack of papers beside the register and handed it over. “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me what this is all about? She was pretty vague.”

“I-I’m not quite sure, but when I find out, I’ll let you know,” he admitted, stepping to the side so that she could help the customer. It was another photograph, of course. He allowed himself a moment to take in the picture she’d left him this time. It was a group shot – Barry and Iris were with a group of students from class as they studied together for exams. They were sitting around some tables that had been pushed together at the coffee house, mugs and napkins littering the surface. He didn’t remember who had taken the picture, but though they were surrounded by people, Barry and Iris seemed to be sharing a private moment. The photographer caught them as they looked up and caught each other’s eye across the table. In the smile they exchanged in the photo, nobody else might have existed.

He stroked his finger across her cheek, and then he flipped the photo over to read the message he knew he’d find. “Snakes. Why’d it have to be snakes?”

Barry laughed, shoving his way through the crowd to the door. Their favorite movie theater – where he had taken Iris to see dozens of movies, including the Indiana Jones film she had quoted – was only a few blocks away. When he reached the theater, he saw something tucked into the corner of one of the movie posters on display. Another photo.

In it, he and Iris were dressed up – he’d dragged her to a midnight Tim Curry marathon. He’d dressed up as Wadsworth, and he’d convinced Iris to dress up with him. She’d chosen Miss Scarlet, and he could only be grateful that she hadn’t chosen Yvette in the French maid costume.

Before flipping over the photo, he paused to think about the places and photos she’d left for him thus far. The place where they’d met. Their regular coffee shop. Their favorite movie theater. She was obviously sending him on a tour of their greatest hits, but why?

He wasn’t going to figure it out by standing on the sidewalk. He had no doubt that this trail of breadcrumbs was leading to Iris, and he couldn’t wait to see her. “Come to the place where you threw your first party. Stop sign on the corner.”

It was some distance away, but when he turned around, he saw Oliver’s car on the curb. Felicity waved a hand out the passenger window to get his attention, and Barry jumped in to the back seat. “Iris texted. Said to meet you here; you might need a ride,” she explained.

“Did she tell you what all this is about?” he asked.

“Nope. Where to?” Ollie asked, throwing the car back into view. He gave the address as the car pulled into traffic. A few minutes later, Oliver pulled to the curb a few houses down from Patty’s house. Though Barry and his ex-girlfriend seemed to have come to an understanding, that didn’t mean he wanted to risk rubbing salt into the wound. No doubt that was why Iris had told him to come to the stop sign on the corner near her house, instead of going to the house itself.

Oliver reassured him that he’d wait as Barry jumped out of the car and knelt by the stop sign. There was a rock at the base of the pole, holding down something in a Ziploc bag. The photo rested face down, but he flipped it over to see the picture before reading her message.

He sucked in a breath when he saw the photo in question. It had been taken the night of Linda’s end of year bash. Iris had her arm around his waist, and his hand was on her lower back. He was grinning at the camera, but Iris was staring up at him with a soft smile. He’d never seen the picture before, but if he had, he suspected he would have realized her feelings sooner. Her heart was in her eyes, and his heart twisted at the sight.

“Come to our favorite section of the library. You know the one.” Hoping he wasn’t blushing, Barry darted back to the car and jumped in, directing Oliver back to the school. As the car pulled away from the curb, raindrops spattered against the windshield. Felicity groaned, but Barry didn’t mind. After all this time, a little rain wasn’t going to deter him from finding Iris.

It took him a couple minutes to make his way into the library and up to the eleventh floor. He ran so hard that he was a little out of breath by the time he got to the encyclopedias. His heart fell a little when he realized she wasn’t there. Instead, another photograph poked out between two books, and Barry grabbed it with shaking hands.

Barry and Iris stood between his parents the night of his father’s award. They were all smiling at the camera. Like one happy family. He remembered how he’d felt that evening, for once not having to hide his love for Iris. And now he realized that she had shared his happiness. Like him, she had been telling the truth that evening and pretending it was a lie.

“Come to the place where we first said I love you.”

Were it not for the picture in his hand, he might have thought she meant her dorm. But the photo had served as a reminder of the words they’d exchanged when his parents arrived. He knew now that Iris had been trying to confess her feelings that night, but she’d gotten scared. Just as he had done.

One more trip in the car, but this time, when Oliver and Felicity dropped him off in front of the dorm, they drove off. He barely noticed; he had no doubt Iris was close, and he was occupied with thoughts of what he would do when he saw her again.

When he reached his room, however, he was surprised to see the note taped to his door. Of course, he should have realized she wouldn’t be able to get in – his door was locked. But he would have expected another photo. Instead, it was a handwritten list on a crumpled sheet of paper, the creases faded as if it had been folded and unfolded many times.

1. No cuddling, snuggling, or spooning. 2. No domesticity. No dates. Just sex. (And no calling Linda to get bail us out of jail.) 3. No meeting the parents. 4. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love you. 5. REMEMBER PATTY.

He frowned as he skimmed the list and then turned it over. “Remember our dance? Come meet me there.” He didn’t have to wonder which dance. He knew exactly what she meant. He had enough presence of mind to open his door and toss the pictures on the counter. Then he almost fell down the steps in his haste to get to her. His heart racing – and oblivious to the pouring rain – Barry flew through the door leading to the pool at a dead run.

“I didn’t expect it to be empty,” Iris admitted, drawing his attention. He spun around to face her, taking cover under an umbrella to stay out of the drizzle.

When she met his eyes, she felt herself relax, all her nervousness draining away. “Yeah, there was a party here last week. Some guy got sick in the pool, so they drained it early. Said they were afraid it could be some kind of biohazard.”

Stepping forward, she lifted the umbrella to cover him. The rain had already wetted down his hair and shirt, making it cling distractingly to his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were asking me out on a date back then. We lost out on so much time,” she said in a soft voice.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly. “But…Iris…what is this about? The photos and…the list?”

Her tongue flicked against her lower lip as she tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “They were a reminder. Of the moments that brought us here today. And this list…well, that was my reminder. The rules, you know? For our friends with benefits relationship. I told myself that if I was careful, I wouldn’t really risk anything. If I stuck to those rules, our friendship would be safe. Except I don’t need it anymore.

“The thing is, in a way, I’ve still been holding onto that list because I’ve been holding on to the fear. I’ve been so scared, thinking about what could happen if…well…if something went wrong. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“Iris, you’ll never –”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “No, you don’t get it. That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m not afraid anymore.”

His gaze warm, Barry shifted his weight, lifting one hand to brush his thumb across her cheek. “What changed?” he asked in a soft voice.

