#boy do I know how to do bank reconciliations though

[betweenishish]

I was a tax monkey for two years and I can confirm all of the above, with a couple of notes. -PDF? What's a PDF? I'll send you a fax so large it'll take two paper restocks to complete. The information is incomplete and I will not pick up your thrice daily phone calls. Two weeks later I'll demand a return fax of the paperwork I faxed you even though I presumably own the originals and the faxfax is illegible. Oh and I'm not going to pay my bill because I'm mad that you couldn't fudge the numbers so I can get out of paying taxes on a $1 million land sale in Oregon, and the IRS also wanted the taxes I didn't pay the last two years either. I will be a dirty nasty dick to you every time we speak. -I'm going to itemize even though I have six? seven? unclear. kids and the standard deduction would be far better considering I am basically broke. Here is a year's worth of receipts I scraped from the sticky floor of my van, stuffed into a large Victoria's Secret bag. Oh, and I almost forgot, here are my completely blank charity slips from Goodwill.

-I own a towtruck business and it's tax time. I'm going to extend until the gubmint makes me finally file. In those extra months I will not gather up any of the necessary info for you. Oh, and these guys I've hired are bugging you constantly for updates because they need their 1099s for their own taxes, and I'll talk about the other guys I hired illegally while you're in the room because why not.

-Accounting is a group effort. These numbers won't balance and I'm going out of my mind. Two of them somewhere are transposed. You take this sheaf and tell me if you can spot the error.

-While attempting to scan old files into a digital archive so the physical files can be shredded, argue with bookkeeper over the sanity of keeping records for a business which was closed, sold, demolished, then turned into tract housing, and all original parties have died.

-While typing out carbon copies for your customers' 1099s on an actual typewriter, you make a typo. After carefully starting a fresh sheet and delicately hunting and pecking, boss wanders in and gets upset that the typeset he chose is too big for the company name box and has truncated 'associates' to 'ass'.

-I want to go 'married, filing separately'. No, we're happily married; I just don't want to be taxed for his assets. Who cares if it's against state law?? Just lie and tell them we're separated. What do you mean we'd pay less tax filing jointly?

-You need to talk to the IRS, so you call and hold times are long so you request a callback that never comes. After delaying for a day, you NEED to talk to the IRS, so you decide to hold even though estimated wait times are three hours. After seven hours, you longingly wish for the sixties when it would have been okay to keep whiskey in the bottom drawer.

i'm taking an accounting class and i gotta ask: how do you do this. what does any of this mean. what's a number

welcome to X-Treme Sudoku

[favefandomimagines]

The Alchemy (j.m)

Request: @mrslestappen “May I request ( shy!Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank ) pleaseeeeee, where she has been friends with the boys just like Kie, (Kie, her and Sarah were the trio of friends) and after they reconciled she is super happy because she has her two best friends back. And let's just say JJ has a soft spot for her, even though she's a kook he's always taken care of her. And they have matching necklaces (the shark tooth one, let's just say that when he got his he also created hers and they have always had matching necklaces) + kind of obsessed with her (in a nice way) and let's say because she's always been with the guys she's never really been in a relationship so imagine the reaction JJ would have if she tells him she wants him to be her first kiss (first kiss is soft, second one is hot/possesive poor JJ will devour her, because only he knows how long he waited) and the rest I'll leave it up to you. (In my head this sounded better sorry)”

Summary: she always was going to pick him, he just needed to show her.

JJ Maybank didn't think he'd ever like a Kook. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever even tolerate one. The Kooks were the people who had everything he and the other Pogues didn’t.

They were the rich kids on the other side of the island, the ones with trust funds, yachts, and pristine lives. JJ had seen enough of their type to last a lifetime, and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

Except for her.

Her name was Y/N Y/L/N, and she was the only Kook JJ had ever been able to stomach. In fact, he more than just "stomached" her — he adored her.

He couldn't remember when it started, but he was pretty sure it was around the time he realized girls were more than just annoying distractions during surf sessions.

Somewhere between scraped knees on the beach as kids and sharing late-night bonfire confessions, Y/N had become more than just his friend.

She wasn’t like the rest of the Kooks. Y/N might have lived in one of the fanciest houses on Figure Eight, but she didn’t act like it. She hung out with JJ, John B, and Pope since they were kids, running wild through the marshes and crashing parties on the Cut.

Her mom used to be close with John B’s mom before she left, which meant Y/N spent almost as much time in the Chateau as John B himself. She was their bridge between worlds, best friends with Kie and, surprisingly, even got along with Sarah Cameron after their recent reconciliation.

JJ had given her a shark tooth necklace that matched his own back when they were kids, and she had worn it ever since. The necklace was a symbol, a quiet testament to their shared adventures and secrets.

It rested just below her collarbone, a constant reminder that she belonged with the Pogues, even if she didn’t entirely fit into their world.

For the most part, JJ was content just having her around. But sometimes, like right now, with the sun setting over the water and Y/N laughing at something John B had said, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his chest that he wanted more. More than just her friendship, more than just stolen glances and the occasional accidental brush of hands.

||

It was one of those hot, sticky Outer Banks afternoons when Y/N came to find him. JJ was at the dock, cleaning up the HMS Pogue, when he saw her walking toward him. She looked like sunshine personified, with her long hair catching the light and her eyes sparkling as if she held the secrets of the universe.

“Hey, JJ,” she greeted, her voice light and carefree, but there was something nervous in the way she bit her lip.

“What’s up, Princess?” he asked, straightening up and wiping his hands on his jeans.

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her fingers toying with the shark tooth necklace he had given her. “I, uh, need to talk to you about something.”

JJ’s heart sank a little, the teasing grin on his face faltering. Usually, that phrase meant bad news. “What did you do this time? Burn down another country club?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but laughed. “No, JJ, not this time. It’s… it’s about a guy.”

JJ froze. “A guy?” he echoed, feeling like the ground had just shifted beneath him.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice softening. “I… I got asked out on a date.”

JJ’s stomach dropped, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He’d always known this day would come eventually, but he wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt. “Who?” he managed to ask, trying to keep his voice steady.

“His name’s Trevor. He’s new in town, just moved here from Wilmington,” she explained, her eyes flicking to JJ’s face to gauge his reaction.

He knew the guy — tall, dark hair, probably some rich Kook kid whose family had money to burn. JJ felt the jealousy bubble up, hot and fierce. “And when’s this date supposed to happen?”

“Tomorrow night,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The girl he’d been in love with for years was going on a date with some random guy who had just waltzed into town. “Do you even like this dude?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, looking genuinely conflicted. “But… what if he tries to kiss me?”

JJ’s jaw clenched. “Then tell him to back off,” he snapped, his temper flaring.

Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s not that simple, JJ. I’ve never… I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

The admission hung in the air between them, and JJ felt his heart stutter. Y/N, the girl who could light up a room with just her smile, had never had her first kiss. It was almost unfathomable. He swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the tidal wave of emotions crashing over him.

“Y/N…” he began, not sure what to say.

“I know it’s dumb,” she said quickly, looking down at her feet. “But I don’t want to mess it up. What if I’m terrible at it?”

He wanted to laugh because there was no way in hell she’d be bad at anything. “Are you seriously asking me for kissing advice?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and earnest. “Actually… I was hoping you could… you know… be my first kiss.”

JJ’s mind went blank. Of all the things he expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. He stared at her, trying to wrap his head around the idea that the girl he’d been crazy about for years was asking him to be her first kiss. But not because she wanted him in that way — no, it was just so she wouldn’t screw up with some other guy.

“Y/N, are you serious?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.

She nodded, her cheeks turning pink. “I trust you, JJ. I know you won’t make it weird.”

Too late for that, he thought bitterly. But he couldn’t say no to her, not when she was looking at him like that. “Alright,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But if I’m gonna be your first kiss, I’m not gonna half-ass it.”

Her eyes sparkled with gratitude, and she took a step closer to him.

They stood on the dock, the sun casting golden light over the water. JJ’s heart was pounding in his chest as Y/N moved even closer, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. He could see the nervous flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips parted just slightly.

“Just… close your eyes, okay?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotions he couldn’t quite name.

Y/N nodded, her eyes fluttering shut, her lips trembling ever so slightly. JJ took a deep breath, his hand moving up to gently cup her cheek. His thumb brushed against her skin, and he could feel her shiver under his touch.

Then, with a tenderness he didn’t even know he was capable of, JJ leaned in and kissed her.

It was soft, gentle, the kind of kiss that could be over in the blink of an eye if you weren’t careful. But for JJ, it felt like the world had stopped. Her lips were warm and soft against his, and he could feel the way her fingers clutched at his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing hard, their eyes locked.

“How was that?” he asked, his voice barely more than a rasp.

Y/N was staring at him, her eyes wide and dazed. “That was… perfect,” she whispered. But then, as if realizing herself, she shook her head. “But maybe… one more time? Just to make sure I’ve got it?”

JJ’s breath hitched. This time, he didn’t hold back. He kissed her again, harder, more desperate, like he was trying to pour every unsaid word and unspoken feeling into that kiss. His hands cupped her face, Y/N melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair, and he was lost. He was completely and utterly lost in her.

When they finally broke apart, they were both gasping for air. JJ rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face. “Don’t go on that date, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

Y/N looked at him, her eyes searching his. And then she smiled, that beautiful, sunlit smile that he loved so much. “Yeah… I think I need to cancel that date,” she said softly.

||

It wasn’t long before the rest of the Pogues found out. Kie was ecstatic, practically tackling Y/N in a hug when she found out, while John B just grinned knowingly. Pope was the most surprised, but even he seemed happy for them.

“Finally!” Kie exclaimed, throwing her arms around JJ and Y/N “I was wondering how long it would take you two to figure it out.”

JJ just grinned, pulling Y/N close to his side. “Better late than never, right?”

The group celebrated their newfound relationship with a bonfire at the beach, laughter and music filling the night air. JJ couldn’t keep his hands off Y/N, whether it was holding her hand or wrapping an arm around her waist. He’d spent so long wanting this, and now that he had it, he wasn’t letting go.

As the night drew to a close, JJ pulled Y/N aside, away from the others. “I’m glad you picked me,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes shining. “I always would have picked you, JJ. I just needed you to show me first.”

He kissed her again, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that felt like coming home. And for the first time in his life, JJ Maybank felt like he had everything he ever wanted.

The waves crashed around them, the world fading away until it was just the two of them, lost in each other. The Pogues cheered in the background, but JJ didn’t hear any of it.

All he could focus on was the girl in his arms, the girl who had always been more than just a Kook, more than just a friend. She was everything.

And she was his.

[irastayshome]

Change requires courage, but not changing doesn't signify the lack of it. There are reasons beyond what my own thoughts can rationalise as to why I can't bring myself to hire a maid.. or continue in this job.. or move in with my parents.. or finally admit I am now single and behave like it.

A book I've been trying to read - keyword 'trying' because my mind can't seem to focus on anything cognitive for long these days - had a profound perspective. The unconscious mind has wisdom far beyond what the conscious mind dictates. If I were to give voice to some of these wisdom, it would sound so odd and misplaced, maybe even stupid. Like if I were to say that I do not wish to hire a maid to solve the daily struggle I have in getting enough sleep before going to work the next day because I was up doing dishes and laundry.. and justify it by my assertion that this space, confined by the walls that witnessed his decline and his demise and our arguments and our reconciliations and all the quiet moments that could easily be lost and swept away in memory.. it is sacred.

I know we do not bring anything or anyone to the ground with us when it is our time. To Him we belong and to Him we return. But allowing a stranger to step in, clean the mess and carnage left behind, someone who has no idea the significance of every receipt or broken household item or anything else one might sensibly decide to throw away without question.. it is too risky. We are still in a bubble.. where the slightest curve in the breeze makes us all unhinged and anxious about when it will all pop. When he will fully be gone from our lives.. when we will finally be forced to move on, even if we aren't ready to let go. How else would I explain all that sensibly, other than how I just did? It sounds like big allegories that may seem empty, but it really isn't.. not for me. Its even more concrete and real to me than a simple "a maid would solve all your sleep and caregiving struggles". The unconscious mind has a far more powerful effect on the will than the conscious mind. Its wisdom commands more respect than most of us are willing to give.

The job.. it's just a job honestly. Its for bills, and for escape, and for some semblance of achievement to keep me from spiraling into despair. But if I'm being truly honest, it's also to fight the loneliness I feel deep in my core. Not the kinda loneliness that makes me wake up heart racing after dreaming about being kissed so passionately and embraced so intensely that it broke my heart a little when I literally woke to reality - though this kind of loneliness I must admit is getting a little too much for comfort. The loneliness I feel deep down is not having anyone to hear what I feel about the genocide in Palestine, or about the political satire in PAP lately, or about my worries for AI taking over, or what I honestly feel about my 6 Yr old falling "in love" with his classmate. Its having a mate.. to laugh with, to muse with, to watch things you don't wanna watch alone with. Someone who just gets you, and accepts you wholly, and calls you out when necessary because they want you to win.. while they're right beside you.

So, in that manner, no. This job does not fight off this loneliness. It drains my bank accounts even more because my impaired mind keeps making lots of financial and ethical blunders, costing us so much more than if I were just unemployed. In terms of achievement and helping the less fortunate, nothing feels satisfying when your own house is on fire and you're not able to save your own family first. That's just how it is for me. Those boys are more important than anything else in the world now, and I'm completely replaceable at work, but not at home.

Sigh. Who are these musings even for. Are you reading this yang, somehow? You've always hated long texts from me.. why would you start liking it now right.. I really do feel like I'm going crazy sometimes.

[teaandsconeswrites]

The Meaning of Silence - Post Osial Reconciliation

Tags: Post 1.1, Reconciliation, Hurt/Comfort, Flash Fic

Summary:  Childe processes the aftermath of the meeting at Northland Bank. Someone else comes to find him.

Everything about Childe is loud. His voice, brash as he boasts of his conquests; his laughter, loud and full; his extravagant combat style, as much performance as it is technique.

Little do most people know that when he cries, he is silent.

It's a point of survival Skirk taught him early on. As he sobbed, longing for his home and family one day (or night, it was impossible to tell down there), she grabbed him by the back of the collar. "Silence those tears, boy. The Abyss beasts have no sympathy for them."

From that day, Childe learned to be silent.

He's silent now as he stands outside Northland Bank. It's not hurt he feels (he has no right to feel that), but disappointment, that's all. Disappointment that things aren't the way he thought they were. A familiar notion, he supposes. Funny how history repeats itself. He presses a hand to his eyes, so to anyone passing by it will look as though he is shielding them from the midday sun.

Someone speaks behind him, "Ah, Childe. You are still here." It's the last voice Childe wishes to hear right now.

"You don't have to speak to me, xiansheng," he says. "The Fatui don't require false pleasantries."

There's blissful silence once again, and Childe allows himself another emotion — anger. He's not angry at the man behind him, no. Zhongli has done naught but follow the contract as specified by her. And oh, he's angry at her. She's the one who arranged the contract with Rex Lapis in a way that Childe would be blind to this, blind to everything. Zhongli is speaking again now, but Childe can't hear. He's focusing on keeping his breaths even, unclenching fists that long to wrap around a weapon.

Another hand touches his. "Childe? Do my words make sense to you?"

The contact startles him and he wheels around, ready to fight the non-existent threat. All he sees are golden eyes he once thought to have enjoyed his company, the eyes of a friend, the eyes of... someone more.

"You are upset," says Zhongli, taking a step toward him.

Childe snatches his hand away, the spot where Zhongli had touched stinging as though he had been burned.

Zhongli frowns. "You are upset with me."

"Not with you. Well, nothing more than a little sparring can't solve." Childe turns away again, rubbing his Zhongli-cursed hand. "It doesn't matter now. As I said, we don't require the false niceties, xiansheng. You can go, enjoy your retirement."

Forget about me.

Just like he will try to forget.

Childe is silent again.

He would've done it. He would've done whatever Zhongli wanted, played the role of whatever villain they needed to obtain the Gnosis for Her Majesty, yet they'd seen fit to test him. He doesn't understand why. He is the most loyal to Her cause of all of them: Her warrior, Her vanguard, Her weapon.

Perhaps that is it. Perhaps she simply wished to test the limits of her weapon, of its devotion, like one might test a physical weapon of its physical limits. Yes, a simple stress test to prove a weapon's value. It makes sense now.

"Childe." There's a hand hovering above Childe's back, waiting for permission to touch.

Childe wants to say yes.

Childe wants to say no.

Instead he turns, letting Zhongli see his face.

"Oh, Childe." Zhongli's face twists with an emotion Childe would like to call sympathy. "This was not my intent. As I stated, the contract—"

"Hey, I said no need to explain. I know how Liyue works. A contract's a contract, right? So you don't need to play nice here any more."

"That is not... Ah, you believe our friendship to have been my 'playing nice' due to my contract with Signora."

Childe folds his arms. "And you're here to tell we it wasn't?"

"It was not."

The world goes still.

Childe doesn't care. Childe doesn't care if he was tricked, deceived or used. A weapon is wielded in the way it most needs to be. But if he can have this...

Childe steps forward. "And you expect me to believe you? Just like that?"

"No." Zhongli sighs. "I am asking you, Ajax, to believe me when I say I would like to enjoy my retirement... with you in it."

The sound of his name shakes him, but Childe stands firm. "You really mean that? You still want to keep me around? After all this?"

"As I believe they say in Snezhnaya, it is a 'pinkie promise'."

It's enough to shatter Childe's final layer of resolve, and he sinks forward into the open arms Zhongli offers him, pressing his head into Zhongli's neck as they hold each other. There's a long road ahead, and bridges to be rebuilt between them. However, for now Childe is content to be, and as the relief overtakes him, he is silent once more. But this time, instead of being silent alone, he is silent with Zhongli.

And that is enough for now.

[maria-scribbles]

loyalty’s all i got | part two

three years ago, you had it all: great friends, good grades, and an almost perfect relationship with your boyfriend, jj. it all came crashing down when your mom relocated your family to california for work and you were forced to trade the outer banks for malibu, leaving your broken heart behind in the place you were just starting to think of as home. now you're back in town for college and to pick up the pieces, hoping to make things right again with your friends and the boy you never stopped loving.

word count: 8.6k+

ship: jj maybank x female!reader, pogue friendship

warnings n stuff: angst angst angst all around (with a happy ending tho!!), the reader being a v. sad girl, mentions of anxiety/depression, failed long distance relationship, drifting apart, self-inflicted loneliness/isolation, the classic trope of 'they broke up but they're still in love with each other' that gives me feels, swearing (it's not my writing unless someone says 'fuck' at least once), reconciliation/mended relationships, traditional cheesy rom-com rain scene 'cause i'm a Dramatic Hoe™

a/n: and here's the second and final part of this looooong two-shot! thank you all so much for reading and i hope you enjoy the finale even though i low key kind of hate it 🙃. fun fact: surfrider beach is a real place in malibu known for its great waves :) also i apologize for how long this took to post, i dropped my laptop and the screen broke so i had to wait for it to get fixed lmao. unbetaed as usual, any mistakes are my b. 

~masterlist~

part two: like a ghost that no one knew

When you said goodbye to your friends three years ago, you should've known things would never be the same again. You were sixteen, still so young and naïve and full of an almost childlike hope that kept you from seeing the obvious: life wasn't fair. Sometimes, you could be holding all the right cards and still lose the game.

It should've been easy. You had a video chat schedule already figured out, promises of daily texts and Snapchats, a boyfriend willing -enthusiastically willing, in fact- to go long distance and make it work no matter what 'cause you both agreed that what you had was something worth fighting for. You and your friends had weathered many storms together, what was one more? It could've been easy but you underestimated just how cruel California would be.

You traded one coast for the other and watched the sun set over the Pacific alone when you would've given anything to watch it rise over the Atlantic with your friends. It hurt to surf solo but you did it anyway, even though it felt like a damn sucker punch each time you caught yourself scanning the sand for JJ and his proud smile when you successfully caught bigger and bigger waves at Surfrider Beach. 

Long distance was hard. You had days where all you wanted to do was lay on your bed for hours, safely curled up in his arms as he ran his fingers through your hair but you had to settle for his voice over the phone and one of his shirts from your closet instead. You missed everything about him: his pretty eyes that looked like the clearest ocean, the cheeky grin he'd send your way after making a stupid joke that had you affectionately rolling your eyes in exasperation, that adorable flush that spread across his face without fail each and every time you said you loved him. You longed for his constant affection; the way he always wanted to keep you close somehow, his arm around your shoulders, hand in your back pocket, or fingers entwined with yours; how he could never go a day without kissing you. Being apart was nothing short of torture.

"I fucking miss you." He said late one night during a rare FaceTime session -his phone was a piece of shit so he had to 'borrow' John B's whenever he could- and you smiled despite the knife twisting itself deeper and deeper into your heart as you played with the fraying sleeve of his old sweatshirt you wore. 

"I fucking miss you more, J." You whispered back, giggling quietly when he scrunched up his nose in playful skepticism. 

"Yeah, I don't think so, babe. There's no way." 

"Yes, way!"

Although it hurt like hell, you imagined being tangled up with him in the hammock hanging in the Chateau's yard under the North Carolina sky -the light from the moon would turn his blond hair a pale silver as he grinned down at you and cupped your cheek in his hand, closing that final distance between you for a kiss that'd fuel the fire racing through your veins- and you let that fleeting happiness carry you through the night, long after you said goodbye. You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, unaware that your mother had been listening from the other side of your closed door.

You'd been distant from her and your dad in the months since the move, obviously going out of your way to avoid them both by spending all your spare time surfing at the beach, coming home well past sunset and heading straight to your room without a word. They'd taught you forgiveness wasn't something to be given willingly -it had to be earned- and since neither of them had done anything worthy to deserve an absolution, you simply pretended they didn't exist and let yourself stew in your justified anger.

Until the morning after your video date with JJ, they'd wisely given you your space so you were pretty blind sighted to find them both waiting for you at the dining room table, one of your dad's famous cinnamon rolls on a plate set in front of your usual chair. You paused in the middle of tying one of your boyfriend's worn bandanas in your hair before abruptly continuing toward the front door, acting like you didn't see the hopeful looks on their faces that made guilt slowly start to burrow its way into your chest. 

"Y/N, wait," Your dad sprung from his seat and reached his hand out toward your elbow, his face falling when you instantly pulled back and crossed your arms. "Please, let's just talk for a second."

"I'm gonna be late for the bus," You lied and tried for the door again, sighing in frustration when he blocked your path and ushered you toward the table where your mom was sitting, biting her thumbnail. The guilt burrowed deeper: you thought she kicked that habit years ago but there she was, chewing her nail to shreds and it was all because of you (the empty satisfaction you felt knowing you were the cause of her stress made you hate yourself just a little more.).

"Jellybean, don't worry about that. I'll drive you." 

You bristled at the old nickname but sat in the chair your dad pulled out for you anyway. The smell of the cinnamon roll he pushed your way made your mouth water but you refused to eat and kept your eyes down as you played with the stack of bracelets adorning your wrist. "You wanted to talk?" You asked, deciding to just rip the band-aid off all at once 'cause knowing your mom when she was anxious and your dad being allergic to any type of confrontation, you'd have sat there all day until one of them worked up the courage to speak.

"Talk, right." Bill said with a nervous chuckle, shaking his head as he took a seat and swiped his own cinnamon roll from the pan in the middle of the table. "Uh, how are you?"

"Are you serious right now?" You asked incredulously, looking up from your lap with a raised eyebrow. "All this for 'how are you?'" 

"How would we know?" Your mom finally spoke up as she pulled her ruined nail from her mouth, only to start instantly drumming her fingers on the table. "You're always holed up in your room or at the beach, Y/N. You never talk to us anymore."

You rolled your eyes before fixing her with a deadpan stare. "Hmm, I wonder why."

"Honey, you know I'm sorry-"

"Don't, okay? Just don't." You swallowed thickly and dumped the cinnamon roll back into the pan, blinking away the awful burning pressure building behind your eyes. "I can't listen to some half-assed apology that you don't mean!"

"Y/N, we are sorry. Everything's gonna get better, just give it time." Your dad's reply was muffled by a mouthful of pastry and any other time, you'd usually be laughing at his chipmunk cheeks but instead you just stared back down at your hands again, lip quivering as you tried and failed to hold yourself together. You would not cry. You would not cry. You would not-

"Please, honey." Your mom tentatively reached out one hand like she was approaching a wounded animal, her voice so soft you could barely hear it above the rush of blood in your ears. "It hurts us to see you like this-"

Oh, fuck this shit.

"You're hurt?! Are you kidding me?" Your chair scraped along the tile as you rocketed to your feet, vision blurring when the dam finally broke. "You promised we wouldn't move again until after I graduated and you broke that promise. I let myself make friends for once in my goddamn life -I fucking fell in love, Mom! I fell in love with the most amazing boy who, by some miracle loves me, too despite me being a...a complete loser!" You were rambling now but you couldn't find it in yourself to care about or stop the words flying from your mouth. 

"God, I was happy -so, so disgustingly happy it kind of scared me, okay?" You laughed bitterly and roughly wiped the tears from your cheeks, only to have more immediately take their place. "And you didn't even stop to think before you took it all away from me! So don't even talk to me about being hurt 'cause you have no fucking idea!"

Your dad was frozen, eyes the same color as your own blown impossibly wide in the middle of another bite of cinnamon roll while your mom, two tears streaking perfect twin tracks down her cheeks, looked at you like you'd just told her the world was ending -to her, it just might've been but to you, it already had. Neither of them said another word as you snatched your backpack off the couch and stormed from the house, slamming the door behind you.

Halfway to the bus stop, you decided school just wasn't in the cards that day and doubled back, hiding behind the shed in your backyard until your tears had run dry and both of your parents left -Rebekah to the hospital, Bill to wherever he went while you were in class- before heading inside to change into your rash vest and grab your board. Despite it being early Friday morning, Surfrider Beach was full of life and you welcomed the hustle and bustle as you turned off your phone and buried it at the bottom of your bag, leaving your problems behind on the sand. 

You spent the whole day at the beach, blissfully alone and free to do what you wanted, until the sun dipped low in the sky and you were too exhausted to even think about anything but dragging yourself home so you could pass the fuck out. You caught one final wave before heading back to shore, waving goodbye to the group of other kids you'd surfed with all day (the one thing you loved about California: everyone was so chill) and trudged through the sand toward your things where, just as you expected, your sister sat on your towel, clad in a baggy UCLA long-sleeve with her phone in hand. 

"Bitch, you killed it out there!" She looked up as you dropped your board to the ground and sat down heavily beside her, slipping an old Kildare County High School sweatshirt -the first one you ever 'borrowed' from your boyfriend, much to his delight- over your head. "I mean, look at you go!"

You leaned closer to watch the video she took, the barest hint of a smile on your face when you watched yourself perform a near perfect cutback on the screen. "That's 'cause I had the best teacher." 

Daisy tagged you and posted it to Instagram before you could protest, then tossed the phone back into her bag and turned to you with a forced cheerfulness that kind of made you want to smack her. "So..."

"Mom and Dad sent you to clean up their mess." You finished quietly, tucking your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them as your sister sighed dramatically and offered a sympathetic wince. 

"As always." She copied your position and you both stared out at the sun sinking over the water, its fading rays turning the sky brilliant shades of orange and pink. It was typical of your parents to send Daisy after you when you were upset -after all, you'd both been each other's only friend for over half your lives- and normally, you'd be glad to see your sister's friendly face instead of your mom's or dad's. That evening, though? All you felt was...disappointment.

"Guess they really don't give a shit about me." You mumbled under your breath, half-hoping Daisy didn't hear you but from the way she snapped her head in your direction, you didn't get your wish.

"Y/N, that's not it. They're just..."

"Just what? Pretending that they didn't stab me in the back? Acting like everything's all hunky-dory and they actually cared about my feelings?" 

You hastily wiped at your face when your sister silently looped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you against her side, her fingers running soothingly through the ends of your damp hair as you vented all of your frustrations -everything you'd kept locked deep inside your heart- until your voice was hoarse and the sun had long disappeared from the horizon and you had no tears left to cry.

"You have no idea what it's like, being so lonely it hurts to breathe. It hurts knowing Mom and Dad have each other and you have Daniel and I'm alone all the time." You lifted your head from her shoulder and rubbed your red eyes with your sleeve. "Worst part is, they just keep acting like I'll wake up one day and magically be okay and everything'll be all sunshine and rainbows again." 

"First off, I wanna say that I'm sorry for not making more time for you. I knew you were struggling and I'm a terrible big sister for not being here for you like I should have," You squeezed Daisy's other hand in thanks as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her voice soft and steady like the waves crashing against the shore. "Second, I definitely don't think Mom and Dad are handling this the way they should, but I think they're trying in the only way they know how. That should count for something, right?"

You sighed and tugged the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands. "I guess, but they haven't even tried to see where I'm coming from and they don't get that I'm not the only one they hurt. If I have to hear one more half-assed apology, I'm gonna lose my shit. Again."

"I'm not saying you have to forgive them right away 'cause I sure as hell wouldn't until they say they're sorry and mean it. But..." She said, pulling you to your feet and shaking the sand from the towel you were sitting on, "you shouldn't keep shutting them out, okay? It's not healthy."

You tucked your board under your arm as Daisy grabbed your bag and swung it onto her shoulder before you both started walking toward the parking lot. "What if I'm never ready to forgive them?"

"That's a question I don't have the answer to." She said with a shrug. "You've gotta figure that one out for yourself."

So you followed your sister's advice. You were civil and gradually, your relationship with your parents improved until you could stand to be in the same room as them and even carry on a short conversation, even though you knew you'd probably never be able to fully trust them again. You caught them exchanging glances you could only describe as wounded when you often turned down their invitations to go to the movies or get ice cream or other things you used to love doing when you were younger but for the most part, they took it in stride and you were grateful for their little efforts. Forgiveness wasn't in the cards quite yet but with each passing day, you felt the icy wall around your heart slowly start to melt away.

But every time you thought you were taking one step forward, life pushed you two steps back. Just when you were getting things back on track with your family, the train went flying off the rails when it came to your friends and it was all your fault.

It wasn't like you didn't try -God, did you try- to keep yourself from falling back into old habits but Malibu just had a way of bringing out the absolute worst in you. Your old self, the girl who kept to herself and pushed everyone away, someone you thought you buried in the deepest grave, slowly came back from the dead with a vengeance little by little, so subtly you didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. 

One missed phone call turned into two, texts went unanswered for days or not at all, FaceTime sessions happened less and less. The last video chat had been with Kiara and it ended terribly, after you blew up at her for mending her friendship with Sarah Cameron in the near two years since you'd been gone, spitting words you couldn't quite remember -something along the lines of 'didn't take you too long to replace me, huh' and calling the blonde girl a 'heinous bitch'- but knew you regretted with everything you had and hanging up before she had a chance to explain. You couldn't even recall the last time you talked to Pope or John B aside from the occasional Snapchat and your daily calls with JJ had turned to once a week, if you were lucky.

He was trying, you could tell, and so were you but the deck was stacked against you and you were never very good at cards, anyway. It hurt to try, it hurt not to try, everything just hurt. Nearly two years apart had done their damage and coupled with your debilitating fear of being forgotten that clawed at your chest like a rabid dog, your relationship was on unstable ground and for the first time in almost four years, you were thinking about the end. It wasn't like you didn't love him anymore (holy shit, were you still completely head over heels in love). In fact, you loved him so much you realized that he could do so, so much better than you and the thought rested heavy and bittersweet on your mind, lurking in the shadows until you were ready to bring it to light.

It happened on New Year's Eve. Alone in your room, your hands shook as you answered JJ's call at midnight, his voice tired and a little hoarse from celebrating the new year three hours earlier on the opposite coast and you nearly started crying right then and there when you replied with a shaky "I think we need to talk."

"Babe, what's wrong?"

You took a deep breath and said quietly, "Everything."

"Talk to me." The pure concern in those three words nearly convinced you to call it off, to tell him to forget you said anything and that you were fine, everything was just fine but deep down, you knew you couldn't.

"I've been thinking about us and I...I just think that you deserve better than me. Someone who can actually be there for you when you need her and hold you when your dad's an asshole and see you every day. Someone who can laugh at your silly jokes and share a joint with you and clean you up when you get into fights defending your friends-"

"Babe, what are you talking about? That girl is you."

"Maybe I was but I'm not anymore and I don't think I have been since I left. I just can't be the girl you want, I can't be the girl you deserve, J -I'm a total fucking mess and you can do so, so much better than me."

"Y/N."

You didn't know you were crying until you heard the broken way he breathed your name and salt water dripped from your chin onto the bracelet around your wrist. 

"...are you breaking up with me?" His voice was impossibly small, the quietest you'd ever heard it and the exact moment your battered heart shattered into pieces was when you realized he didn't even put up a fight. 

"I think so." The words tore through you like a gunshot as you cried, curling into yourself on the bed in an effort to ward off the worst pain you'd ever felt in your life and you wondered if it was possible to die from a wound that wasn't even physical. 

He was quiet for a long time, so long you thought he hung up without you noticing through your tears, until he sniffed on the other end of the line.

"Guess we had a pretty good run, huh?" He asked with a watery chuckle and you found yourself giving a tiny, shuddering giggle in response -God, even when you were breaking his heart he still managed to make you laugh.

"The best, baby." The pet name slipped out like second nature and you winced, hastily trying to cover your mistake with an awkward cough but from the sharp breath you heard him take, he'd heard it anyway.

("I'm sorry," you said, and it stood as an apology for more than just your slip-up.)