Iris looped her arms around his waist. “Those pictures. I was looking at them on my phone today, and I realized…I’ve been so scared, wishing we could see the future. That we could see that it all works out. And then I realized, we already have.

“What could we possibly face together in the future that we haven’t already done? All those coffee dates and movie nights. The long nights spent studying together. That time you slipped on the ice and took the stairs outside your place on one knee. I took you to the doctor and helped you get around for a few days until your knee healed. Or the time I got the flu and was absolutely disgusting. You held my hair as I got sick and fed me chicken noodle soup until I was better.

“We already kind of dated – or pretended to. We admitted we loved each other long before we knew it wasn’t a lie. Hell, we even kind of lived together, with as much as we spent the night with each other during our friends with benefits charade.

“We may not have realized it, but we’ve known what it would be like if we were together. All this time. Even when we pretended to date other people…well, we didn’t really give those relationships a chance, did we? I always knew I’d never love anyone like I love you.”

Smiling shakily, she brushed her fingers against the back of his hand. “If we weren’t dating all this time, we did everything but. So how can I be scared of the future anymore? We’ve already seen what it’s going to be. We can go on a date tonight, but it won’t be our first. Not really. We did that a long time ago; we just didn’t realize it.”

She saw him swallow heavily. “Iris, I…” He paused, shaking his head. “I’m not scared either.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her off her feet as he pulled her in for a kiss. Heedless of the rain, Iris dropped the umbrella as she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight, pulling him to her for a long kiss. For the first time, she wasn’t afraid of the future. After all, the lines of their future were already written in the story of their past. So how could she be scared anymore?

Iris woke up the next morning, her heart pounding in her chest from a nightmare that faded into nothingness in the hazy morning light. Trembling from the shadows of lingering fear, she rolled over and snuggled into Barry’s arms.

“Everything okay?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“It’s perfect,” she breathed, letting the steady drum of his heartbeat lull her back to sleep.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Iris screamed at her computer.

Barry startled, looking up. The sudden movement drew attention to the stiffness in his neck and shoulders from too many hours spent hunched over his textbook, and he stretched to work out the kink. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Just…this stupid…I’ve been working on this for three hours, and it’s still not right!”

She looked like she was ready to toss her computer out the window, so he got to his feet to intervene. “You know what? I think we could use a break. Both of us.”

“What? No. I-I should finish this,” she grumbled, punching her keyboard keys like she had a personal vendetta.

Stepping behind her, Barry pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “It’s not due until next week, and you’re just going to drive yourself nuts like this. Give it a couple hours and come back with fresh eyes. It might help. At the very least, it might save you the expense of a new computer.”

“What do you – oh.” She grimaced as she looked down at her keyboard. “Okay, maybe you have a point.” Pushing away from her desk, she stretched. “So what did you have in mind?”

“How about a movie night? I’ll pop some popcorn; you pick the movie.”

“Yeah? All right.”

When Barry returned from the kitchen, bag of popcorn in hand, he found Iris already curled up on the bed, waiting for him. He crawled into bed next to her, just as the opening credits to While You Were Sleeping started to play. “This again?” he teased, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in.

“What? It’s a classic!” she protested, making a grab for the popcorn.

Barry pressed a kiss on her forehead as the movie started to play. They’d probably seen it a hundred times; he suspected he could recite it from memory by now. But he knew it made her happy, so he didn’t mind.

Truth was, as much as he liked to tease her about her romcom addiction, he found himself getting wrapped up in them in spite of himself. When it came time for Lucy’s big confession to the family, however, he heard a soft sound and looked down to find Iris surreptitiously wiping her eyes.

“Iris? Are you okay?” he asked, placing a finger under her chin and gently tilting her head back so he could see her face.

She rolled her eyes, and he could see her blush. “Don’t laugh at me. I’m just being sappy.”

“I’m not laughing!” he protested, bending his neck to brush his lips against the curve of her cheeks, kissing her tears away. “Can I tell you a secret? The fact you cry at sappy movies is one of the things I love most about you.”

Her smile was a little shaky, her eyes still wet with tears, as she sniffled softly. “Oh, yeah? And what do you love the least?”

Barry pretended to consider it. “I don’t think I’ve found anything yet.”

She rolled her eyes and poked him in the side. “Cheater.”

He sighed, feigning defeat. “Oh, all right. Ducking down, he whispered softly, “You steal the covers.”

Sappy moment forgotten, Iris laughed and hit him with a pillow.

“We’re going to miss you, you know,” Kara said as she hugged Iris in a tight hug.

“I’m moving in with Barry, not fleeing the country!” she protested on a laugh.

Laurel wrapped her arms around both girls. “We know. But it’s not the same.” As the rest of her sorority sisters joined in the group hug, Iris sniffled softly and closed her eyes, savoring the moment. She couldn’t be happier to be taking the next step in her relationship with Barry, but she’d miss her sisters all the same.

“Now go be ridiculously happy together, okay?”

Iris smiled, kissing her sisters on the cheek one by one before heading out the door. Barry was waiting for her, and she was looking forward to spending a romantic evening in their new apartment together.

“Um…what’s that?” Barry breathed, swallowing heavily as Iris greeted him in the doorway, wearing nothing but a lacy piece of black and orange lingerie.

She grinned. “Happy Halloween.”

Lifting her easily, Barry felt her legs wrap around his waist. As he carried her towards the bedroom, she lowered her head for a kiss. Barry sucked her lower lip into his mouth, but as they stumbled towards the bed, he asked against her mouth, “Hey, honey? You weren’t answering the door for trick or treaters like that, were you?”

Iris’s laugh was muffled by his kiss.

“What are you doing?” Barry asked, causing Iris to jump in the dim light spilling through the refrigerator.

“I was hungry! I wanted a snack!”

“At midnight?” he asked, nodding at the pint of ice cream and bottle of chocolate syrup on the counter.

Shrugging, she grabbed the whipped cream and cherries and turned. “Want some?”

Stifling a yawn, he stepped forward and considered her sundae fixings. “That’s all you got?” At her confused look, he grinned. “We can do better than that.”

She lifted her eyebrows at him. “What did you have in mind?”

Barry started to whistle as he rooted around in the pantry, grabbing some Oreos and a jar of peanuts. He found some mini marshmallows and gummy bears above the stove. And from the shelf where they kept the spices, he grabbed a bottle of sprinkles.

“How old are those?” she asked in chagrin as he tossed his spoils onto the counter.

“What? They don’t go bad!” She snorted in response. “Now, honey, this is how you make a chocolate sundae.”

“You’re going to make yourself sick eating all that junk.”