"I love you, Y/N. Probably always will."

"I'll never stop loving you, JJ. That's a promise."

You let yourself believe him as you laid there bleeding from a gash you couldn't see, a wound you knew would never heal, and you hoped he let himself believe you, too, even when you ended the call without another word and threw your phone away from you, not bothering to see where it landed. The sound of your heavy, broken sobs filled the room and you didn't even mind when your mom, who you knew had been listening from the other side of your closed door like always, barged in and took you into her arms, stroking your hair as you cried into her lap.

If you were supposed to avoid getting hurt by leaving first, why did it feel like everything in you was broken? If you were making the right choice, why did it feel so wrong? You didn't have the answers and no matter how hard you searched, you knew you'd ever find them.  

So you tried to stay busy. You joined the surf club at school, got a part-time job at the local aquarium, did anything you could to distract yourself from the hurt and the guilt and the way getting out of bed every morning was the hardest thing to do. Surf club introduced you to Mackenzie, the one girl who was more ostracized at school -an even richer version of the kook academy you hated -than you, her for being freakishly tall and you for your East Coast attitude, and the two of you became fast, if reluctant friends. Mack didn't try to stitch the gaping hole in your heart caused by your absent friends but she numbed the pain just enough to make it bearable and you were grateful for her calm, steady presence at your side, even as you both tried to keep each other at arm's length.  

Later, you found out she was just like you, friendless and awkward with no self-esteem and a tendency to push people away, and that just cemented your friendship through the summer and your final year of high school.

Mack told you all about her life, growing up with no siblings, having height that she never learned to deal with, and a debilitating social anxiety that made making friends near impossible, and in turn you told her about how you hopped from town to town on your mother's whims, the wonderful friends you let slip away, and the beautiful boyfriend you loved enough to let go, and you both cried together for the lives you could've led.

"You two looked so happy," She said during the first sleepover you hosted as she held one of the many picture frames littering your dresser, her lips turned upwards in a small smile.

You gently took the frame from her hands and ran your fingers over the grinning face of your ex-boyfriend, his arms wrapped around your shoulders as your painted lips planted a deep red kiss on his cheek, and the wave of longing washing over you was almost strong enough to bring you to your knees. "It was the happiest I've ever been."

"Do you miss him?"

"So much it hurts."

i miss you.

i'm so sorry.

i still love you.

You'd typed and erased those texts every day but never mustered the courage to hit send and you couldn't decide if that was a blessing in disguise or the worst possible curse. Of course you still loved JJ: you promised you would and even if you didn't, you couldn't stop if you tried. He was your first love, the boy you so willingly gave your whole heart and then some; you still kept his ring on your thumb -the one he gave you at the airport the day you left- and his bracelet around your wrist, his bandanas in your hair and his face in your dreams and you knew you always would.

Before you could blink, your eighteenth birthday flew by and graduation was upon you.

You thought the second you were done with high school you'd be gone, heading straight back to the Outer Banks and the life you left behind but you found yourself stalling on sending in an application to UNC -Chapel Hill until you missed the deadline for the fall semester. On the outside, you made up a semi-legit excuse about getting your basic courses done at a community college to save money but deep down you really knew why you procrastinated: you were terrified to go back. Ever since your break up with JJ, you hadn't spoken to him or any of your old friends other than the obligatory birthday wishes on Facebook and you wondered if the damage you'd done over the years was too much to come back from, even as you tried to work up the courage to find out for sure.

Another year passed: in between earning college credits, you and Daisy took a sister's trip to Disneyland, Mack asked you to tag along on a jaunt up the coast to San Francisco to see Alcatraz, your parents celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary (your gift was long-overdue forgiveness and they said it was the greatest thing you possibly could've given them). When the time came, you and Mack both sent out your applications to UNC -you for biology, her for chemistry- and the myriad of emotions you felt when you got in was nothing short of dizzying. The old you was terrified, screaming at you to rip up the letter and join your sister at UCLA instead of opening old wounds but the hopeful you, the girl who lived without fear, the girl who fell in love and let herself be loved, screamed louder.

And so you killed the old you once again, burying her even deeper than the last time in a locked chest and throwing the key as far as you could out into the Pacific where you knew you'd never find it. You clutched your acceptance letter close to your chest and took a step east, away from California and toward the place where your broken heart still rested, scattered in pieces across the sand.

Settling in at UNC was surprisingly easy. You and Mack already clicked pretty well as friends so making the transition to roommates was natural and, dare you say it, even a little fun and the two of you quickly fell into a comfortable routine in your tiny apartment off campus in Chapel Hill. Comfortable and yet...that happiness you once felt all those years ago was missing from your life and you found yourself just as restless as you were in Malibu. While you knew exactly what you needed to do, that fear kept rearing its ugly head in the back of your mind, poisoning your thoughts: what if they wouldn't be happy to see you, what if they forgot about you, what if they hated you? What if he hated you?

It was terrifying, picturing yourself turning up at the Chateau with a hopeful smile only to have the door slammed right in your face. Deep down, you knew they'd never do that to you no matter how badly you'd hurt them but when you'd spent your whole life expecting the worst, taking a leap of faith wasn't an easy feat -something Mack just couldn't wrap her head around.

"I don't get it."

You glanced up from where you were lounging on your bed, flipping through your biology notes in preparation for your lab exam the next morning and shot your roommate a confused look. "Get what?”

Mack sat at your desk, her own notebooks lying ignored as she spun the chair around to face you, arms crossed. "Why you haven't hopped on that ferry to go get your man yet!"

You froze for a moment too long before offering a half-hearted shrug as you fiddled with the beads at the end of your bracelet. "It's not that easy. He probably wants nothing to do with me and I don't blame him."

"How do you know? You haven't talked to JJ in over a year, right?" At your tight nod, she continued, "What if he's just like you-"

"Depressed?"

Mack fixed you with a flat, unamused look. "Still in love, dumbass."

You scoffed and propped your chin in your hand as you glanced back down at your study guide, trying not to latch onto that little thought -hope and pain all rolled into one- that sparked to life at her words. He'd said he would probably always love you that New Year's Eve and back then you'd let yourself believe him but now, you weren't so sure. "Yeah, right. No way he's still...still in love with me after I broke his heart."

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't," Your roommate said with a shrug, spinning around on the chair to grab her things. "You'll never know if you don't get over there, track his fine ass down, and talk to him."

You stared down at your notes without actually seeing anything, the slanted letters of your handwriting blurring before your eyes as the other girl flipped her chemistry book closed and stood, shooting you an warm smile that you didn't see. 

"Listen, Y/N, you're my best friend and I want to see you happy more than anything but I can't take that jump for you. Yeah, it's scary and nerve wracking and you might end up hurt worse than before, so what? That's just...life."

Mack left after that, crossing the apartment to her room so she could get ready for a date with a girl from her psych class, leaving you alone with tears on your face and a million thoughts in your head, all of them terrifying and exciting and oh so loud.

She was right, of course -Mack always knew the right thing to say- and as you stared down at the bracelets on your wrists and the ring on your thumb, the pictures on your phone and the too-big shirt hanging off one shoulder, you realized sitting around moping wasn't gonna solve anything; if you wanted your happiness, your friends, the love of your life back, you needed to step up and fight for them with everything you had. And so you wiped the tears from your cheeks and walked to the cliff's edge with your head held high, ready for the fall and whatever came with it. You were ready to fix your mistakes, no matter how badly it might hurt.

Still, you couldn't do it all on your own. You needed some help to make things right again and while you knew just who to ask, you weren't quite sure if they'd be willing to lend a hand. Desperate times called for desperate measures though and you penned a good old-fashioned letter, feeling like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel as you poured all your thoughts -your dreams, wishes, hopes- onto a piece of paper in bold blue ink and sent it off to its destination on Figure 8, your Hail Mary for a happy ending sealed up neatly in a single envelope.

Mack, bless her heart, did her best to keep your spirits up as you waited on a response but even her ever reassuring presence couldn't keep you from worrying as one week passed by, then two. Halfway through the third you'd almost given up, already wracking your brain for another way to make your plan work when your phone chimed with a text from an unknown number.

i'll help you

And just like that, the moment you'd been waiting for was finally within your reach; you told your parents not to expect you for Thanksgiving break, called your sister for a much needed pep talk, and started counting down the days until you'd see your friends again, for better or worse.

When you left the Outer Banks three years ago, it was sunny. You were sixteen, young and in love and scared about the future.

When you returned, it was in the middle of a storm. You were nineteen, a little bit older but no less in love and definitely still scared about what was waiting for you at the end of the road.

Rain pounded against the roof of Sarah Cameron's SUV as she drove away from the docks and toward the Chateau, her fingers tapping along to the music playing quietly through the radio. You sat in the passenger seat, soaked to the bone from your ferry ride from the mainland and shaking like a leaf despite the towel wrapped around your shoulders and the warm air flowing from the car's vents.

"Thanks for coming to get me," You said, wincing at the awkward lilt of your voice echoing in the small space as you spun JJ's ring around your thumb and stared out the windshield at the familiar sights streaking by in blurred shades of green and brown. Being back opened a Pandora's box of emotions in your head, both good and bad, and instead of trying to sort them out, you let them bounce around in your brain like a pinball machine and concentrated on methodically twirling the warm metal ring in circles on your finger.

Sarah briefly glanced away from the road to shoot you a small smile, her kind eyes softening at your visible nervousness. "Not gonna lie, I was pretty sure you hated me so when I got your letter it kinda...threw me for a loop. Sorry it took me so long to reply."

You wished the heated leather seat would swallow you whole as you winced again and wrapped the towel tighter around your shoulders. "For the longest time, I thought I did hate you but I realized I was just...scared of losing my friends and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve to be labeled the villain in my story when I was the one, um, sabotaging myself, I guess." You took a deep breath and picked at a loose thread tickling your arm. "And I'm really, really grateful for your help."

It was more than you wanted to admit out loud -nearly the same words were written in the letter peeking out from the center console of the car- but at the same time, you knew it was what needed to be said and from the way the blonde girl's fingers stopped tapping against the steering wheel, she knew she needed to hear it. At a red light, she quickly tapped out a text on her phone before tossing in back into her bag with another tiny grin in your direction.

"Happy to help. For what it's worth, I'm so sorry if I made you feel like you were being replaced, I never intended to hurt you or steal your friends or...or, I don't know, usurp-" 

"Sarah, stop. Please," You held up a hand to cut off her apology and offered her a self-deprecating smile. "I'm the one who's sorry. I let my...jealousy get the best of me and I feel so bad about all the shit I said 'cause that wasn't fair to you at all and I hope you can forgive me-"

"Y/N, there's nothing to forgive! We all say stupid shit when we're mad -trust me, I know." She interrupted with a bubbly, contagious giggle that seemed to scare away the gloomy storm clouds gathered over your head for a moment in time. "But I was never pissed at you, ever. I just want you to know that."

Stunned, you settled deeper into the seat and started playing with your ring again as she kept driving on, unbothered by your lack of response. You felt like you were thirteen again, back when Sarah and Kiara were your only friends, before the birthday disaster and the whole pogue versus kook feud that got completely out of hand; it felt...nice and you found yourself hoping that the blonde girl would still want to be your friend again, no matter what the others thought about your sudden return. 

"Thank you."

Sarah gave no indication she heard your quiet confession of gratitude but from the way you watched her smile grow out of the corner of your eye, you knew she did. The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence as you retreated into your own thoughts, your nerves getting worse and worse the closer you got to your destination.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly through your nose, feeling like your heart was trying to beat its way through your rib cage. You hadn't been this anxious in a long, long time, so long you almost forgot how much you hated the tightness in your chest, how your palms would start to sweat, the way you'd chew the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood on your tongue. By the time Sarah pulled into an open spot beside the achingly familiar Volkswagen parked in front of the Chateau, you were surprised you were still able to breathe.

The sight of the tiny house, one you spent so many carefree days and beautiful nights in alongside your friends, standing virtually unchanged in front of you was like a shot to the heart and your hands, curled into fists on your lap, began to shake without warning. Shit, you were a godforsaken mess; how the hell were you supposed to do this without having a mental breakdown?

"I'm so scared."

The whispered words, barely audible over the torrential rain against the roof, slipped from your mouth before you could stop them and Sarah slowly reached one hand over to give your trembling wrist a reassuring squeeze, the corners of her mouth curled upward in a slight smile.

"Don't be. They're gonna be so happy to see you!"

You turned to look at her, eyebrows knit together in disbelief. "How are you so sure they still care about me?"

"I'm sure 'cause I've seen it. My God, if only you could've heard all the times they talked about you -'I wish Y/N was here,' 'remember that time with Y/N,' hell, just straight 'I miss Y/N so fucking much,'" She said bluntly and shifted in the driver's seat to face you head on, smiling wider at the thunderstruck look on your face. "Pretty sure I haven't gone a week without JJ saying that last one at least once." 

"I thought..." You paused, tongue darting out to run over your dry lips as you tried to put your jumbled feelings into words, "I thought he'd hate me -I mean, after all I've done, you think he still..."

"Loves you? Are you kidding?" Her reply was so enthusiastic it was hard not to believe her as she went on, her words like sunshine brightening the darkest corners of your mind. "He's still head over heels, I've never seen him even look at another girl in three damn years. You know he still wears your necklace, the one with the silver star? Kie told me all about it."

"I-I didn't." You remembered giving it to him the day you left, managing a shaky smile through your tears as you carefully clasped it around his neck, your fingers running over his skin as you settled the charm perfectly alongside that little shark tooth you'd grown to love.

('Be careful with this, baby. It's my favorite.' You had said, crying harder when he'd taken off one of his rings and slipped it onto your thumb.

'Well, this one's my favorite so take good care of it, okay?' His voice had been light but his eyes were heavy with unspoken words that you'd heard loud and clear because you knew your gaze said the exact same things.

don't let me go

don't break my heart

don't stop loving me)

You coughed to disguise the fat tears that started rolling down your face, quickly wiping them away with your sleeve but the blonde girl wasn't fooled as she gave your hand another friendly squeeze.

"Come on, they're probably wondering what's taking me so long," She sent a conspiratorial wink your way and grabbed her bag from the center console. "I told them I was picking up some pizzas but I have a funny feeling they won't be too pissed that I lied."

With a desperate grip on the strap of your backpack and your heart racing, you trailed behind Sarah through the rain to the front porch. 

"Ready?" She glanced back where you lingered at the top of the stairs, anxiously shuffling from foot to foot, and shot you a smile that did little to calm your nerves. "Just wait here!"

She knocked on the door before you could reply and yelled loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain, "Hey, it's me! Can somebody get the door? My hands are kinda full."

"Got it!"

Your bag slipped from your fingers and fell onto the porch with a loud thump at the sound of the voice floating through the open windows, a voice you heard nearly every night as you slept, in your dreams of a future you wanted with everything you had. You knew it better than your knew your own, knew every pitch and tone and lilt; quiet and raspy in the mornings when you woke up in each other's arms, loud and carefree during long days spent under the golden sun with the rest of your friends, soft and warm and laid bare at night when he showed how much he loved you with more than just words.

Sarah gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up before stepping to the side just as the door opened and you suddenly found yourself struggling to breathe as you stared into the wide blue eyes of your ex-boyfriend. JJ stared right back, one of the hands you used to hold clenched so tight around the doorknob his knuckles were white, the lips you used to kiss parted in surprise, the blond hair you used to run your fingers through falling onto his forehead like always and the familiar, beautiful sight of him standing close enough to touch made your knees weak.

"You're not pizza."

It was such a JJ thing to say and you didn't know whether to laugh or cry as you swallowed thickly and shook your head. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm not."

"Oh."

Hope flared white hot in your chest at his words but it quickly started to fade, replaced by fear when he made no move toward you, his fingers still gripping tight to the door, and you felt your face start to heat in embarrassment as Sarah looked back and forth between the two of you like she was watching a tennis match. 

God, you were so stupid. What did you expect would happen, showing up out of the blue after over a year of no contact? Everything would fall into place again with just one long, heavy look? Believing it could be that easy turned you into a complete and total fool, tongue-tied and insecure and weak.

"Yo, what's the hold up?" John B's voice asked from inside the house and Sarah leaned down to call through the open window, "Come out here and find out!"

A wave of dizziness hit you like a truck and you took a sudden step back toward the stairs, arms wrapping around your stomach as it twisted itself into knots. "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have come. This was a mistake." You didn't notice the stricken look that crossed JJ's face or the three familiar, stunned expressions that appeared behind him in the darkened doorway before turning away and stumbling off the porch toward the road, leaving your bag behind and you definitely didn't notice how you barely made it off the bottom stair before a set of footsteps hastily gave chase. 

"It wasn't a mistake, Y/N!" JJ's desperate voice stopped you in your tracks, halfway across the yard with more than just rain running down your face. "Not to me, never to me."