“You think something’s missing?” He frowned and considered his options. “Oh, I know!” Turning back to the refrigerator, he grabbed a tub of strawberries and placed them on the counter, as well. “Better?”

She rolled her eyes at him, even as she grabbed a second bowl and spoon. “I swear, you must have the metabolism of a hummingbird with the way you eat.”

As she stepped towards the counter, he moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Come on. I’ll show you how to make a proper sundae.”

“You know, I – oh.” Her protest turned to a soft moan when he pressed a kiss against the side of her neck. “Well, if you insist.”

With a chuckle, Barry handed her a spoon. “First, start with the ice cream.” She started to spoon out some ice cream, stopping long enough to swipe some onto her fingertip. With a smile, she slipped it into his mouth. “Like that?”

“Something like that,” he breathed. “Now for the chocolate.”

She poured chocolate into their bowls, then poured some onto her finger. She felt him lean, ready to suck it into his mouth, but she swiped it against the side of her neck instead. Barry’s chuckle rumbled against her back as he followed, flicking his tongue against her skin. “This again?”

“It worked pretty well the first time,” she murmured, licking her lower lip. “So what’s next?”

With Barry’s direction, she continued making the sundaes, pausing at every step to feed him a gummy bear she held between her teeth or to swipe whipped cream against her chest. By the time she topped off their creation with fresh strawberries, he was no longer in the mood for ice cream.

“You know, this isn’t what I had in mind when I came down here,” she said on a laugh as he lifted her onto the counter.

“Are you saying you mind?” He scooped a spoonful of ice cream and held it out for her to eat.

Iris shook her head, gasping when he flipped open her robe and pressed a kiss against her stomach. “No,” she breathed. “I don’t mind.”

Iris moaned, her head rolling back as Barry teased her with his tongue. He stroked the inner curve of her thigh and hard ridge of her hip, until she bucked against him in frustration. “You know, there is one thing I kind of miss about our friends with benefits relationship.” He waited until she lifted her head from the pillow, looking down at him with wide eyes, and then he explained, “Making you beg.”

Before she could even process his words, he bent and slid his tongue between her folds, stroking her slowly and deliberately. He smiled when he heard her breath hiss between her teeth with a defiant, “N-never!”

As he lifted her hips, Iris opened herself even wider for him. Barry pressed the tip of his tongue against her clit and smiled when he felt her jerk. They’d just have to see about that.

“Oh god. Oh god. It’s totally burned. This is awful!”

“Honey, it’s okay.” Iris had ducked into the kitchen for some refuge as his parents settled in at the dinner table, and Barry had followed to comfort her.

“It is not okay! I wanted this to be perfect! What am I going to do?”

“Iris, my parents adore you. They may like you better than me. You have nothing to worry about. They aren’t going to demand we break up if everything isn’t perfect tonight.” She sniffled, and he pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back with soothing strokes.

Her voice miserable, she conceded, “We should get back in there. I guess there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

She tried to force a smile, and Nora, Henry, and Joe pretended not to notice her misery as they took their seats around the table. “So, graduation is just around the corner. Got any big plans?” Joe asked, taking a generous helping of charred chicken before passing the platter to Barry.

“Not yet,” he replied, scooping two pieces onto his plate. “We’ve been so busy getting ready for exams, we haven’t really had much time to think about after.”

“And how’s the job hunting going?” Henry asked, as Iris stared miserably at the platter of chicken when it made its way around to her. She was trying hard not to cry – and trying even harder to hide it.

At her son’s noncommittal answer, Nora said, “Well, you have plenty of time. You know, your father and I got married right after graduation. Sometimes I wonder what we were thinking. We had nothing to our names, really. Barely enough money for a run-down apartment. No jobs, even. But we were eager to start our lives together, so…” she trailed off with a shrug.

“So how did you manage?” Iris asked politely, trying to drown her chicken in mashed potatoes.

Nora laughed. “Oh, we made do. Help from our family. And a lot of frozen dinners, until Henry finally got his first offer. Though I suspect he missed those frozen meals once I started to cook.”

Her fork halfway to her mouth, Iris froze and stared at the woman across the table. “What do you mean?” she asked, painfully conscious of that evening’s culinary shortcomings.

“Well, I swear I almost poisoned him at one point,” she said lightly. “I didn’t realize back then that baking soda and baking powder aren’t the same thing. In my defense, baking soda is powdery!”

Henry chuckled. “It wasn’t that bad!” he protested weakly.

Nora snorted and pulled a face. “It was dreadful. I would say it was the worst thing I’ve ever made, but there was that ham loaf once that…well, we won’t talk about that. I was just so nervous, you know? We were newlyweds, and he had just gotten his first real job. I wanted everything to be perfect, and it just didn’t work out.”

“So what did you do?” Iris asked softly, blinking back tears for reasons other than her burnt chicken. “Weren’t you upset that it wasn’t perfect?”

Nora nodded. “Of course, but it didn’t matter.”

Henry smiled gently at Iris, cutting off a large bite and popping it into his mouth. His expression didn’t slip as he chewed and swallowed. “I ate every bite and asked for more. When you love someone, things don’t always have to be perfect. They love you anyway.”

“Baby girl, you got any more chicken over there? I could go for some seconds,” her dad interjected, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she looked over to see he’d already finished his plate.

Iris sniffled, wiping her eyes the back of one finger. “I love you guys, you know.”

“We love you, too,” Barry murmured, squeezing her hand as he slid a third piece of chicken onto his newly-cleaned plate.

Barry heard a sound behind him and turned in time for Iris to wrap her arms around his waist. “What’s this?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I just wanted a hug.”

He grinned, pressing a kiss against the top of her head as she tucked her cheek against his chest. Then he heard a soft sound behind him. “Wait a minute…is this all a ploy? Are you…are you stealing my cookie?”

“Mwo,” she protested, after shoving something into her mouth. When she looked up at him again, she was still chewing, and there were crumbs at the corners of her mouth.

“I can’t believe this! Thievery!” His affronted gasp was belied by his breathless laugh as he made a grab for her, but she danced out of his reach.

“No! Payback!” she cackled as she ran away, Barry fast on her heels.

“Iris! Iris, you here?” Barry asked as he raced through the front door.

He heard some soft thuds, and then she was standing in the bedroom door, staring at him with wide eyes. “I’m here! Barry? What is it? Is everything okay?”

As soon as he saw her, his face broke into a wide smile. “Guess what? You’re looking at the newest CSI for the Central City Police Department. They made an offer, effective immediately upon graduation!”

“Oh, my god! Really?” Running into his arms, she swept him into a deep kiss. “Babe, I’m so proud of you!”

“Yeah?” He grinned, maneuvering her back into the bedroom. “I’ve even got my first case.”

“Really? What’s that?”

“What does Iris West have on under that robe? It’s a very important case.”

She choked on a laugh, pulling him back onto the bed. “Oh, my god, my fiancé is such a dork.”

His smile was unrepentant. “But you love me.”

“But I love you,” she agreed.

“Look! There’s one!”

Iris followed the path of his finger and gasped as she watched the shooting star arc across the sky. It was supposed to be one of the best showers of the year, and they’d driven to a wooded area in the suburbs the outskirts of town to try to get a look. “Beautiful,” she breathed.

“Do you – wait. Honey? Don’t freak out. Just take a step back. Very slowly. Step back, step back, step back…” He had tightened his arms around her stomach and was pulling her backwards towards the car.

“Barry? What?” Tearing her eyes off the sky, she looked down to see the streak of white in the darkness as it moved towards them. “A skunk?” she squeaked, tripping over his feet as she tried to scramble away.

Their legs got tangled up together, and they went down hard, Barry taking the force of the landing as she fell against his chest. “Shit. Shit!” she hissed, fumbling in her pocket. The white streak had paused, but it was still too close for comfort. When her fingers wrapped around her phone, she pulled it out and pulled up the flashlight, hoping the bright light would scare the noxious woodland creature away.

When she held up the light, however, she saw, not a skunk, but a very confused black and white cat staring at the two of them. “Oh, my god.” Struck by the ridiculousness of their situation, Iris let out a bark of laughter as she collapsed against his chest.

“For the record, that was a skunk a minute ago,” Barry explained sheepishly. “I totally scared it away for you, honey! And then the, uh, cat showed up after.”

Still chuckling, she grinned down at him. “My hero.”

“Morning, Captain!”

“Allen, you’re late!” Singh didn’t return Barry’s smile as his newest CSI blew through the front doors to the precinct. “Wait. What is that you’re carrying?”

Barry was indeed holding a stack of newspapers, handing one to every person he passed as he made his way through the squad room. “Papers. I had to stop off at the newsstand on my way in. You want one? Here you go.”

“Okay, and why does it look like you bought every paper in a three-block radius?”

“More like five,” Barry corrected him as he handed out another paper. Then he spun back to his Captain. “Take a look! Top story, above the fold!”

“New Polling Shows Election in Dead Heat? By…ohhhh…This is her first, right?” Barry’s grin grew wider, if possible. Folding the paper again, Singh tucked it under his arm. “Well, tell Iris I said congratulations, and next time, don’t be late.” This time, however, his chastisement lacked heat.

“Thanks, Captain. Now, who needs a paper?” he asked, turning back to continue sharing the good news.

Iris laughed as Barry scooped her in his arms and carried her through the front door. “Barry! You know we’ve been married for a year, right? You don’t need to carry me over the threshold anymore!”

He grinned. “Are you sure? I could have sworn we were still newlyweds.” She rolled her eyes at him, but she was still laughing as he swept her back onto her feet. “What time do the movers get here?” They had just bought their first house together, and Iris couldn’t wait to get it in order.

“In about an hour, I think. Maybe more,” she replied, dropping her purse in the corner by the door as she stepped forward into the living room. As soon as she entered the room, she gasped. Their mattress was set up in the middle of the floor, complete with blankets and pillows. Throwing an arch look over her shoulder, she asked, “Really?”

Barry held up his hands in mock surrender, though his smile was mischievous. “Just thought we should be prepared in case they can’t make it today!” he explained.

She snorted, but something on the far wall caught her attention. Stepping forward, she scanned the photographs mounted to the wall, staggered like footsteps side by side. Her eyes skimmed the series of pictures. Barry and Iris dressed up as a mad scientist and a police officer for Halloween. The two of them on the Lawn. With eyes only for each other in the middle of a packed coffee house. Dressed up as characters from Clue outside their favorite movie theater. At Linda’s party. Standing with his parents at an award ceremony. All the pictures she’d left for him leading up to their first date.

But then the pictures continued. At the restaurant where Barry had taken her for their first “official” date – he’d asked the waiter to take the photo before they’d left. The night he met her father, Joe, for the first time. It had been an awkward meeting, since her dad greeted him by asking if he was the boy who’d broken his daughter’s heart. As it turned out, Iris hadn’t hidden her heartache as well as she’d hoped, that weekend away.

There was a picture taken the night of their engagement. One of the two of them at graduation, sharing a kiss, diplomas in hand as they stood in cap and gown. And, finally, her favorite photo from their wedding. Their foreheads were pressed together as they shared a laugh, stealing a quiet moment away in the midst of the festivities. At the very end of the row, Barry had hung an empty photo frame.

“Oh, Barry. It’s perfect. Thank you,” she whispered, turning to face her husband. Wiping away a tear, she nodded towards the empty frame, “So what’s that for?”

Barry shrugged. “I don’t know yet. For whatever’s next.” Cupping Iris’s face, he tilted her head back and drew her in for a deep kiss.

When the kiss broke off, Iris smiled against his mouth. “Just think…a house this big…we have a lot more walls to fill.” A line formed between her brow as she glanced up at him. “All those years ago…the misunderstandings and secrets…all that unnecessary heartache. Do you ever think back on it and wish we’d done things differently? We wasted all that time.”

“Maybe. Sometimes. I don’t think an entire lifetime is long enough to spend with you. But most of the time, I think that time wasn’t wasted.” Nodding at the wall, he explained. “Look at it, Iris. That’s our life together. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours, and I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.” Iris was lost in the smile he threw her, that smile that melted something inside of her every bit as much as it did the day they met.

Iris looped her arms around his neck. “You know, it’s been two minutes since I last kissed you, Mr. Allen, and I think I really need to do something about that.”

“Well, if you say so, Mrs. West-Allen. Who am I to argue?”

His laugh dissolved into a moan as Iris pushed him back onto the bed. As it turned out, it turned out he was right. There was no point wondering if they should have done things differently in the past. She had no intention of wasting another second.

This was their story, and whatever the future would bring, they would face it. Together.

[entergamingxp]

The Origami King Review — The Legion of Stationary

July 24, 2020 1:00 PM EST

As a longtime fan of the series, Paper Mario: The Origami King has its trademark humor and charm, but misses its appealing RPG gameplay.

Paper Mario: The Origami King tries its darndest to straddle the line between what fans of the original games love and a desire to move the franchise in a new direction. In many ways, it succeeds. However, there are countless misfolds along the way that makes it a tough game to give a full recommendation.