His soft touch on your wrist sent shockwaves through your body and you instantly became putty in his hands, letting him turn you around without a fight to face him, watching in fascination as the downpour started to darken his gray shirt and flatten his hair against his forehead. Three years hadn't changed much about him -he was a little taller, hair a little longer, the muscles in his arms a little more defined- and when you met his wide-eyed gaze, beads of rain dripping from his long eyelashes like diamonds, you wondered if he was thinking about the differences time created between the younger you of the past and the you of the right now, too.

"Oh." You repeated dumbly, struggling for something, anything to say that didn't make you sound like an illiterate fool. Even at nineteen, words still weren't your strong suit so you let your actions speak for you as your hand reached out on its own accord to caress the silver star still clasped around his neck, the thumb still wearing his ring brushing slowly against the dip between his collarbones; he shivered, and you weren't really sure if it was from your touch or the cold. 

"Y/N." JJ said your name like a prayer, like he couldn't believe you were there in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when both of his hands slowly, carefully moved to cup your face, his calloused thumbs habitually wiping the tears from your cheeks over and over, even as more instantly replaced the ones he swept away. "I fucking missed you."

You stood there, looking like a damned drowned rat with your hair dripping into your eyes, shivering in your soaked jeans and Kildare County High School sweatshirt, the love of your life cradling your face so gently in his hands, and so many things you wanted to say flooding your brain but only the one that mattered the most managed to get by your trembling lips.  

"I'm still in love with you." 

You noticed a lot when you put your heart on the line: the steady, soothing sound of water falling through the trees, the bright, clean taste of rain on your tongue, how the sun was just barely starting to peek out from behind the stormy clouds, but they all paled in comparison to the little things you noticed about the boy in front of you; blue irises made even brighter by the red rimming his eyes, how he stepped closer on the wet grass until the tips of his scuffed boots touched your worn gray high tops, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly against your flushed face. 

"Well, it's your lucky day 'cause I'm still in love with you, too."

All of the breath left your lungs in one big rush when JJ smiled hopefully -oh, how you loved everything about that smile: his slightly crooked teeth, that dimple in his cheek, the endearing pink blush swept across his nose- and you felt yourself return it without a second thought, your own hope once again burning bright in your chest.

"Even after...everything?" Your voice shook like the fingers you slid into the hair at his nape and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, close enough you could feel his breath on your lips when he spoke.

"I told you I'd always love you, didn't I?"

You nodded, a delicious shiver running down your spine when he tilted his head just so and gently bumped your nose with his. You remembered all the times he did that through the years, a dizzying slideshow of memories that flashed through your mind like lightning, and your fingers wove themselves deeper in his hair. 

"I have so many things to apologize for," You said with a tiny, quiet shake of your head, tearing your eyes away from his in shame and staring over his shoulder toward where the rest of your friends watched from the porch, all crowded together at the top of the stairs with identical enthralled expressions on their faces. "There are so many mistakes I've made and people I've hurt and I have no idea how to even start saying sorry for it all." 

"Babe."

The sound of your old pet name caused your gaze to snap right back to his and your heart felt like it was about to beat right out of your chest when one of his hands trailed down the sensitive skin of your neck and then lower until it traced along the curve of your hip and left a line of fire in its wake.

"We'll figure that out later, okay?" JJ said as his fingers tucked a loose strand of wet hair behind your ear, a coy, ardent grin on his face. "'Cause I've been waiting three years to kiss you again and if I don't get to do it soon, I'm gonna lose my fucking mind."

You smiled -a wide, joyful, elated smile- and rose up on your tiptoes in anticipation. "Then kiss me." 

You didn't have to tell him twice. His lips pressed against yours desperately, like he needed you to breathe, like you were the very air in his lungs, religiously, like your mouth was the altar and he was there to worship as he pulled you close, the fingers of one hand tangling in your hair while the others dug into your hip. You kissed him back just as hard and the familiar taste of him on your tongue -mint, smoke, salt- sent that dearly missed spark racing through your veins like wildfire.

It was a little cliché, having your long-awaited reunion kiss in the rain but it was honest and candid and real and so much better than anything you could've dreamed. You lost yourself in his touch like you used to, clinging to him like a lifeline and pouring your whole heart into every fierce brush of your lips against his, both of you pulling away for a moment only to dive right back in each time. It was addictive, intoxicating, and you could've spent the rest of your life standing there in the middle of the yard and kissing like there was no tomorrow if a loud, ear-piercing wolf whistle hadn't come from the direction of the porch.

The two of you broke apart just barely, with foreheads still pressed together and swollen lips, and you couldn't stop yourself from giggling when JJ blindly flipped the bird over his shoulder before pulling you back in for another eager kiss that filled your whole body with an exhilarating, heavenly heat that never faded, even after four enthusiastic voices suddenly surrounded you like an excited swarm of nosy, buzzing bees.

"You aren't the only one who missed her, J." Kiara said, smiling widely as you reached out to grab her hand and pull her into a powerful one-armed hug, her chin resting on your shoulder.

"Yeah, stop hogging all the love!" John B added, throwing himself into the pile along with Pope, who slung an arm around your shoulders as he said, "Great to have you back, Y/N."

Sarah was the last to join and she quietly tucked herself under John B's arm with a pleased grin on her face, nodding when you mouthed 'thank you' in her direction. The six of you stood there in the rain, smiling like fools, and as the sun started to scare away the dark clouds overhead and in your heart, a weight you didn't even realize had been crushing your chest slowly began to lift away with each freeing breath. 

You still had a lot of work to do: wrongs to be righted, apologies to be made, explanations -not excuses- to be given for every shitty thing you did in your past. But as happy tears started streaming down your face once again and you felt the arms of the friends you’d thought were lost to you forever tighten around you at the sight, you knew in your bones all would be forgiven. You knew that after three long years, you'd finally come home.

-

let me know what you think! i read each and every one of your comments and cry because they mean so much to me! ❤

taglist ❤: @sinkbeneathwaves​ @cordeliascrown​ @maysbanks​ @jjpogueprincess​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @k-n-e​ @jiaraendgame​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @heypearce​ @sexualparkour​ (send me an ask if you’d like to be added or removed!)

[hargrove-mayfields]

You’ve Set my Soul to Dreaming Pt. 2

Billy can’t believe he’s doing this. 

Can’t believe that he’s pulled up outside of 8253 Loch Nora, a gift box in his passenger seat, unwrapped because that would look like he cared too much, a lit cigarette fogging up his windows, and a sense of dread settled heavy in his heart. 

Just because Harrington bought him the fanciest thing he’d ever had the pleasure to own didn’t mean he had to return the favor, right? 

Wrong. Because it wasn’t just your typical, ‘I’m loaded, and you’re dirt poor, so let me get you this novelty that costs more than you have in the bank because I'm better than you’ from Steve, but something more like a peace offering. 

A peace offering from the loser of the fight, which made Billy look like even bigger an asshole than he already was. 

Like, it was bad enough that he’d even beat Steve up in the first place, but then to just ignore his attempt at reconciliation and keep up the machismo shtick? Even he was better than that. 

So he’d fretted for a week about what a rich boy would want, and shoveled sidewalks for old people and flirtatious mothers to be able to afford it. Not that the Hargroves didn’t have enough money for a dinky little gift, Billy just wasn’t allowed to spend his father’s wages on anything less than necessity. 

Christmas presents for some boy definitely didn’t fall under that category. 

In the end he decides on giving him a flask, decorated with similar filigree to that on the zippo, only it’s much more cheaply made. He hopes the sentiment is still there, because he knows Steve can put alcohol away faster than you can say chemically dependent teenaged washup. After all, just a few nights ago at Jenny’s Christmas Party, he saw him drink a whole bottle of vodka in under a minute.

Besides, regardless of whether or not it’s something he needs or cares about or is just going to throw away, it’s just to get even, this isn’t some life changing gift exchange. No sweat. 

Maybe Billy has that all worked out in his head, but then he’s got another problem. He can’t decide on how the present is going to get to Steve. 

If he should just leave it on the porch and bolt, if he was going to ring the doorbell and hand it right to him, or if he would just drive right on down back to Cherry Lane and keep the stupid hip flask for himself, and pretend the whole thing never happened so he could move on with his life. 

He loses the chance to choose when the double doors to the house are pulled open, and the silhouette of the one and only Steve Harrington appears. 

It would be more than weird to drive away now when he was obviously already parked outside, and even weirder to just sit in his car until Steve goes back inside, so he sucks it up, grabs the box off his passenger seat, and steps out of the Camaro. 

Rounding the front of his car and taking a few steps toward the porch, Billy decides to toss Steve the box without so much as a muttered ‘heads up.’ They’ve been playing basketball together for two months now, and he knows from experience that Steve’s surprisingly good at dodging fists, so he’s pretty sure he’ll catch it. 

And he does, if not a little clumsily, with a stupid, shocked look on his face. Billy might even say he almost looks as dumb as the sweater he was wearing, which had a Christmas tree crocheted into the center and was at least fifty percent tinsel. 

If his head was screwed on straight, maybe Billy would’ve even said ‘Merry Christmas Steve, thanks for the beautiful fucking zippo I use it every day, sorry ‘bout the face’ but it wasn’t, so instead, what he said was actually more along the lines of, 

“Save your donations for the red kettle Harrington.” 

And then he thinks he’s out of the woods, thinks the lack of an answer is the symbol he needs to put this drama behind him and pick a new pretty boy to pick on, but just as he pops the Camaro’s door, Steve finally lets his response tumble out of his mouth. 

“Why don’t you come in, Hargrove?” Steve turns the box over and over in his hands, nervous as he tries to get out what he’s going to say. “Nobody’s home, and I made a bunch of cookies. Got some spiked eggnog too.” 

And, it wasn’t like Billy’d rather be back at his own house right now, that was actually the last place on earth he wanted to be, so he wasn’t beyond entertaining the notion. 

He isn’t easy though, he’s not the type to just, waltz on in to some McMansion looming over him just because he’d been asked so politely. Especially not when the circumstances of this specific circumstance were the way they were.

“Whatd’ya put in it, the eggnog?” It’s a stupid question, just a way to stall until he can come up with an excuse to go in the mansion by his accord, but the answer, well, it’s not much better. 

“Chicken Cock.” Steve says it with such an air of nonchalance that Billy isn’t sure he’s heard that right, but then again, the people down in the Midwest referred everything with weird nicknames that he’d never even heard of. What was puppy chow anyways?

He can tell there’s a bewildered look on his face, though it gets overtaken by a slightly humored smile as he asks. “‘Scuse me?” 

Blame it on the bitter cold if you please, but a flush appears on Steve’s cheeks at the realization of what his words might sound like to somebody who had no idea what he’s talking about. “I-It’s a spirit, it’s really strong and- why don’t you just come try it, yeah?” 

Its cute, but Billy needs one last attempt at casting out the line before he gives in and accepts Steve’s offer. “Real smooth, Harrington, but I gotta get back to the festivities at home.” 

“Sure, ‘cause you're totally the type for that.” Steve rolls his eyes in a sort of false annoyance before he starts on his mockery. “Bet you sing carols, and bake cookies with your little sister and tell stories of your favorite Christmas memories around the Yule log and-“

“Alright, Harrington. Since you asked so nicely.” He couldn’t keep saying no with Steve practically begging him to come inside, so, stepping up onto the stoop, Billy scrapes his boots against the porch rug to knock off the snow so he can go inside. “But I’m outta here by midnight, alright?” 

With a smile, Steve steps aside to let Billy through the door. “Deal.” 

Ornate woodworking and fancy wallpaper goes unnoticed, because the first thing Billy notices about the Harrington mansion is that it is an absolute disaster. although he would expect a cleaning lady to have come through and kept the place all nice and pristine like you see in the magazines, there was shit everywhere. 

Piles of bubble wrap and newspaper stuffed into plastic containers, wires and strings and tape all over, a power strips and thumbtacks, and suddenly Billy realizes something. 

“This your attempt at Yuletide cheer, Harrington?” 

For a moment he looks at Billy confused, but follows his line of sight to the heaping boxes of decorations scattered throughout his living space. “Oh, no, I just didn’t finish yet.” 

Billy can’t help it when he blurts out, “It’s Christmas Eve.” 

Steve nods dumbly, something that should at this point be his registered trademark. “Uh-huh.” 

“And all your decorations are in a pile in your living room?” Even Billy knew better than to wait until the last minute to get things done, and Harrington always seemed so on top of everything, regardless of if he was doing it right, so it was kind of jarring to see him in such a disheveled mess the night of Christmas Eve. 

Steve says, in a tone so casually condescending, “Seems that way, yeah.” 

“Didn’t leave enough time between your panty raids to get it done?”  Snark is met with snark, but, because of the circumstances, there’s not the typical edge to it that would be expected from the two of them.

“I manage my escapades perfectly fine, thank you.” Steve toes at a box heaping with ornaments and labeled with the words ‘to throw out’ written in cursive on the side. “My parents just think decorating is too undistinguished, so I’m only allowed to have them up for a few days.” 

“Right.” Billy agrees like he understands, but he really doesn’t. How can sprucing up your house with a bunch of fancy and expensive trinkets and decorations be any worse than leaving it empty and barren? Rich people. “And how, exactly, would they know if you put them up early?” 

Tossing a strand of garland that had previously been draped over the back of the chaise, because of course they have a chaise in their first living room, Steve says, “Shut up and help me put them up then.” 

So he does. He untangles giant knots of tinsel, of lights and of icicles, and unwraps all of the Harringtons’ precious glass ornaments for Steve to put on the artificial trees (he’s allergic to pine) in the entrance hall and the dining room. 

He puts up the glass stocking holder and hangs the silky, designer stockings, which, judging from the faded fabric and the peeling letters written in red glitter glue to spell out STEVEn, are from a time when Ruthie and Stephen Sr. still darkened these doors. Alongside them on the mantelpiece, he hangs a handful of Christmas cards from Steve’s random relatives up on a thin piece of ribbon. 

The banister of the grand staircase is wrapped in miles of scratchy garland, enough that they can hardly see the wooden finish underneath, and matching wreaths are hung in the windows and on the doors. 

Just to prove how rich they were, the Harringtons also have a rather extensive collection of those ceramic trees, not the type you make yourself, but the expensive ones you can order from Avon and other designers Billy can’t even pronounce the name of, and they’ve put one on just about every surface that is close enough to an outlet for a plug to reach.

There are so many extension cords run through every room, Billy’s worried that Steve might end up burning up in a house fire, but it’s worth it to see the twinkling lights reflecting on blank white walls, the soothing colors brightening up a space he could imagine was typically devoid of life. 

And in the end, having wrestled with dusty old decorations to transform Steve’s house into something so, so pleasant? spirited? entirely unfamiliar to someone like him? he thinks he’s earned the hard whiskey he was promised at the door. 

Hours go by, and the two of them are sitting in the center of the giant French Country rug, a cotton and silk substitute for the Persian Steve turned out to be allergic to, backs against the coffee table and more than a little tipsy. 

Leaning back on his elbows, Billy lets his head fall back, his sprayed curls fanning out over the mahogany surface, where they have a bayberry candle burning out of the top of an empty bottle of Stephen Sr's liquor of choice. 

Blinking slowly up at the ceiling, the blur of the colorful lights making him dizzy, he asks, “So, how does this work, without your parents here, d’ya just, buy your own presents and put ‘em under the tree yourself?” 

“Nah. They mail them to Miss Hetty the help, and she brings ‘em to me in the mornin’. 7 a.m. sharp.” He pops the p on the “sharp” like he’s proud to admit he has a nanny at almost 19 years old. 

“The help. Think that’s somehow more depressing.” Billy ignores the way Steve’s eyebrows furrow together and his quiet, mumbled out, “Rude.” 

“Don’t think I have much room to talk though.” He sits up again so he can look at Steve. “Your zippo’s the only thing I’m gettin’ this year, ‘cept for maybe a-a good backhand or two after Susan gets her family photos.” 

A smile cracks across the other boy's face as he lowers his voice, sounding all too excited to say, “Guess that makes us a couple-a misfits then, huh?”

And Billy can’t help the laugh he lets out at that god awful reference, true as it may be, and it's with a smile on his face that he says, “God, you are such a cheeseball, man.” 

“Hey! I saw an opportunity, and I had to take it.” There’s a smile equal to his own on Steve’s face, as he laughs at what he said with Billy, and the moment passes. 

In the silence that follows, they sit just like that, appreciating their moment of camaraderie that they know is going to come to an end soon, as the grandfather clock chimes for another hour gone by, the bayberry burns down another few centimeters, and the headachy feeling of too much alcohol starts to set in. 

It was nice to not be surrounded by faux affection and suffocated by the fear of stepping out of line, but like all good things, Christmas Eve must come to an end at some point, and so it was that, around quarter to twelve, Billy makes his first attempt to stand on drunken feet. 