In The Origami King, a tiny origami man named Olly has turned the Mushroom Kingdom into an origami world. Princess Peach is a soulless zombie doing Olly’s bidding, and Mario must save her and the world from his evil creases. Joining you is Olivia, Olly’s sister, and a powerful origami folder in her own right. Your journey takes you all over the Kingdom, letting you explore exotic locales and meeting interesting people.

The biggest talking point of Paper Mario: The Origami King is the new battle system. It’s a tough thing to describe with just words, but essentially, each fight takes place on a battleground you can twist and move. This allows to you set up fights in a way that lets you easily manipulate the positioning of Olly’s minions as you see fit.

Once you set the folded fighters up, you have two basic attacks; Mario can stomp and he can swing a hammer. There are a few other special items and attacks, but these two are the plumber’s bread and butter. Or wrench and plunger, if you want to get technical. There’s also a bit of active time button pressing that lets you deal extra damage, but it never seems that important. For the most part, every single battle against minor minions works exactly the same. There are a few enemies that spice things up, just not in a meaningful way.

“Paper Mario: The Origami King tries its darndest to straddle the line between what fans of the original games love and a desire to move the franchise in a new direction.”

And that’s one of Paper Mario: The Origami King’s biggest problems: there’s no leveling up. You can get somewhat better shoes and hammers to make your attacks stronger, it just never feels like a big deal. Thus, the battles feel like at worst a way for the developers to steal your good items and at best a waste of time. After the first hour or so, I was doing everything I could to skip them. Fortunately, most minions are easier to dodge than a 90-year-old grandma.

All that being said, there is a very important caveat to all of this; while the normal enemy encounters are dreadful, the boss battles are inspired. Instead of Mario being at the center of the board and you rotating the enemies into place, these flip the script. Mario is on the outside and while using different symbols on the board, you need to trace his path to the different members of the Legion of Stationary. That’s an all-time great pro wrestling stable name if I’ve ever seen one.

“Paper Mario: The Origami King doesn’t respect your time with combat. There seems to be little to no point in engaging with minion battles.”

They really go all out with these. Every boss has their own mechanic to tease out, with some of the early ones being spectacular. The boss fights do lose a little steam as you move toward the end, particularly with a boss that can kill you in one hit and force you to replay their entire section before trying again. I pray it doesn’t happen to you because it was so frustrating to make one wrong decision and be sent back 20 minutes of progress. That said, the final boss fight ramps it back up in a way I can appreciate. I won’t spoil it, but seeing a former nemesis join the fight in a “big” way was great. Make sure you bookmark that last sentence so you can come back and appreciate my awesome pun.

Even still, Paper Mario: The Origami King doesn’t respect your time with combat. There seems to be little to no point in engaging with minion battles. Along with that, the time between bosses stretches out to hours. Unless you’re a kid on a summer break, it’s a hard game to recommend based on the combat alone.

Fortunately, that’s not all The Origami King brings to the table. The series is well-known for its humor and exploration; both of those are here in spades. Personally, I gave up on exploring much after the first few hours because it just felt like collecting things for the sake of collecting. And the game constantly asks you to backtrack anyway. It all just got old quick. However, if you can actually take your time and not play under the constraints of needing to get a review out, I can see this being an excellent podcast game. You can just veg out and find some Toads. And truly, isn’t that all you can ask for.

“I genuinely laughed out loud more times than I can count in my 30 or so hours with the game.”

The Origami King also mostly nails the funnies. I mean sure, when you’re launching one-liners with every other line of dialogue, a few are bound to hit. That said, I genuinely laughed out loud more times than I can count in my 30 or so hours with the game. Kamek, in particular, does an exceptional turn as Bowser’s underlooked right-hand wizard. There’s also a secret coffee shop where you can meet up with some of Bowser’s other henchman, which might be the best part of the game. If you pick up Paper Mario’s latest journey, seek it out.

Here’s the thing though: The Origami King also takes a few surprisingly dark turns. I don’t want to spoil anything, but there are quite a few story beats that made me wonder if this really is a kid’s game. If you’re a parent picking this up, be ready for some potential waterworks and tough conversations coming your way.

“The puzzle-based nature of the combat seems like a fun direction to take the gameplay in, but divorcing it from progression kills any desire to engage with it.”

At the end of my time with Paper Mario: The Origami King, I’m wondering who exactly this game is for. Classic Paper Mario fans will be left wanting due to the game’s combat and lack of RPG progression. People looking for a fun romp with a silly story might bristle at the game’s length and padded out content.

And kids? In so many ways, this seems like a great game for younger gamers; however, I can’t help remember several moments that would have left me in tears as a little dude. If you’re a parent who thinks your kid can handle it, this is an excellent pick-up. You’ll certainly get your money’s worth from a time perspective. Just don’t come to me if you also have to pay some psychiatrist bills in a few years.

I’m mostly joking (pour one out for Bobby). However, it really does feel like a game that doesn’t completely know what it wants to be. The puzzle-based nature of the combat seems like a fun direction to take the gameplay in, but divorcing it from progression kills any desire to engage with it.

“At the end of my time with Paper Mario: The Origami King, I’m wondering who exactly this game is for.”

Paper Mario: The Origami King is far from a bad game; it’s just not one that meets its potential. This feels like a solid first step from Intelligent Systems to finally find a new groove for the franchise. Hopefully the team continues to iterate on the design and deliver a follow-up that finally mixes that classic Paper Mario tone and feel with quality gameplay that fans love. It can, and arguably should, be different from the original games, but it needs to be more than this.

July 24, 2020 1:00 PM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/07/the-origami-king-review-the-legion-of-stationary/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=the-origami-king-review-the-legion-of-stationary

[ratmonologue]

Just so long as I don’t have to do all of them twice

First things first, did you have a good year? I mean it had its ups and downs and more than its share of weirdness but overall yeah I think so

How old did you turn this year? 21, now I can legally get drunk anywhere in the world

Do you feel your age? I guess so?

Did your appearance change in anyway? I attempted to dye my hair red. Didn’t get red enough. There’s also a muscle in my arms that wasn’t there at the beginning of the year, so that’s cool

Post your favorite selfie.

nothing is ever gonna top this one

If you traveled, where did you go? Up and down the entire UK, San Diego and LA to see friends, and Corvallis OR because solar eclipse. The hours upon hours upon HOURS spent in trains and buses were all worth it.

Which fashion trends did you love? Uhhhhhh what fashion trends even happened

Which fashion trends did you hate? Instragram-model-style makeup, it just looks so cookie-cutter and fake

What was your favorite article of clothing this year? Post a pic if possible?