Based on the fact that he doesn’t immediately fall on his ass, he’ll probably be alright to drive, not that he really has much of a choice, so he grabs his keys off the coffee table and announces his departure. 

“It’s been real Harrington, but duty calls.” 

“Yeah, sure. Thanks man.” Steve waves Billy off and leans forward, letting his forehead come to rest against the surface of the laminated hardwood, obviously more affected by the whiskey than the other boy. 

But Billy finds himself cemented to the spot, fingers fiddling with the buttons on his denim jacket as he tries to get together what he wants to say, because he still hasn’t properly apologized. 

Not that it’s something he’d normally do, but some things can’t be fixed with Christmas Decorations and cinnamon spirits. “Look, I’m sorry, about the, the fight and everything Harrington, I just-“ 

“S’okay.” Steve tries to look at him, but he's barely able to sit up anymore. He’s got an arm slung over the top of the coffee table to keep himself upright, and his words slur to be almost unintelligible as he tells Billy, “Already forgave ya.” 

“But, I don’t- you shouldn’t-“ Taking a deep breath through his nose to collect himself, Billy continues, “How did you know I deserved that?” 

“Chalk it up to the Christmas spirit.” Accenting his words with the slightest shrug of his shoulders, Steve smiles a knowing little grin and says, “Go on home, Billy.” 

“Right, I’ll, see ya round then.” He starts to walk away, taking steps made shaky from the alcohol in his system, but from behind him he hears Steve say softly, “Wait.” 

Turning around, he raises his eyebrows to show Steve he’s at his attention, and Steve, eyes glossy and cheeks as red as the big man’s suit, looks him right in the eye (and the heart) to tell him. “Merry Christmas, Billy.” 

“Yeah, you too, Harrington.” The softness in his tone feels like a betrayal to himself, and he thanks the lord above that Steve is too drunk to hold it against him.

One last look over his shoulder, and he sees Steve face down on the coffee table again. Chuckling to nobody but himself, he thinks that maybe the flask wasn’t such a bright idea after all. 

Shutting those heavy double doors behind himself and getting back in the Camaro, while his hands shake and his heart races, is a strange feeling to say the least. 

Just up and walking away from the most genuine expression of compassion he’d ever experienced, knowing that, with what’s waiting for him back at home, he’s not going to ever let something like this happen again, makes him feel like he should just go running back in there, forget about curfews and abusive fathers so he can pursue this, this whatever with Harrington, but he knows that isn’t really an option. 

Knows he’ll get too attached if he doesn't leave now, that nipping that growing feeling of acceptance, of forgiveness, of warmth in his heart three sizes too small, right in the bud before it turns into something more wicked and ruins a perfectly good Christmas Eve, is the best possible thing for the both of them.

This was just an apology, righting the obvious wrongs that had taken place in November, and nothing more. 

Because having Steve Harrington three sheets to the wind and showing him the slightest bit of compassion wouldn’t be enough to break him down, no sir. This was Billy Hargrove after all, he didn’t let trivial things like throwing away potential friendships bring tears to his eyes, not in a million years. 

Or that’s at least what he’d like to think, but in all reality he does, shows up back at his own, completely average house back on Cherry with red rimmed eyes and it doesn’t go unnoticed when he walks through the front door. 

So Billy spends the night just as he expected he would; a bruise forming on his cheek, wide awake in his bed, while visions of Steve Harrington danced in his head. 

Read also on ao3

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Home and Away review: New arrival Luke Arnold teases big things to come with Jas but Colby cliffhanger flops

by Stephanie McKenna (The West Australian)

Warning: Long post. Read own risk. Spoiler for anyone hasn’t watch the show.

New character who dis? Credit: Channel 7

Before I enlighten you with my thoughts on this grand evening that is the finale of Home and Away for 2020, I must say how very disappointed I am by the lack of a true, over-the-top cliffhanger. This is my first finale and I was expecting big things: a natural disaster, an untimely death or some sort of Jasmine-related bombshell. But alas, all I have to contend with is the possibility that Colby could be bashed by his fellow inmates because they know he’s a cop.

Channel 7 have been playing this up really big in the ads but in the actual show – apart from Colby’s dismal cut on his lip – it’s hardly apparent that he’s in danger.

There’s also a new character by the name of Lewis Hayes played by Luke Arnold, who looks remarkably like INXS star Michael Hutchence – so much so he was cast as the legendary singer in Never Tear Us Apart: The Untold Story of INXS. He’s an old flame of Jasmine’s so there’s something to look forward to there.

But aside from the sub-par drama, I’m actually thrilled because as much as my fondness for the show has grown, I’ve been subjected to Justin’s moping for long enough and I need a break.

So without further ado, here is tonight’s recap in kind of order.

Budget McDreamy aka Christian Green has returned from his busy schedule saving lives across the country and Tori is completely smitten.

The happy couple, although delusional, think they have solved their Jasmine problems because Jas said she’s “fine”.

I hope she’s not actually fine and it all erupts in a glorious Jas-fuelled jealously.

With that done and dusted, Christian announces that he wants to move to Summer Bay permanently to be with Tori.

He says he’s been thinking about it for a while – which realistically can’t be much more than a month.

Tori is sceptical. But not for the obvious reason that they’ve only known each other for weeks, but because she’s worried he’s going to get bored of her after his fun-filled life gallivanting around the world doctoring.

The pair go for a walk to the jetty. It’s like the producers forgot about the jetty of confrontation and reconciliation, the place where all the characters comes to seek closure to life’s big problems, but not today.

“What happens if you wake up one day and realise you’ve made a mistake,” Tori says to Budget McDreamy.

C’mon Tori, there’s practically no eligible bachelors in this crime-ridden town so just do it.

“I just don’t know if you moving here is the right thing to do,” she says.

“Listen to me,” Budget McDreamy says in his extremely low and reassuring voice.

“I know that you’ve got much more at risk than I do, but believe me I’ve thought about this,” he says.

“Creating a future with you is going to me much more exciting than any of that was.”

They kiss to “seal the deal” and make the “announcement” to Leah and Justin and everyone watching will be screaming “yassss” because everything is so nicely resolved. To my relief Justin’s groaning has stopped but it’s all in vain because the police raid the garage which is very groan-worthy.

It’s about the “stolen goods” aka the van brimming with drugs. Ziggy plays dumb. It’s surprisingly convincing.

“Apparently a bloke was arrested a few weeks back for driving a stolen car and he had this address in his burner phone,” the nice extra dressed as a policeman says. 

Justin discovers the car was found around the same time Tane started working at the garage. Leah hopes it’s a coincidence though. 

Ziggy leaps straight into panic mode and calls Tane. But of course she gets his message bank because he’s too busy planning how to rob a country club with guns.

“It’s an easy hit,” Tane says to Ari as they work out logistics.

The extent of Tane’s criminal record still remains a mystery to me, but he succeeds at everything he sets his mind to - criminally I mean.

Ziggy and Tane meet up eventually so Tane can be yelled at – and rightfully so.

Meanwhile Budget McDreamy gives Justin permission to go back to light duties at work and he sits in the garage staring a papers looking bewildered when Tane storms in and gives himself up and says Ziggy had nothing to do with it.

Then Ziggy is summoned by Justin.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Justin says.

She explains what happens, which reminds me how ridiculous this whole situation is in the first place. Justin thinks it all sounds a bit familiar and drags up Dean and the ex-card. Ziggy isn’t happy that Justin, her boss, is getting involved in her love life but it’s just another day in Summer Bay where the line is crossed.

“She had a reason, a tall dark and damaged one. Tane,” Justin says.

Justin isn’t sure he can get over the betrayal. But he will because there’s no other mechanics in town and I’m expecting Justin to drop dead from Leah’s dead husband curse. Anyway, after what seems like several hours later (in real time) the mood between Ziggy and Tane takes a drastic change.

“He was wondering why I would go out on a limb for you,” Ziggy says to Tane.

“He thinks that I’m into you.”

And immediately it cuts to steamy scene of them tearing each other’s clothes off which I’ve been waiting for since Tane first stated his drug-running business at the garage. If they do date, it will be quite convenient for the Parata boys, who can share rides on the way to see their girlfriends Ziggy and Mac, who are roommates.

John is still on Tinder but my patience is wearing thin with this. I guess this is the producers’ attempt at introducing our slightly older audiences to online dating which isn’t really a new phenomenon anymore. His date didn’t turn up so Irene takes one for the team and invites John to dinner to boost to his ego a bit.

The pair are having a jolly good time together.

“I know what’s holding me back,” he tells Irene.

“I want a real connection.”

“I’m sure someone will come along,” she says to John.

A sickening feeling suddenly overwhelms me and oh my gosh if John Palmer and Irene get together that will be taking it too far, producers, too far.

Say it isn’t true. Credit: Channel 7

Dean makes an appearance. He doesn’t want to visit Colby. I thought he would but Dean has become the new Justin with all the moping he’s doing. I know he’s mourning Colby going to jail and Willow’s betrayal, but I have no sympathy.

He stares into the distance and thinks about Ziggy. It switches to a shot of Tane’s bed and I’m expecting to see Zig in Tane’s massive arms but she’s already escaped. Next, Dean is at the beach, shirtless. All his shocking tattoos are on display and he goes up to Zig and they walk off into the distance to chat while Tane, also shirtless, feels like he’s sloppy seconds.

Dean wants Ziggy back and he once again declares his love for her.

I feel like they’ve been repeating this bit for weeks so out of pure boredom, I have become content with her decision that she can’t love a man that murdered dead Ross and buried him in a shallow grave. Although she does have that heinous tattoo that she got in Dean’s honour to factor in. 

Then even more hours pass and Ziggy visits Dean.

“You wanted to know if there was a chance for you and me and the answer is no,” Ziggy says to Dean. Dean pretends to cry but we already know that he can’t cry so he asks Ziggy to leave instead.

Jasmine is the first person to visit Colby in jail. I find this very strange because I don’t really know why they’re friends even though the producers are really pushing the idea they have a very deep-rooted relationship and seem to have dropped Jas’ grand baby-making plans.

The visit is much more fruitful than she would have expected because a dorky man by the name of Lewis is there.

Poor man’s Johnny Depp. Credit: Channel 7

I spent some time mulling over a nickname for the new character. But this one stumped me, or rather the actor himself stumped me. When I was interviewing Luke Arnold ahead of the finale, he called himself a poor man’s Johnny Depp and I can’t beat it. So thank you Luke Arnold for taking the hit on this one.

It appears Jasmine and poor man’s Johnny Depp know each other and they make vague plans to catch up like everyone does.

Back to Colby.

“I just wanted to see you,” Jas says.

“I promised Robbo I’d take care of you,” and now their relationship makes sense – it’s all in honour of dead Robbo. Or could it be some quick thinking on behalf of the scriptwriters to throw me off the scent of Jas’ baby?

Visitation hour’s come to an end but she’s not glum at all because this new Lewis guy has a free afternoon to kill and they head off together.

Meanwhile Roo takes Kieran – the new arrival, who is Martha’s secret son with “issues” - on a tour of Summer Bay. They manage to stay out all day even though there’s only a diner, bar – which Kieran can’t go into because the temptation of alcohol is too much - and surf club.

He’s the lost puppy type without a job, any prospects and no plans. While this is going on, Martha grows increasingly worried that Kieran is going to flip and go back to his old ways, whatever that may be.

Alf gets it out of her.

“Tell me Martha how bad did it get?” Alf says.

He gets filled in about the alcohol and the domestic violence.

“One night it got so bad I called the police. What kind of mother calls the police on her own son,” Martha queries.

“You just never hit a woman,” Alf says – yeah good one Alf.

Anyway Kieran says he’s changed and Martha wants him to say.

“Under any circumstance I wouldn’t have a bloke like that stay in the house,” Alf says.

Roo seems to like him though.

“His resolve was very impressive, mum,” Roo says to Alf and Martha.

I just can’t get over the fact that Martha and Alf have been married twice but she managed to keep a grown-up son a secret.

Anyway Kieran approaches Jas for the manager position at the gym but comes on wayyy too strong.

But poor man’s Johnny Depp is there to save Jasmine from the very intense Kieran. I hope this is a sign of things to come for Jas. We find out that Lewis is also a nurse and they hooked up once but Lewis fell in love with Anna, who later had a car accident and died.

They bond over their respective tragedies and giggle in slow motion as a montage with all the characters plays out for the rest of the episode and I feel so let down that nothing that exciting happened.

But wait, there’s a bit more.

It switches to Colby and he walks around the yard and all the inmates surround him. “You really thought you’d get away with it, constable Thorne,” a baddie asks Colby.

So there we have it, a small glimmer of hope that Colby’s time is up for good and I won’t have to look at his bad hair anymore.

Source: The West Australian

[daphner20]

Justice Browne

Restoration

Prologue

My name is Justice Fritzgerald Browne, and ' Truly God is good to me!” My father wanted to name me John Fritzgerald, but my mom said , “ not a day like it!”

I met the love of my life Alicia Leah (nee Dean) at a Catholic Retreat for young adults called T.E.C ( To Encounter Christ), 25 years ago. She was 19, and I was 24. We were married 6 months later. And that union has blessed us with two sons. Joshua, 20 and Jamie 18.

Joshua is a Senior at Notre Dame University, he is a bio/chemistry major, his next step is med school. Jamie is a sophomore, at Notre Dame as well, but they are on different campuses. Jamie is studying accounting. Both of my sons, graduated from High School at 16. 

I am so proud of my sons, they are truly one of the joys of my life.

Almighty God, has also prospered the work of my hands. I am one of the largest grocers in The  Bahamas. With 4 grocery stores in Nassau, 2 in Grand Bahama, and 1 in Abaco. I own substantial shares in a local bank and insurance company. 

I am also on the Economic Council for The Bahamas. I am also the past president of the Chamber of Commerce.

When I was in CCD, as a child, I remembered Sister Cecilia, teaching us the 10 commandments, the sermon on the mount, and corporal acts of mercy. I have spent my entire life, living as closely as possible to these teachings.

My parents, were the greatest in the world. I was the product of their old age. They were married for 18 years, before I came along. My mom was forty, and my dad was 47. My mom told me that she had never stop trusting and believing that God, will bless her womb. She lived to cradle my sons in her arms. She died 10 years ago, and Daddy followed 2 years later.

As, I lit a candle after mass. I am thankful and grateful to the Lord, who has bless my family, my work, my health, and my faith all these years. I also lit a special candle for my boys, just in case they didn’t go to mass this morning, and asked God to forgive their sins.

Chapter 1

“ So you don’t have any classes today,” said Justice 

“ No, they are cancel until further,” said Jaime.

“ I suggest, you go and stay with Joshua,' said Justice.

“Daddy,” said Jaime, “it’s just a tropical storm!”

“ Jamie, tropical storms can be dangerous as well,” said Justice.

“ The school has taken all precautions, we will be fine. Further more, Josh, campus is on lockdown as well,” said Jaime.

“Ok,' said Justice, reluctantly, he knew how strong will Jamie is. 

'Love you Daddy,” said Jamie, laughingly, he knew his father normally gives in.

“ Love you kiddo, said Justice. ‘Youth’ muttered Justice, they think they are invincible.

5 minutes later.

“ Hello Josh” said Justice.

“ Hi Pops” said Josh animatedly.

“ I heard, about the storm, are you taking precautions.

“ Yes sir, we will be fine, you are aware, that we have been through storms before said Joshua.

“ I know, said Justice, “but it has always been with me and your mother.”

“ We will be fine,  I will check on Jamie every day, don’t worry.”

“ I love you Joshua, you are a good son and great brother,” said Justice, holding back tears.

“I love you too Pops,” said Joshua, smiling, “ and turn of the water works, your too old for that.”

As Justice, hung up the phone, he realized, that he wasn’t trusting  God to protect his sons.

A few days later, the weather channel, said the storm had been upgraded to a category 3. It will bring lots of rain and high gusty winds.

“I will go by church, this evening to light a candle for my boys,” said Justice in his heart.

When I got home, it was late breaking news on all the stations, that Hurricane David, had come ashore as a Category 5, and there were wide devastation.

“ Have you heard from the boys today,” I asked Alicia.

“ I spoke to them, yesterday, but they told me, that the power company was shutting down the power. They said they will call me, as soon as the power comes back on.

It’s been two days now, and still no communication from our sons. I told Alicia, that I was going to North Carolina tomorrow.

Finally, the phone rang, it was Jaime's  number.

“ Jaime, thank God, son how are you? Shouted Justice.

“ This is Dr. Matthew, from Raleigh General,  is this Mr. Browne? We regret to inform you that your son,  Jaime Browne  died two days ago. We finally charged his cellphone, and we found your number. Also, we regret to inform you that your other son Joshua Browne died this morning.

Chapter 2

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord take it away, blessed be the name of the Lord,” said  Justice.

It was a bright and sunny morning, three weeks later, when I buried my boys. How could a day be so beautiful, when my children will never see it again! It’s like the world is mocking me. I am numb, I am on autopilot. I am doing everything that needs to be done, without any emotions.

I flew to North Carolina, to officially identify the boys. I had to make arrangements, to bring them home. I had to pick out the coffins.  I had to decide their burial clothes. I had to choose the photos and songs for the obituary. My boys were altar boys and a part of the youth group,  so every body wanted to play a role in the funeral service. There were such an outpouring of sympathy, I had to make sure they were acknowledged. Instead of two individual plots, I chose one. Joshua at the bottom, and Jaime on top.

Because, they were inseparable, growing up, they were together when they died. Joshua roommate told us, that when the storm got upgraded, Joshua decided to go and stay with Jaime. However, the storm had produced several tornadoes, and one of them had flatten Jaime’s dormitory.  Jamie, the coroner believed died instantly, and Joshua died three days later.

Alicia grief is inconsolable, she is heavily medicated, I don’t know what to do. I just have to be strong, for her and my sons. My head says there are gone, my heart says they are here, and there is no reconciliation. As an accountant, this should be easy. 

Just as the sun rises each morning, I must do the same. Everyone is remarking on my strength. I told them, it’s not me,  but the Lord. His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

A month later,  I returned to work full time, Alicia is turning the corner, she is off the sedatives. She is still profoundly sad, but that is to be expected, and she has me.

“ Mr. Browne, here are the papers, you wanted,” said Sheila my secretary.

“ Mr. Browne, Mr. Browne,” Sheila is frantic now. The last thing I heard her screaming was Call an ambulance!!

Chapter 3

Two weeks later, I woke up in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU)

I had suffered a massive stroke, I was totally paralyzed on my left side The doctors told Alicia, that my recovery will be long. Not only will I need a physical therapist, but a speech therapist as well. Another, prognosis, was that I may never fully recovered, and be a shell of a man. All of my  physicians were in agreement with that!

Alicia, brought me home three weeks later. The house was completely transformed. There were ramps for my wheelchair. My study, became my hospital room. Because, I couldn’t swallow on my own, I had a drip in my arm, I was also feed intravenously, I also had to use a catheter. My care also included 3 private nurses on shifts.

Alicia had spared no expense.

My first visitor, was my oldest and dearest friend Greg Henfield, he was also my boys godfather.

“ I am sorry Justice, first the boys, now this, I have known you all my life, I can’t believe this is happening to you, you were a Saint living amongst us! What did you do, to make God so angry,” he said.

Thank God, I couldn’t speak or move, I would have kicked him out.

Next, visitor, was  my lawyer, Charles Powell, “ I think you should sell your business, seeing that you have no longer have heirs, and  you and Alicia can live a comfortable life, with the proceeds,”he said.

Blood in the water, thought Justice, the sharks are circling.

Finally, my father-in-law, Wilfred Dean, came.  I loved him like a father. “ My daughter, can’t take anymore, first her children, now you, this is to much for her. I told her to sell your businesses and shares, and put you in a nursing home and take care of herself,” he said.

“What about our vows?” I wanted to scream, “ for better or worse, sickness and in health.”

Alicia, took his advice, she sold everything, but she didn’t leave me.

Laying in that bed day in and out, with only my thoughts. Why God, I am a good person, you took my boys, my health, my work, my friends and family. Why me?

I wish I never was born, I wish I was like a stillborn child, who never saw light. Why did you bless and then take away. I pour out my complaint and bitterness day unto day.

Until one day, The Lord Spoke!

Chapter 4

“ Who is this who darkens counsel by words without knowledge?

“ Now prepare yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer Me.“ Where were you, when I laid the foundations of the earth? Who determined it’s measurements? Surely you know!

Then Justice answered ,” I know that you can do everything, and that no purpose of Yours can be withheld from you. I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see You, therefore I despise myself, and I repent in dust and ashes.

Justice didn’t realized, that he was speaking. He had gotten, his speech back. Praise the Lord.

Over, the next few months, with the help of his therapists, he regained the strength and the mobilty of his limbs. Justice Fritzgerald Browne made a full recovery and discovery.

“ Though He slay me, yet I will trust Him!” Justice said.

Alicia, had kept the life insurance benefits of the boys. With that money, he was able to purchase 10 grocery stores. And the a year later, Alicia gave birth to twin girls,  Hannah, and Annah. Double grace and favor!

Justice, lived to see his children’s children.

And God bless Justice's latter, greater than his former!

The End

“

[hazelnmae]

Lies Travel Faster Part Two: Chapter Four

Summary: Sophia Murphy’s past is coming for her. Can she outrun it?

Tags: Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Warnings: angst; smut; violence; language; rape/non-con; death

ALSO WARNING: This chapter catches us up to the events of S5 so beware of S5 Spoilers.

Chapter 4 Read Chapter 3 here

“I had a dream about a black cat last night, Pol. A black cat dream means there is a traitor close by. It was you who taught me that.”

“Black cat can mean lots of things,” Polly responded. “Can mean you're hurting yourself. Betraying yourself.”

Tommy lit the cigarette hanging from his mouth and leaned his back against the bar.

The dreams had been coming more frequently. The hallucinations more clearly. And since the news of the stock exchange crashing, he couldn’t get rid of the sinking feeling that things would get worse before they got better.

“Are you seeing things, Thomas?” Polly asked him after a few moments of silence.

“Yes, I am,” he responded without thinking. “Yes, I am. Very clearly. Coming from every fucking direction.”

Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was nervous. Not for the meeting--he’d never been nervous to face his family, least of all Michael, even if he did lose much of the company’s holdings in the crash. He wanted to throttle his cousin, was ready to cut him out of the family altogether, but he wasn’t nervous to see him.

When she walked into the pub, it suddenly made sense. The bundle of nerves that had been sitting in his chest fell quickly to the pit of his stomach.

Sophie.

She made quick eye contact with him, but promptly dodged his gaze by looking about the room for someone else, anyone else to address. She made a beeline for Polly on the other side of the room.

Michael and Gina walked to the middle. They were the focus of the meeting, after all, and Sophie planned to fly under the radar. Why Tommy had insisted on her attending at all still had her a bit flustered. It wasn’t he who requested it directly, of course, but Arthur who spoke with her at the train station.

Polly just eyed her as Sophie moved to the woman’s side. The grin on her face indicating this was a moment she’d been waiting for. For Sophie, though, this was the moment she’d been dreading.

She hadn’t wanted to return to Birmingham, not really, but she knew she had to. There was nothing left for her in America. Once and for all, she’d ended the feud that plagued her for so many years. And while that was a particular relief for her, she had no desire to stay and start over with a new life.

The truth was she was comfortable in her new line of work. Pulling that trigger and dropping Vincenzo reignited a fight in her that she’d long ago lost. Her previous life in Birmingham was a dream to her now, an odd and sometimes frightening, always disappointing, dream. A dream in which she’d lost herself. She’d lost sight of who she was--from where she came. And her time in America only reminded her of that.

Returning to Birmingham required a reconciliation of those two versions of herself. And she welcomed this.

It also required a reconciliation of another kind. One she wasn't ready for.

Tommy attempted to take charge of the meeting, almost immediately, clearing his throat and leaning his back against the bar to get everyone’s attention.

But Michael didn’t sit, not yet. Instead he walked toward his cousin and spoke first.

“Tommy, I'd like to introduce you to my wife,” Michael said, motioning toward Gina who sat at the small table behind him. “I would also like to say something--”

“Sit down, Michael,” Tommy interrupted.

But Michael continued, “I betrayed you--”

This time it was Polly who interrupted, taking a step toward them and ignoring Sophie as her focus now turned to her son.

“Michael,” she said sternly.

But again, Michael continued on, “But only in my heart. There was a time, in America, and there was a lot of money in that bank. And I wondered if I could I could leave, move to California. Someone said I should invest in pictures. Hollywood. But Sophie stopped me.” He nodded toward her where Sophie audibly gasped at the attention now turned on her. She felt her heart racing and feared it might actually burst from her.

But Tommy didn’t even look in her direction.

“I told you to sit down, Michael,” he said.

This time Michael did what he was told and the discussion quickly shifted to the real order of business, the ship’s docking in Belfast and the run-in with the Billy Boys and the IRA that followed.

Sophie hadn’t been aware of it at first, as both sides clearly focused on Tommy Shelby’s cousin rather than some woman he once knew.

She was on edge for the rest of the trip after Michael came to her cabin and informed her of what had taken place. But in truth, she was also relieved to have been no part of it. Judging by Tommy’s demeanor, he wasn’t convinced by Michael’s story and Sophie was thankful she wasn’t also in a position to have to defend herself.

The fact that she clearly meant so little to Tommy that neither side would come for her had her feeling something else, though. Anger. Frustration. Sadness. A combination of all three. She was angered and frustrated that his enemies had apparently caught onto the dissolution of their relationship quicker than she had. And she was saddened to have to face it all over again.

Sophie realized she’d completely lost track of the conversation unfolding and had no idea how it’d taken the turn it had, but Micheal's proclamation caught her attention, snapping her back to the present.

“The reason Gina and I got married on the ship was because Gina is pregnant,” Michael said. “You're going to be a grandmother,” he added, turning to Polly.

Polly was shocked and Sophie could tell it was taking everything in her not to burst into tears right then and there. She sat at the next table, steadying herself to the news.

“Okay, Michael. I believe you,” Tommy finally said. “Welcome home. And congratulations.”

He extinguished the almost spent cigarette and added, “Just remember your unborn child has witnessed what you said.”

“Thomas!” Polly shouted, appalled at the gall her nephew had to curse an unborn baby.

“And it will be born according to--”

“You fuck!” Michael interrupted, practically jumping from his chair and moving toward Tommy, who didn’t even flinch.

Sophie, instinctively, moved toward the scuffle, but Arthur made it there first, restraining Michael who held onto Tommy’s empty gaze.

“Where the fuck are you going, hmm? Are you fucking mad?” Arthur asked his cousin. “You are free to fucking leave, Michael.”

“You fucking bastard,” Michael spat at Tommy through gritted teeth.

“But you're not free, Michael, are you? You lost this company a lot of money,” Tommy replied calmly. “I told you to sell but you held on, and now I want you to pay me back what you owe me. There is work you can do, there are risks you can take. We were close before. Now I want you closer still,” Tommy said, claiming the last word.

“Michael, honey,” Gina said. “Look at your cousin. He's in trouble, huh? He needs you. Come on, baby, let's go.”

And with that, Michael, Gina, and Polly left the pub in a flurry.

“Black cat dream is never wrong, brother,” Arthur added before taking one look at Sophie and walking out the door behind them.

The gravity of the situation finally hit Sophie for the first time.

A black cat dream. She didn’t know much about Romani culture, but she was sure she’d heard about black cat dreams from Polly when Alfie Solomons had betrayed Tommy at the fights two years prior. They were bad omens. They signified a traitor approaching.  

Tommy had told Michael to sell, and Michael had refused, fancying himself the wiser man. Clearly Tommy interpreted this as a traitorous act. An act of betrayal.

And Sophie questioned this herself. Is Michael a traitor? Was there something happening in America I should have noticed? Could I have stopped this? She thought.

Tommy stood in silence for a few moments, not even looking at Sophie, instead stepping behind the bar to grab another bottle of whiskey and pour himself a drink.

He nodded in her direction, to ask if she would care for a drink herself, but she shook her head to refuse the offer.

Tommy leaned against the bar and finally looked at her, drinking her in after what felt like an eternity. He’d forgotten so much about her. The intense way she could hold his eye contact. The way she always seemed to be smiling from the corners of her mouth, even when she was unhappy or upset. He’d remembered how beautiful she was, but was struck by the new air of confidence that emanated from her, as if it just added to the charm.

She was wearing her hair different, but she’d changed in other ways too.

“You look different,” he said, finally deciding to speak to her for the first time in two years.

“How so?” Sophie asked in return.

He didn’t know how to answer the question, because he couldn’t exactly identify it himself. He knew what she’d done in America, of course, always staying informed of her movements but never letting her know as much. But he wasn’t sure if that’s what had changed her.

“I don’t know. At peace?” He finally offered as much a question as an answer.

Sophie just smiled.

She certainly didn’t consider herself at peace. She was satisfied that she’d sought and found justice for her family, but she wasn’t at all at peace with what she’d done.

“I feel different.”

“At peace?” He asked.

“No,” she answered. “You know, Tommy, in my time away I learned just how alike we are, you and I. And you know as well as I do that people like us will never have peace.”

Something about what she said and how she said it cut to Tommy’s core. He didn’t want Sophie to be like him. He wanted her to find peace. But somewhere deep inside, he knew she was right. She had proven she was like him--determined, stubborn really, and unrelenting in the pursuit of what they wanted. Damn if she isn’t exactly right, he thought.

He felt like he should say something--tell her she was wrong, assure her she’d one day find peace, remind her just how much better than him she really was. But he couldn’t form the right words. So, as usual, he remained silent.

“You look different, too,” she continued after a short pause, gesturing toward his hair.

Tommy ran a hand through his hair and grinned.

And Sophie felt it in her gut. That grin.

It always did have a way of leaving her breathless, of knocking her flat on her ass when she least expected it.

She realized in that moment just how much she’d missed being near him. And she found herself frantically working out any way of remaining close to him.

She’d come to the meeting to resign from Shelby Company, for the second time. But when he grinned she panicked at the thought of leaving him again.

She cleared her throat to speak, to ask for more work, any excuse to stay near him, but was relieved when Tommy beat her to it. She tried to steady herself again.

“Clearly your work in America is finished. I've some ideas for you,” he paused to take a drag from his freshly lit cigarette then continued, “but I have plans tonight. Come to Charlie’s yard tomorrow. We can work out the details.”

Sophie just stared at him, unable, in that moment, to decide what direction she should take. Refuse, walk away for good, leave it all behind? Or agree, keep him near, risk it all?

“That is assuming you still want to work for us,” he added.

“No. I mean, yes. Of course I do," She answered quicker than she thought she could.

Sophie felt her palms grow sweaty, suddenly anxious now that she'd committed to something.

That’s when the door to the pub swung open and a slight, dark haired woman entered. She looked at Sophie first, then glanced at Tommy before returning her gaze to Sophie.

Tommy cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, obviously uncomfortable with the situation.

“Ah, well, you're busy,” Sophie said to no one in particular.

“Yes, we've got plans--”

But Sophie interrupted him, just smiling, “You said that.”

Somewhat abruptly, Sophie turned and made her way from the pub, not even giving him an opportunity to respond. She didn’t need a response, Jesse Eden’s presence said it all.

She’d recognized the young woman from the photographs she’d seen in the paper. Sophie wasn’t sure if she was still in Tommy’s life, as Arthur hadn’t mentioned her in his updates as of late. But seeing her walk in, the look she gave Tommy, his reaction to the two women being in the same room--it was all the update she needed.

Inside the pub, Jesse turned her attention to Tommy, somewhat shocked at Sophie’s rude behavior. She hadn’t even stopped to introduce herself.

“You going tell me what that's about?” Jesse asked, fidgeting with her gloves.

“No,” was all the response she received.

Because just then, he spotted Sophie’s shawl on the back of a chair by where she’d stood during the meeting. It was a deep green and he thought how it must compliment her skin tone. It was elegant--and it made him think of just how full of contradictions she was. Soft, feminine, full of class. A woman who could wear that shawl. But strong, tough, merciless when necessary. A woman who could drop a ruthless Italian mobster with one shot from a distant hillside. After all this time, she still fascinated him.

“Let’s go, Thomas," Jesse said, sensing he'd been distracted.

“One minute.”

He made his way across the room as Jesse walked out of the pub ahead of him. He gently lifted the shawl off the back of the chair, careful not to let any ash fall from his cigarette onto the delicate material. He held it to his nose and inhaled deeply.

It was soft in his calloused and overworked hands.

And it smelled like fucking peonies.

Tommy tossed it on the table and followed Jesse out the door.

_______________________

Read Chapter 5

Thanks so much for reading along, friends. Comments and feedback are both very much appreciated! XOXO

My lovely and wonderful tag list full of friends: @justanothershelby @evelynshelby @l0tsofpennies @sympathyfortheblinderdevil @actuallyazriel @huntersvibe @porcelainjokersmadness @julietswildchild @geeksareunique @brianaisasongbird 

[queenofthefaces]

Uncanny Coincidences: An Amnesty Fic

(Also on Ao3)

It was about twelve years since the Reconciliation Apocalypse that Wasn’t. Sylvain had rebuilt better and stronger than it ever was, with a bustling drive for knowledge and exploration—including to Earth. Armed with a new portal, the doorway between the worlds was used extremely liberally, now that it was moved to the basement of the Lodge.

Which, speaking of, business at Amnesty Lodge was better than ever, in a sense. It had become the premier resting stop for Sylvans coming to explore—though none of them had Earthen money to really pay, they worked small jobs, and sent back postcards from their travels.