So when Wolfie and I went to Harry Potter World I told myself I wasn’t going to buy anything but then they had an “I served time in Azkaban” shirt and wellllllllllllll can’t really say no to that, can I? (no picture bc I can’t be bothered, sorry, but rest assured it’s a fantastic shirt and I wear it entirely too often)

What song sums up this year for you? Uhhh.... technically it came out last year but I’ll say Poets of the Fall’s The Game; I saw them live in January and that was my favorite new song they did and every time it comes up in shuffle I just am incapable of skipping it. I have no clue what it’s even about but it’s just? Really good???

What album came out and has been on heavy rotation since then? LES FRICTION’S DARK MATTER HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS HOLY S H I T THIS ALBUM IS SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY AND AAAAAHHHHHH

What was your favorite movie of the year? Rogue One (I saw it in January so it counts as a 2017 movie, so there). One of those things that happened exactly when I needed it to happen.

Did an actor/actress catch your attention for the first time this year? Well speaking of Rogue One, Diego Luna is.... well. He’s Diego Luna. Also Troy Baker because helLO PRETTY VOICE

Favorite new TV show? I’m sure it’s no surprise to anyone that’s spent more than ten minutes around me, but Fullmetal Alchemist (Brotherhood). (it’s new to me, okay, that’s what counts)

Which new ship/fandom has taken over a lot of your time, attention, and tears? Fullmetal again. Also A Darker Shade of Magic

What food did you try for the first time? Haggis, it was impressively boring

Did you make any big permanent changes this year? Well I finished undergrad so

What was one nice thing you did for someone else? Abused my Barnes and Noble employee discount to buy people books

What was one nice thing you did for yourself? All the solo traveling

Did you develop a new obsession? Rogue One/Diego Luna, ADSOM, Fullmetal....

Did you vote? I don’t think my state had any elections and if they did then I’m a terrible citizen sorry

Did you move? Yes, back home

Did you get a job? Yes

Did you get a pet? Lost one :(

Do you regret not doing anything? Ehh I could say I regret not getting a job sooner bc the extra money would have been nice but honestly I really don’t have any major regrets. I did stuff this year and it was good.

Do you regret doing something? Nothing major? Which is shocking

Have you done anything that scared you? Solo traveling and job interviews, maybe, but.... not really? Which either means I’m becoming less of an anxious disaster or it means I’m not doing enough important stuff.

Did anyone/thing make you so mad it stayed with you for days? I mean, I could delve into the saga of Scottish Douchebag which was still ongoing at the very beginning of the year, but he’s so far beneath me by now that I don’t want to

Did you lose anyone close to you? Not super close, but one of my Scottish friends and I kinda drifted apart in the spring and that sucked

Did you fall in love? Only with more fictional characters

Did you fall out of love? That would have required me to be in love in the first place

Did you start a new relationship? No heckin way

Did you go through a break up? Yes, and he didn’t even have the decency to respond to my go-fuck-yourself messages, which really speaks to his shittiness as a person

Did you have to cut ties to someone? Yes and boy should I have done it sooner

Who was important to you this year but wasn’t important last year? Some of the Scotland people

Who wasn’t as important to you this year as they were last year? Some different Scotland people

If you could have a do over on one thing you did, would you take it? Of course. But which thing is the question. Something major or something more like “I said something really insignificantly stupid and want to say something less stupid”? Bc I have a lot of those moments.

What was the best moment of the year for you? JANUARY 14TH AKA POETS OF THE FALL NIGHT. CAN I COUNT THE WHOLE NIGHT AS ONE MOMENT. BECAUSE I AM. And the entire SOAR reunion in August is a very close second. (and yes I know that was almost a week, it also counts as one moment)

What was the worst? Less than a week before January 14th, when the Scottish Douchebag saga met its pathetic end.

Did anything happen that you were sure would change you as a person but it really didn’t? Graduating, maybe? I’m still just me (and I still have dreams about being late for finals, which is stupid; get the memo, brain)

Did anything happen to you that you were sure wouldn’t change you as a person but it did? Maybe just, like... living on my own and stuff?

What are you most proud of accomplishing? Graduating, I guess. Also my archaeological illustration final project turned out pretty awesome.

What have you learned about yourself this year that you didn’t know in the years prior? I actually am pretty outgoing when I’m not an anxious mess

Did your opinion of anyone change for the better? Olli Tukiainen just started beaming when I told him I named my guitar after him, so he’s even more adorable in my book now

Did your opinion of anyone change for worse? Yes. I’ll let you guess who.

If you make resolutions, did you complete them this year? Pfft what resolutions

If you make resolutions, what will your resolutions be for the coming year? Uhhh

If you could go on an adventure during the remaining days of the year, where would you go and what would you do? EVERYWHERE AND EVERYTHING. (But probably just, like, Tahoe with some friends. Tahoe’s nice.)

What do you wish for others for the coming year? Well it really depends on which others you’re talking about, because I wish happiness and stuff for some people and an eternity in hell for others.

What do you wish for yourself? Financial security. Also to be out of California.

[yearsblog]

t’s 11am in a slightly dilapidated rehearsal room on a King’s Cross side street, and I can just about overhear a discussion in which Dominic Boyce, the affable drummer of psychedelic indie-pop troupe Peace, is considering returning a recently purchased pair of vegan sandals. “In hindsight, maybe I should keep them and commit to it,” he says at one point. “Maybe they’d be good for Glastonbury. Give the people what they want.”

Today, Boyce is joined by a speedily assembled who’s who – quite literally in some cases – of indie, rehearsing for Wednesday night’s NME awards, where they will perform the Rolling Stones’ Gimme Shelter, and Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth. Rallied by the NME, the group will be joined on the night by Charli XCX, who right now is somewhere over the Atlantic, but today consists of Boyce and Sam and Harry Koisser from Peace, Olly Alexander from Years & Years, Pixie Geldof, Isaac Holman from Slaves, Izzy Baxter from Black Honey, Austin Williams and Cavan McCarthy from Swim Deep, and Joe Falconer from Circa Waves.

While you may not be overly familiar with each act’s entire back catalogue, everyone in the room today is very committed to raising money for refugees, and that’s a positive and wonderful thing. The plan is that anyone watching the performance online – or reading an article about its rehearsal – can text REFU to 70700 to donate £5 to the British charity Help Refugees. It’s the sort of thing that routinely prompts a kneejerk sneer, but it’s a simple and effective move and knees can’t sneer anyway because of biology. The morning moves slowly with dramatic highlights including a broken keyboard stand, a leaking battery, Harry Koisser being unable to see the colour red, and an absence of maracas. At one point, Baxter is handed a red, gold and green guitar strap. “I’m too white to wear that,” she observes, although it’s fair to say this is one room in London where it’s impossible to be too white for anything.