Dani and Aubrey visited often, and were thinking about getting married. Duck and Minerva had been married for a couple of years—though neither of them are quite sure if they should count the accidental marriage or the intentional proposal as their anniversary. Agent Stern had been given a new post at the Green Bank Telescope, though he was thinking of retiring soon. Mama was sculpting enough that she opened an art gallery down the block from Dave’s Dehumidifier Depot, and often displayed both local Kepler art and art from passing Sylvans. The most popular exhibit was a group project of several pieces showing scenery and daily life from an alien planet.

The day-to-day wasn’t as exciting as it had been, and for that, the former Pine Guard were grateful.

So it wasn’t unbelievable that no one thought twice about the reports of lost items in Kepler. Little things—jewelry, silverware, watches. Things that could easily have been misplaced.

It wasn’t until the thief got sloppy that people started taking notice.

There had been a break in at the Cryptomomica, a window jimmied open in the back. A chair pulled up to the door of the Chicanery to reach the higher locks. A bag too stuffed full of loot and hands too excited to notice the footsteps approaching from behind.

And Billy, who had just happened to pop in for a can of RC Cola.

A large, powerful man with a goat’s head creeping in the middle of the night would scare anyone, but the sight was downright terrifying to a scrappy twelve year old thief.

The next morning, Sheriff Owens had called up Mama. He’d never been one to believe in fate or destiny—but he was a lawman, and coincidences usually don’t come this pretty.

The boy was named Ned. Or, more accurately—N.E.D. He’s introduced himself with a flourished little speech.

“I have three names and I hate all of them! So I just go by my initials: N. E. D. Ned. Sounds a lot nicer than Norris Edgar Daley, doesn’t it?”

Though, the next time he was asked, the initials stood for “Nigel Eduardo D’alimonte.”

He’d already seen too much, and of the scant information he’d given about his past—he had no home to return to. They didn’t quite know what to do with him, so they ended up doing what they did with all the strays of Kepler: they let him stay at Amnesty Lodge.

He didn’t look anything like the late Ned Chicane, but there was something around the eyes, something in the way he held himself, that echoed eerily close. He took his toast the same way—burnt on the edges with peanut butter and honey; he tapped out the same staccato rhythm on tables when he wanted to remind people he was there. At one point, Barclay fell into the beats of old banter so seamlessly, he didn’t even notice until he’d made reference to something the kid wasn’t there for.

And it was a few weeks in, Mama had caught it—the kid had nightmares. Reoccurring nightmares of monsters, of drowning in pools, and being buried alive in snow, of falling from great heights, and of fire, oh, how this kid dreamt of fire. His hands trembled when he saw a candle, though his phobia was expertly hidden, unless you knew what to look for—the tightness around the jaw, the stealthy diversions.

As he stayed at the Lodge, there were nights where he’d confessed to Mama that the nightmares were worse, but that there were more nights where he’d just dream vividly of mundane things. Of locking something important in a display case, of performing in front of a camera, of throwing away cans of RC Cola, of writing letters.

He didn’t know why he woke up crying in that last one; it was a happy dream.

The former Pine Guard spoke in hushed voices about him, sometimes. Some nights, Aubrey didn’t sleep, feverishly researching soul magic with Sylvain, who didn’t have many answers of her own.

In Sylvain, second chances are gifted by way of a spectral form. When Aubrey tried to revive Ned Chicane, it didn’t work—her powers had just been shot to hell.

What she couldn’t have known, though, was when she was calling for Sylvain’s magic to save her friend, it was Earth who responded to the call.

On Earth, second chances are gifted by way of a new life, a rebirth. It just took twelve years for Ned to get back to them.

[terribleco]

Ghost Town

Coventry has never been a skate mecca, but fun can definitely be had on a skateboard in the city of peace and reconciliation. With that being said, over the last couple of years, some of the great spots I, and many others, grew up skating have been removed by Coventry City Council. With no plans for a new skatepark from the council, it can feel like the skate scene is constantly being slapped in the face with the number of places to skate dwindling. I spoke to some of the Cov locals about some of their favourite long gone spots, in an attempt to understand why our dead spots, no matter how innocuous, are part of skateboarding history. 

Header photo by Ryan Bradley.

I grew up skating in Coventry in the early 2000's. By the time I had started skating, the spots had been skated for decades prior, but still had plenty of life left as the new boom of skaters entered the city. The spots have always had a rough and raw quality to them, but then again that was part of the charm. Banks, ledges, rails, stairs, even the odd street transition - but all of them had a common aesthetic of a city that had been rebuilt and reimagined through a brutalist lense after the second World War. The spots are decent enough to get the attention of Stereo's Carl Shipman, Darkstar's Joe Hinson, and the respective Get Lesta and Baghead crews: so it stands to reason that they are most certainly important in British skateboarding history. 

Andy Clare, one of the OG Cov Street skaters, is the owner and operator of Spray Station - a graffiti shop in Coventry’s Fargo Village. He's a lifelong skateboarder in the city, having seen new spots crop up again and again. He remembers many of the spots from the 90's era, many of which were still present when I started skating, and only recently were demolished:

"Brickies was great, I grew up skating those banks and loved it there despite the terrible floor and smell of piss. The balcony spot (aka Virgin Wall rides) was fun with good flat, grindy ledges and steep banks. The marble bank/wallride behind the west orchards escalators was great, and there used to be some big square wooden benches too."

P: Gaz Taylor boosts a melon out of Brickies for his “New Blood” article in Sidewalk.

Brickies, aka The Brickworks, was my favourite spot in the world. So much so, I wrote an obituary on this very blog when it got demolished last year. For many of us who grew up in Coventry, Brickies was endless fun: lip tricks, bank tricks, raw, unforgiving ground, and the openness of a skatepark made it the perfect challenge for anyone who enjoyed riding a skateboard. 

Gaz Taylor was part of the same generation of skaters as Andy, and has been skating in Coventry almost as long as I've been alive. Consistently adept at tackling the street spots in the city, he even got snapped doing a melon at Brickies in an issue of Sidewalk. Brickies wasn't his only favourite place to skate though:

"There was a flat bar outside the Belgrade theatre next to the fountain, about knee high.  Perfect for learning rail tricks on. I remember it used to shoot you off the end at speed as it was slightly down hill, that was really fun. Also, the old banks at Cov and Warwickshire Hospital were really good fun, that was a very long time ago though."

Ryan Stanway was one of the first skaters I met down the Memorial Park, before Terribleco was even a thing. Despite meeting at a skatepark, he is largely a street skater, and knows the spots of Coventry better than the back of his hand. He remembers one of the most infamous stair sets in Cov:

"Pigeon Shit has to be up high in the list of spots. It was the first decent sized set of stairs I landed tricks down when I was younger. There always used to be massive session there with 20 plus people all trying stuff." 

P: Moose throws a Varial Heel down at Pigeon Shit. Photo by Ryan Bradley

Pigeon Shit was a stairset in a "golden triangle" of spots in Coventry: an area surrounding the University where you couldn't walk for more than 10 seconds without encountering more skateable architecture. It was a long 4 set, merging into a 5 set as the landing was on a slight hill, and had a knee high ledge running along the right hand side. The ledge was battered from years of abuse at the hands of trucks and BMX pegs alike, but it didn't stop people like Kris Vile, Josh Walters, Ant Smith and others getting bangers on it. Josh's last trick in my vid "Batface" saw him getting a FS Tailslide Bigspin out on the ledge, and the same video saw Ralph Cooper close out his part with a switch hard flip down the stairs at Pigeon Shit. It was a proving ground for any half decent street skater in Coventry. 

Ryan Bradley, a regular contributor to this blog, lives out in the Warwickshire village of Cubbington, but his real home is at the street spots in the centre of Coventry. A regular of the scene for more than 15 years, Ryan's memory of street spots is pretty similar to my own. He remembers some of the more obscure spots and lesser remembered favourites:

"The pyramid spot at the old precinct entrance, next to New Look was so tight back in the day, and got so rinsed, especially by Tony Lui. The old blue fountain with transition at Belgrade was cool from what I remember, and was pretty fun to skate around in. The double death set, with the double rail that was right next to Brickies was great too. Obviously gotta mention Brickies itself, just because so much shit has gone down there for so long. There was a road gap on the hill in between the Boy's club and Gosford Street at the University library: I remember Duffman trying to conquer that, and I’m pretty sure they filled that in."

Some of the spots Ryan brings up were incredibly gnarly and were rarely skated. The double death rail didn't see many tricks go down on it, but Stan Byrne caveman boardslid it in the 2013 Terribleco video "Concrete Jungle". The road gap at the University library was like something straight out of San Francisco - a hill bomb spot with a gap over cobbles about the width of 1 and a half cars. The only person I know to have cleared it is Tony Lui. Finally, the old precinct pyramid spot was a small, whippy bank spot, which saw plenty of quick footed lip tricks go down from Tony Lui, Harry Myers, Kyle Smith and a wallie over the whole thing by Joxa. 

P: Tony Lui boosts a FS ollie out of the Pyramid Bank spot. Photo by Ryan Bradley

New spots (at the time) like the Herbert were popping up a lot, replacing old 1960's architecture. It was a reminder that the city had been evolving and changing long before some of us even considered standing on a skateboard, or even before we were born. Gaz Taylor remembers dozens of spots I had never even seen in my time skating:

"Manual pads in Whitefriar's car park were popular in the 90's. Barrack's car park had some rad free standing painted curbs, and some small banks shaped like half of a pyramid that we used to use to get air out of. There was a small rail outside the transport museum with no run up, that was good for cave man slides."

"In the late 80's there was a mini ramp in the woods in Canley next to Tesco, built by Phil Hunt. I remember it had bright orange coping on one side and bright green on the other side. The paint would stay on your trucks for a while after. Safeway's car park on Holyhead Road had some rad slick curbs and some mud gaps. That was one of the main hang out spots for skaters in the early 90's too. Grindable window ledges of the Coventry tax office building were very good fun."

P: An after dark session at the Virgin Wallrides. Photo by Ryan Bradley

This article was inspired by the demolition of the concrete benches at the Littern Tree spot - named after the pub nearby. Current skaters in the scene mourned the loss of the spot, but speaking to sources who have had an eye on the redevelopment a brand new hub of spots is planned. Old spots are great and we miss them when they're gone, but there's a lot to be said for the excitement of new architecture and the spots that are yet to be. 

Nostalgia and history are powerful things, and they definitely contribute heavily to skateboarding. The cyclical trends, the feeling of skating a park you haven't been to in 10 years, and the stories people tell of what trick was done at which spot. No matter what new spots are planned for Coventry, the old spots like Brickies, Virgin Wallrides, Littern Tree and Pigeon Shit will live on through what we remember about them, and of course the footage we got along the way. 

The Brooklyn Banks, Wallenberg, Hubba Hideout: These are all legendary, long gone spots that skateboarders talk about in hushed tones, but they don't compare to our own personal spots we grow up skating, and miss immensely when they are gone. I would give my left nut for the chance to skate Brickies again, without a shadow of a doubt. For every local spot that gets demolished, it takes fond memories of a whole skate scene with it. Everything is temporary, so skate your spots whilst you got 'em. 

[super-sons-a-bitches]

Part two: Damian continues his reconciliations!

find part one on ao3 and on tumblr

Damian awoke with a start, heart beating fast before his brain could catch up. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong:

He was not in his bed.

He could tell immediately because it was warm and comfortable, soft light filtering through shades. Basically, nothing like Nanda Parbat. He tried to calm himself to take in his bearings and his lungs filled with scents that lulled his mind.

Smells of herbal tea and chocolate, earthy like a farmhouse kitchen-

Jon.

The Kryptonian must have caught the cue in his sleep as he turned next to him to bury his face in Damian’s chest to get away from the fast increasing sunlight. The warmth of Jon curled in to him addled his mind further and Damian struggled to remember how he got here.

 They had ambled through the night rain, avoiding having to break apart until Jon finally offered a reprieve.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

Damian forgot how to breathe. He hadn’t even realized they had made their way to Jon’s apartment.

Jon saw his friend’s panic and hastily explained.

“I only mean- it’s late to go over to Grayson’s. I figured, well, do you need a place to stay?”

The Demon found his breath again (though maybe a part of him was also a little disappointed).

“Oh, I don’t want to put you out. I’m sure the League has an outpost somewhere here or at least in Gotham…”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re already here. I have an extra blanket.”

So Damian had followed upstairs, pulled off wet clothes and borrowed too long pants from Jon.

“Not gonna suffer the matching shirt?” Jon joked as he tucked it back in a drawer. “Figured you’d want it since you get so cold.”

Damian blushed lightly at the remembered detail and muttered something about feeling straight-jacketed. Jon just smiled and said, “Good thing I got the extra blanket then.” Slipping under the covers, Jon’s body heat pulled Damian in and soon Jon was enveloped in strong limbs and musky scent, with warm breath on the back of his neck. It sent a little shiver down his spine.

It wasn’t long before they were asleep.

 Jon’s blinking eyes broke him out of his reverie. Even off the farm, he didn’t sleep in late.

“G’morning,” he mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey,” was all Damian could get out because, damn, bedhead Jon was a sight.

He must’ve been blushing again because Jon chuckled and leaned in to brush his lips ever so lightly against Damian’s before rolling out of bed.

The Demon’s Head groaned at the loss of warmth.

“Oh, c’mon, sleepy head.”

When Damian only moaned again, Jon crawled back onto the covers to kiss him again.

This time was longer, deeper, and far more intriguing, pulling Damian fully out of sleep. Warmth filled his cheeks and began to pool in his stomach. His hands reached out from the sheets to lock onto his Kryptonian.

Which was Jon’s cue that he finally had his demon’s full attention. Groan number three pulled out of Damian’s lips as Jon did, but his eyes were less bleary now. Jon smirked in triumph, but then his expression changed. He looked meaningfully into Damian’s eyes.

“You can’t put it off.”

How did he know? Only one day and Jon was already able to read his thoughts again.

Damian sighed and looked down.

“I’m scared.” Jon was still thrown off by his raw, open honesty.

“I know. We’ll start easy. But they love you and miss you. And they deserve an explanation.” He cupped Damian’s chin in his hand. “Take it from me, ten years is long enough to wait.”

 Bludhaven, despite being Gotham’s sister city, was fairly different from Damian’s childhood home. For one thing, sunlight actually got through the skyline to light up the sidewalks. For another, crime didn’t follow Gotham’s rule of waiting for nightfall. Maybe criminals here are vitamin D deficient.

Jon and Damian crossed the city, picking up coffee on the way over to Grayson’s apartment. They were taking their time because, as Damian said, “It’s Saturday. We’ll be lucky if he’s awake by noon.” And, as Damian didn’t say, “I’m panicking and need some extra time to get ahold of myself.”

What they didn’t know was that the first Robin was not only awake, but on the roof of a building in the next block. A major crime family had planned a hit on the Bludhaven Bank for that very day and, though Dick had warned the bank of the intel he found, he was still anxious and characteristically cautious. However, of all things he expected to see that day, Damian Wayne was decidedly not one of them.

His breath caught in his throat. He’s walking in Bludhaven. He’s here. He’s with Kent. He’s with Jon. Has he been here before, has he kept in touch with Jon this whole time and didn’t-

Dick cut off his own train of thought. No, just because no one expected him to leave doesn’t mean they didn’t know Damian and that he doesn’t care about them.

He knows Damian and Damian wouldn’t do that.

Besides, you can’t fake the pain that Jon had gone through alongside them the past 10 years. No, Damian must have just come back. And for whatever reason had gone to Jon first.

He watched intently as the men strolled down the sidewalk across the street, coming closer to his vantage point. He could almost see their hands, which were definitely interlocked, given how close together they were walking. A smirk spread across his lips.

But it was wiped away quickly, replaced with a gape of confusion as Damian and Jon ducked swiftly and unexpectedly into an alley.

Dick looked around for a reason and only then remembered why he was on the roof to begin with.

The bank was being robbed.

 Superman and the Demon alighted on the roof across from the bank.

“Damn. What are the chances?”

“Watch your language, farm boy,” Damian teased. Unlike his Kryptonian, he wasn’t all that surprised. He’d grown, impossibly, even more cynical in his time among the Shadows. He saw it as realism – the chances were, in fact, fairly high.

“Come on, let’s get in there before these idiots hurt someone.”

Jon grabbed hold of Damian and flew them across the gap to the bank, dropping the Demon on the roof before crashing through a window. As Kent caught the attention of the criminals, Wayne snuck in the back to take care of the men already making their way to the safe.

Having kept track of all of the Batman Inc. enemies, Damian quickly identified the thugs as members of the prominent Bludhaven crime family. He had particular beef with the fucked up dynamics that led to dragging your loved ones into violent crime in the name of petty power. Landing quietly behind them, he took note of their likely stats and available weapons.

“Guys, I mean, I’ve got daddy issues, too, but there are easier ways to get some attention.”