After a run-through of the songs and lunch in the pizza place across the road, we’re joined by the NME editor, Mike Williams, who has turned up to check on progress. I ask him whether this whole supergroup business might be better with a few more famous people.

“That’s a bit of a mean question,” he says. “We haven’t even approached the Dave Grohls and Lady Gagas of this world – we wanted it to be in the spirit of what Bands 4 Refugees were already doing. It wouldn’t have been right for NME to storm in and swap them out for big American artists.”

Asked to clarify the message that he’s hoping to send out by drawing awareness to the refugee crisis during the NME awards, Williams adds: “Politicians and people with influential voices are being irresponsible with their words and changing the views of otherwise decent people. There’s a negative and demonised view of vulnerable people not that different from us who have been badly affected by wars and terror attacks. We want to show a bit of the reality.”

It’s cheering – but also a bit of a rum old do – that in the current climate, the first major creative statement from the global music community has come in the form of the new Katy Perry single, Chained to the Rhythm, a song about echo chambers and numbness that she has described as “purposeful pop”. But isn’t it also frustrating that the best song choices for Wednesday night’s show are both more than 50 years old?

“A song like Gimme Shelter is incredibly powerful and the message will resonate with everyone in the room on the night and watching on Facebook Live,” Williams says. “That said, bands have told me in the past they don’t want to speak out because the internet is so unforgiving, but it feels like people have got to get over that now.”

Alexander chooses his words either far more carefully or far less carefully, depending on how you look at it. “The message I’d give Theresa May is that she should resign and take her entire cabinet with her,” he says. “Someone else should have a chance now. There’s lots of talk of Clive Lewis of late, isn’t there? Is he good? I don’t know. Maybe he’s just young and a bit hot.”

Alexander initially felt wary about becoming involved in Bands 4 Refugees. “A little bit of me always worries about the perceived vanity of ‘I’m supporting a cause’, but worrying what people think actually is a vanity problem,” he says. Currently midway through writing Years & Years’ second album, he acknowledges the pressure to write about world events. “It feels like that choice is more important now than it was a couple of years ago,” he says. “You could write a song about love, and people would go: ‘We’re living in a dumpster fire apocalypse and this is what you’ve chosen to write about?’”

A recent writing session helped put things in perspective. “I felt like I didn’t want to write about politics simply because I felt like I should, but then last week I wrote a song with the Pet Shop Boys. It’s inspired by a fairground in Margate called Dreamland, but while I was writing it, Neil Tennant said to me: ‘This makes sense right now with Trump closing the borders,’ and the song became something that touched on what’s going on in the world. I’d write lyrics and he’d say: ‘No, it needs to be more direct.’ He’d take a simple line and interject a subversive political statement. That’s the challenge as a pop writer, to do both at once.”

Baxter is more plain: “It’s important not to be like fucking Bono going: ‘You should do this.’ As an artist, you don’t have to answer all the questions, but you can still pose them.”

Most of today’s lineup has been assembled by Koisser, and while he’s keen not to take credit for dragging the other artists here (“All I’ll say is that I’ve probably been the most annoying person”), he hopes he can help start a bigger conversation among artists. “I’d like someone who’s a lot more important than us to see it and be inspired to do something gigantic on a level we can’t,” he says. Of course, if – meanness alert! – today’s supergroup did indeed want some more famous people, it might have made sense to ask for guidance from someone with experience in that field. Someone with a penchant for calling up superstars and getting them in a room in order to knock out a charity banger.

I mean, I wonder out loud, does anyone here today have any such contacts? It’s hard to know where to start, really. Isn’t it, Pixie Geldof?

“One or two names come to mind,” she smiles, a little wearily. “Yes, something like that may have happened before. And, yes, I see where you’re going with that. I don’t know what his plans are, but, yeah, I mean ... Band Aid is a Christmas song. Although I do like listening to the Tammy Wynette Christmas album throughout the year.” She’s clearly warming to the idea. “OK!” she eventually says. “I’ll have a word. Maybe. Oh, I don’t know.”

Back in the rehearsal room, Holman is handing out lollipops and, with each new vocalist added to the song, Gimme Shelter is sounding more and more unstable, like a pop Buckaroo. But by 5pm, it’s sounding pretty good. At one point, the band stops to debate whether the audience will clap along during the breakdown in For What It’s Worth. “Ignore the tables,” is one suggestion. “They’ll be too busy with their free dinners.” Someone else offers: “It all depends on how drunk they are.”

The group are limited to performing a faithful rendition of at least one of their chosen songs, a decision explained when I put it to Koisser that a tropical house version of Gimme Shelter might have made more impact in 2017. He says they needed the Rolling Stones’ approval to perform the song, “and there’s a thing that says you’re not allowed to change the genre or style. It has to be the same arrangement, structure, genre – and you can’t change the lyrics. Even if we wanted to do a tropical house version – and trust me, that went through my mind – we wouldn’t be able to.”

In the past, Mick Jagger has described Gimme Shelter as “a kind of end-of-the-world song, really. It’s apocalypse.” I pull Boyce to one side and ask: is the world about to end? He thinks for a while.

“I hope not,” he says eventually. “But it feels like the start of the end of something.”

The end of what?

“Humanity?”

He’s starting to look a bit troubled. “I mean I’m hoping it’s not,” he clarifies. “But something’s about to snap. It would be good to give it all another go, wouldn’t it? Start afresh.”

He’s sounding quite chipper about the prospect of life as we know it coming to an end. In fairness, the prospect of global apocalypse isn’t exactly unappealing these days. It would be great if that could wait until after the NME awards, though.

[learnmoviesordeath]

HSBC Spec Ad and Idea...

Since Oct of last year, I’ve started writing as personal and intimately as I can in my journal, therefore, these blog posts will probably get a little less emotional from now (I’m hoping anyway, so that I don’t gush too much online). 

To bring this briefly up to date, I shot another spec Ad in February about a guy who sneezes during a passport photo, and needs a ‘second chance’ from HSBC. It’s quite poorly developed and is entirely off-brand, but its quite cute I suppose.

I’ve recently had an idea for a feature screenplay. My intention is one of self-improvement, to speed myself up and give myself more discipline. I’m also desperate to see if I can write a scene I actually like, something that I’ve failed to achieve so far. My writing often comes off with little confidence and with awkward rhythm. Also, after watching Ed’s Hippopotamus movie, I have given myself a kick up the but - I simply must try and tackle a feature. 

And why the hell not? I’m in a position where I have all of the free time in the world after quitting my job and going freelance again.

So that’s the plan.

The idea - 3 friends go on a pre-summer hike on the south coast in search of ‘Durdle Door’, a little known spot on the South-West Coast of England. Their journey is interrupted by the mysterious death of a local man, acting as a catalyst for their own demons and existential wonderings. 

Already, it feels a little wanky - there’s the ‘existential wonderings’ part AND it feels cliche for friends to go on a road trip where they ‘learn about themselves’. But I’ve been watching a bit of Rohmer, Linklater, and most recently I’ve read the Bergman auto-biography, ‘The Magic Lantern’; there’s a looseness in these guys that I really admire. They manage to get away with making films that are not necessarily intended as audience pleasers. So that’s the intention, writing a film, within the boundaries of good taste, that pleases me spiritually. 

The boundaries of good taste is the hard part.

So far I’ve got these characters called Hannah, Dev and Joshua. 

Hannah is (at the moment) the main character - but I intend for the film to be omniscient. I don’t really know who she is yet. I find it easy to write her as quite joyful, but a little indignant - a bit snappy and uptight. I keep thinking of Blake Lively, but she’s a different personality so that’s a bit odd. I don’t know how best to play her to best serve the tone - I really don’t know what tone I’m going for yet either. Hannah’s name isn’t that great, I keep forgetting it and it doesn’t give me the feeling of who she is. Hannah is not very self-aware I think, so she interrupts freely and puts emphasis on her opinions - she can border on being annoying, but she’s too kind at heart for it to turn us off her. Lives in London with Dev. 

Dev is a more serious but very sensitive and a little brooding. Based on Dev Patel. I think this is poor casting, as I want Dev to snap, like Christopher Eccleston in Shallow Grave and I’m worried Dev would be falsely represented as the ‘vicious orient’ if I call him Dev. I also don’t want Dev to be primed from the start - ready to break. I want to see it gradually, so it’s more faesible and there’s more of a dynamic arc. I don’t like Dev’s name either - it’s a little too endearing. I prefer Daniel, a little more self-important, but is also a little more upper-middle class. When shorted to ‘Dan’ it becomes a little out-of-date -- I don’t know.  One night, a little shaken by the state of the man’s corpse (I’ll come to this), Dev opens up: ‘When I’m with people, I want to be alone and when I’m alone, I want to be with people’. This is probably shaped by his internalised working life in the city.

Dev and Hannah are in a relationship together. Lastly, there’s

Joshua, again, another name I don’t like. I prefer Ollie. Basically, this guy is a bit more exciting and free-spirited than Dev. I think Joshua is a little less-self aware, and this appeals to the less self-aware parts of Hannah. There’s a natural chemistry between the two of them. They had a brief fling in school and have always been good friends, but Joshua stayed behind while Hannah went to uni with Dev (they all went to the same school though originally). I think this is one of the main sources of conflict - a kind of jealousy love-triangle. Dev recognises this clear chemistry and grows jealous. Joshua is romantic about the coastline, coming from the country himself (where Hannah grew up) and keeps quipping 'I don’t know how anyone could live in London’. His character contradiction is that he keeps bringing up old nostalgic events and sounds little lonely.  Hannah: ‘So that’s Ellen, George, Dom & Tom, Kirsty Stallidge and Rory all in different places now, that’s like the whole gang’.  Joshua (with a little pain): ‘Yep, that was the gang’. Hannah: ‘So you seeing from Charlie from work now is that who you hang out with’. Joshua: ‘Yeah I mean me and Charlie have a quality time, he’s such laugh, we have had some fucking mad weekends  going clubbing where the musics like *lifts his hands and makes bass noise with lips*, yeah it’s .. good.’ Momentary pause. ‘Yeah and I still see work-mates on Monday nights for football’.  Crucially, is hiding the pain with an over-compensation of personality.  He also is seen taking anti-depressants by Hannah. He should be written as one of my friends as I can definitely write that.

So I’ve got these ideas and there’s clearly going to be some scenes there. I kind of want the drama to culminate in a scene where Dev has gone jealousy mad and becomes a little obsessed with how the man died (he thinks it was suicide -----> why Ben? How is this at all motivated?). He has dreams of Joshua and Hannah having sex and in a hot blooded fight, pushes Joshua over the edge of the cliff. Josh falls some 100 metres and smacks against the water. Hannah and Dev can’t believe what’s just happened. After a moment of silence, Joshua surfaces, bleeding a little, miraculously having missed the rocks.  I’m not entirely sure what the ending is supposed to say - they look at each other gravely realising that they all have messed up post-millenial lifestyles? Is it a commentary on the over-educated millennials? It’s all a bit bombastic, PLUS 1. Dev’s fever dreams are totally irrational and move us into psycho territory from a fairly realistic grounding.  Tonally this ending is perhaps confused. It’s big but it belongs in a gradual psychological thriller. It’s also a bit Miss Marple, maybe. 

Also the plot is very thin at the moment. We have a bunch of 20 somethings talking for 90 mins. 

We have:

Expo and char set up, destination: Durdle-door (promise of a climax) pgs 1-10

Inciting incident - learning about past Hannah/josh fling. pg 10

We get existential talk for 10 more pages til we get to the dead guy. 

Plot point 1 - dead guy. Expo about cause of death. Therefore, re-root to durdle door. (Char’s see body?)

Char’s discuss mysterious death and weird body (Eel’s coming out of mouth and anus - not a joke). Dev’s jealousy and Dev & Josh’s existential crisis developing. 

Finally they get back on the coastline homestraight for durdle door. Point of no return as home-straight for durdle door takes them away from civilisation (?)

They arrive. It’s idyllic but Dev’s jealousy is at a peak.

Dev envisages them having sex. 

Dev goes after Josh, pushes him over the edge of a cliff.

Josh survives narrowly. 

They look at each other, broken and matured.

Obviously ending is weak, how are they matured? 

Hannah passive. Conflict is within other char’s, she’s just a lens, a vessle. :/ 

Hannah can’t see very well, she finds out Dev is going off after Josh and there’s parallel action tension. This is tonally off the charts though, become netflix psycho-horror. Also have to be stronger motivation for Dev to want to harm Josh. 

But it’s the whole Hero’s journey, God’s thumb (Holes) Heaven’s Mouth (Y Tu Mama Tambien) thing based on El Dorado I guess.

Ragrdless, it’s very cheap, it’s 3 people in a field with natural lighting (mostly) and beautiful locations. 

If it’s cast right and written with sincerity, even with a weaker plot it’s worth a shot!