The thugs reacted quickly, one turning and throwing a punch as the other ducked and picked up his firearm. The Demon was in mid-spin, countering the punch and winding up to knock his first opponent off his feet when the first shot rang out.

But speed, adrenaline, and close quarters were Damian’s allies. He wasn’t sure where the bullet landed, but it was inconsequential. He should try to prevent another one from getting out, though.

He twisted to face the armed Thug 2, grabbing his arm, bending the wrist, catching the released gun, and unloading the weapon in one swift move.

Shit. He thought before he was really sure what his brain was reacting to. In slow motion he realized he had miscalculated Thug 1’s speed. Damian had tracked him as he picked up his own gun, but didn’t think he’d have it set that quickly.

As the gun rose to his turning face, a black blur flashed in the background, knocking a heavy blow to Thug 1’s neck. With the threat falling to the ground, Damian was safe to take down Thug 2 and did so with ease.

“I don’t think they liked your joke.” Nightwing, following a more Wayne-like pattern than Kent, had come into the bank through the back, but had taken a few extra seconds to get from his vantage point. Now he stood over the thugs and gave Damian a quick evaluating once over.

Damian couldn’t move. The back of his mind had processed that this was a possibility, but he hadn’t given himself much of a chance to prepare, given it was a big bank in Grayson territory.

“Don’t sweat though. I thought it was funny.”

Dick flashed a quick smile, blinding as ever, and led the way to the main hall where Jon was takin on the rest of the would-be thieves. They sprang into action, each taking down a gunman in a matter of mere seconds.

The Superman had managed to wedge himself between the robbers and the hostages, but was having trouble disarming the thugs while also keeping everyone free of bullet holes. Nightwing and Demon came to his aid, working in unison, reading each other’s movements and remembering each other’s patterns from their days as Batman and Robin.

Before long, the hall was clear and Nightwing signaled to the police just arriving that the situation was handled. The three men took their exit through the hole Jon had made in the ceiling and regrouped atop a nearby building.

Damian straightened, received a reassuring glance from Jon and took a deep breath before making eye contact with Dick. He scrambled for words, despite the many speeches he’d prepared the in sleepless night before. The robbery, meeting like this, completely threw him off.

But none of it mattered because Grayson spoke first.

“You’re back.”

“I never really wanted to leave.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Dick stepped forward and pulled his baby brother into a tight hug. Damian didn’t hesitate to return the embrace. Relief washed through his mind and relaxed his whole body. His fingers curled deeper into his brother’s back, desperately trying to communicate how much he has missed him, how much he needed him, how much he loved him. Tears spilled from his eyes.

No other explanation was needed. Dick wouldn’t have cared.

Damian was home.

[calliecat93]

Top 5 Things That I Disliked ABout RvB: Singularity

(Top 5 Likes Post Link)

Well, it’s been about four months since RvB17 concluded. The shortest season in the series thus far, RvB17 has had overall very positive reception with good humor, compelling drama, and nice character development. I enjoyed it… but I would be lying if I said I loved it unconditionally. And I’d be lying even more if I said that it was better than the sadly often derided S16. The season has its pros and it has its cons, as every season of the show does. The cons this time probably annoy me more than some due to what I like and dislike, so that’s important to know before going further into this post.

So, it’s time for another Top 5 Likes/Dislikes about the recent RvB season! Now normally I do this shortly before the upcoming season, so why am I doing this now and not when RvB18 starts? Well, I’ve had a lot of these on my mind for a while, and after completing a recent rewatch, I want to go ahead and get it all out. To compensate, when RvB18 does roll around I’ll likely do a post about the past three seasons, and maybe some other stuff like what I’d like to see. And of course, as always, this is just my opinion and I will be as fair as possible, so take everything that I say with a grain of salt.

Anyways, let's get the part that I always hate doing done first: the Top 5 Dislikes.

                           _______________________________

I hate being negative. I really, really do. Overall, S17 was a very enjoyable season and I liked it in spite of its flaws, as I do with most media that I get into. But I do have issues, more so than I did 15 and 16, and I do want to talk about them. Most of you who’s followed my blog probably already know them, but I’m gonna try to be more detailed about why I disliked it. So we’ll start with something nit-picky, and work our way up. So let's get started with...

#5. Execution of the time travel/The Everwhen

This one is probably the most minor, but the whole thing just… confuses me. So for those unaware, the Everwhen is essentially a giant time portal that allows you to possess your past self at any point in time. This is… not a bad concept at all. It’s a really cool one and they use it to great effect by going to various points in the show’s history. Then using the past variations of Halo also makes us more invested since we recognize those periods. And while I wish we got to see more moments in those periods that we didn’t see, the few that we got in Episode 5 with Wash and Carolina was very well done. I only have two real issues with the Everwhen. First being an excuse for the mass amount of nostalgia banking, but at least it served a purpose… well, the Freelancers did. The Mercs were totally unnecessary. But that can easily just be a me thing and I get that it made a lot of fans happy, so I won’t harp on it. The other reason though is the reason why it made this list.

The execution is confusing as Hell when you really think about it.

First, how does this exist? I guess we’re supposed to believe that Chrovos made it, which I guess that I can buy. But aside from a line in Episode 1 about how the Reds and Blues time period was the backswing that caused the paradox, there isn’t really anything about how this gateway suddenly exists. Which presents another problem, the Reds and Blues inside it. Okay, so the paradox happened and it messed their memories up. That I understand… but why are they having deja vu in the past?! Shouldn’t they have been like Wash was? In some period where they did and didn’t break time? I get that they were in the middle of the paradox while Wash had been in the present, but in that case, how did they get knocked back to the past? At first, I assumed that Chrovos put them there, which would have made sense in order to keep them out of the way. But that’s never said. The implication is that they just got put there randomly, but because of Wash’s state, it really doesn't make any sense for them to be there.

But I think I get why it was like this. On The SHizno Podcast, Jason explained how the original pitch was that the Reds and Blues were going to be in a simulation of Blood Gulch that Chrovos put them in. Think S9 when Epsilon was in the Memory Unit… which it being too similar is one of the reasons why that plan got rejected. It probably explains why they used Halo 2 Anniversary in the S16 finale if the simulation plan was still in effect when Joe wrote it. But that would explain why they were in the past and having memory issues while Wash wasn’t. And it being a simulation is what I thought it was... until Huggins was able to move through it without going through the portal, which made everything even more confusing. As much as I get being too similar to S9, I can’t but feel that it would have been the better move and not given me a headache over how this stupid Everwhen worked. Because it being a simulation and not the actual timeline made a heck of a lot more sense.

Ultimately, this is Number 5 because as I said, it’s nitpicky. Time travel is a mess no matter how it’s utilized, so I’m pretty lenient on it because thinking about it too hard is painful and not worth it. Plus it may just be my own stupidity confusing me. Still, it DID bother me and it made Episodes 7 and 8 especially a pain in the ass to watch through. But since again it’s overall more nitpicky, I’ll leave it at Number 5.

                           _______________________________

#4: The Simmons Labyrinth

Yeah, we all knew that this was going to be on here.  What’s left to be said that I haven’t talked about already? I think we all know why this was hated. First, it isn’t funny. I mean don’t get me wrong, the delivery of the joke was fine, but the joke itself sucked and made no sense for Simmons’ character. Say what you want about Grif’s Labyrinth, whether you saw it as good or terrible, but at least it made sense for his character. Simmons… is afraid of aliens cutting off his private parts. I’m…. fairly sure that RvB has done a joke like that before, and it was likely better there. Plus it didn't fit the tone. All the Labyrinths, even Grif’s, were portrayed as either serious or at least uncomfortable for the victim. I guess they wanted something to lighten the mood, but… it failed. Badly. It just took me out of it until we got back to Carolina’s. Even knowing Jason’s original plan of the alien being Simmons dad, while that would have been more impactful, still would have been treated as the final cut was and still would have taken me out of it.

What could have been done instead? IDK. Could have had Simmons relive one of his many embarrassments in high school. Could have been focused on the test anxiety that made him fail and get shipped off to Red Boot Camp. It could have been one of the many traumas that his dad inflicted on him, like being forced on the women’s volleyball team or something. All of those are still lighter than some of the other Labyrinths and could have had a comedic edge, but it still tells us something about Simmons and would make sense for him. I… am still trying to figure out how what we got fits Simmons at all or tells us anything about him. If anyone has any ideas, please let me know. 

The reason that this is Number 4 is because the scene was ultimately brief and Simmons didn’t exactly have a major role up to that point. It was incredibly stupid and not funny, but IDT it ruined his character or anything. Plus at this point, I and many others have gone on about it and there is really nothing left to say until we see what happens in the future. Jason seems to be aware of the critiques, and I imagine that others behind the show would also be aware by now. Maybe it'll be taken into account in future seasons and they’ll finally give Simmons the attention that he deserves.

                           _______________________________

#3. Huggins

Ho boy, I’ve been waiting to let this out since the season ended. So for those who were reading my blog when S16 was airing, you know that Huggins was one of my favorite parts of said season. She was likable and fun, her friendship with Grif was adorable and helped his character massively, and she was just a bundle of joy who made me smile every time that we saw her. Her death, while I knew even then it was likely a fakeout, was a huge shock and had me praying that it being a fakeout was correct. Which it was! I was so happy… until we saw how she was actually handled this season.

Personality-wise, Huggins was fine. Her being able to go through time made sense and was even referenced in S16. But… well, she’s used to discovering that Black Holes lead to the beginning of time, goes through time to find the paradoxes that Genkins made, and… that’s it. In other words, Huggins was nothing but a damn plot device. I have a problem with character shafting, but this one was just unfair. Maybe Jason couldn’t think of anything else to do with her? Maybe her VA wasn't available for much? Maybe they didn’t have the budget to animate since Miles did say that they had a slightly smaller budget at RTX? IDK. There’s any number of reasons why, but it was annoying nevertheless. I mean Huggins only appeared in THREE EPISODES, and the first was only at the very end. After Episode 8, she just… disappeared.

There’s a lot of reasons why I hated this. First, just dropping a character like that despite her clearly being important and prominent is an insult to the character. I have issues with how the Reds and Blues were shafted aside from Donut, Wash, and Carolina, but at least they were still around. Huggins leaves to go find paradoxes in Episode 8 and then is gone. Last we hear of her is in the finale from Donut. But the bigger issue is that, if you remember, she was understandably angry at Grif for deciding to go with the plan to save Wash, even though he knew what would happen. It happened and… there’s zero reconciliation. None. Yes, Grif was happy to see her. Yes, he clearly felt remorseful. Yes, he did apologize. But Huggins never really forgave him, saying that she can't be mad at him at the moment because of the larger picture. But it was pretty clear that, while not enraged, she was still unhappy with him… and they don’t allow the two to talk? At all?! After everything in S16, we couldn’t get closure on that?! Really?!

That was what pissed me off. It pissed me off for Grif’s character, but trust me I’ll be going more into that shortly. But for Huggins, it pretty much just says ‘yeah, we are only bringing this character back for exposition and nothing more’. I know many hated S16, but Huggins was easily one of the factors that people enjoyed. I enjoyed it. As I said, her and Grif’s relationship was easily my favorite part of it and I still enjoy rewatching all of their interactions. IDK if she’ll be back in later seasons. I really hope so because, at the very least, she and Grif should reconcile. But even so, she deserved better than what she got. She was a good character, and she deserved better than what she got. I shouldn't be wondering if her remaining dead would have been a better alternative afterwards. I really shouldn’t. So… hopefully future seasons can maybe fix things, but for now, this remains a major problem for me.

                             _______________________________

#2. Grif Character Shafting

In general, Season 17 had a BAD case of character shafting. Now it’s a huge ensemble cast, so not everyone is going to be able to get attention. I wasn’t that upset that characters like Sarge, Caboose, and Simmons (even if that doesn’t excuse his Labyrinth) not getting much attention because they had already been more lowkey in this story arc. I didn’t mind it with Tucker wither since he got PLENTY of attention with Chorus. Hell, I honestly wish that they kept Wash and Carolina more lowkey because they ALWAYS get the majority of the focus, but for S17’s story it’s understandable why they would so I can forgive it. But you should probably NOT shaft a character who has been one of the central focuses in an ongoing story arc and still had a ton of character development that had to be wrapped up.

You know… like Grif.

Yeah, I won’t lie. While I thought that Grif acted IC and everything… they really dropped the ball with him. I wouldn’t mind that much had S15 and 16 not happened. Those are two seasons that gave Grif a ton of character development. He was essentially the main protagonist in S16, the one most involved in the plot despite how much he tried not to, and began resolving his issues. He went from doing everything in his power to avoid the plot, to openly confronting it and even rejecting the pizza that he had wanted so bad. He was the only one who knew what was about to happen after openly being mocked by Genkins, and despite his best efforts, he failed to stop it…

...and this got aBSOLUTELY NO FOLLOW UP? WHAT THE HELL?! THat’s like if, after Season 11, Tucker acted like none of the events during S11 affected him and didn’t grow as a leader and a soldier. It would come off as super weird since 12 followed the aftermath of S11 and would have been a huge disservice to the character and his development. That’s how it felt here with Grif. At first, it looked like they may show stuff since Grif DID believe Donut at first. But he had to ignore it since Donut isn’t allowed to be listened to. When he got his memory back, everything should have been hitting him then and there. There should have been more anger and probably some guilt about how even when he tried, he still failed and now they have even more bullshit to deal with. But they just… bizarrely ignore it.

I wouldn’t say that Grif regressed, but the fact that there is NO follow-up to his development in a storyline that allowed said development to begin with is a disservice. I get it, they only had 12 episodes and Donut and Wash were the more important. I understand that. And hey, S18 could follow up on it. But there still should have been something. Maybe the reveal about him lying about the enlistment was supposed to be that. Which I did like that… but that was not enough imo. He didn’t reconcile with Huggins. There’s no follow-up about how he failed to stop the paradox. Even for someone as lazy as Grif, we should still be seeing some emotions there. His Labyrinth, while I ultimately don’t hate it and I do see how it can apply to his character, probably should have been something stronger like being stuck back on Iris with the volleyballs mocking him or something.

Character shafting does have to happen in an ensemble cast. But Grif should NOT have been one of them. IDK how they could have incorporated him better while still keeping everything intact, but it’s still frustrating. Again, maybe S18 can provide something. I hope that at least Grif is allowed to reconcile with Huggins and realize that he should actually talk about his issues because I do think that his scene with Kai was an important moment for him. Whether you like to hate the retcon, it makes sense for his character to run away and he’s actually offering to talk about it. Okay, it’s more for Kai’s sake than his own, but he’s still willing to talk about his feelings, which is not something that I could have seen him done without his S15 and 16 development. Hence why I think that is S18 has him be more willing to talk to say Kai or Simmons and about how much S15 and 16 really did affect him instead of trying to brush it aside by calling himself hateglue, he can have a complete character arc. But as far as S17 goes, there’s no excuse for it and was a big problem for me.

                           _______________________________

Honorable Mentions

 Aka, the things that annoyed me, but not by much or I didn’t feel were bad enough to add onto the list.

Tucker not taking responsibility/talking to Wash: It was his idea to go and save Wash despite knowing the consequences, so he’s as guilty as Carolina imo. There should have been more focus on that, and about him reconciling with Wash and accepting what had to happen. The fact that they had zero interaction was bizarre tbh. But it isn’t as big of a deal as other things, so I kept it off. Consider this Number 6.

Character shafting: I hated it, and everyone outside Donut, Wash, and Carolina felt wasted. But it’s already a huge cast, so it was bound to happen and Grif’s was the one that manly pissed me off. So I spared it.

Nostalgia banking: That’s a me thing, so I didn’t feel it was fair to add it, especially since it overall did serve a purpose.

Carolina guilt trips need to die: I forgive it here because it worked for the story and was well executed. But... writers, you’ve done Carolina guilt trips since at least S10. It’s lazy and boring now. Come up with something new for her. Let it die.

Donut being ignored: Mainly, I think they played it up too much. DOnut displayed no noteworthy flaws in this season, and pretty much everything revolved around him. On rewatch, this was annoying and made him seem better and more important than everyone else. That’s unfair. But after all the years where he got shit treatment, he earned it honestly, so I forgave it.

And that’s it! So onto Number One!

                          _______________________________

I thought long and hard about what Number One could be. Grif Shafting almost made it, but again the finale scene did actually make me happy. As such, I had only one real option left…

#1. The 12 Episode Count

Imo, this is I think the cause of many of the problems with S17 that I have. This should not have been a 12 episode season. 15 maybe, like last time. But not 12. Now there’s any number of reasons that they decided to go with that. Miles did say at RTX that they had a slightly smaller budget, so maybe they just simply couldn’t afford to do more than what they were able to do. Maybe they just thought that 12 episodes wrapped up the story and that there was no need to exceed that number or try to avoid stressing themselves and others out more. Production is hard and not cheap and you’re not going to be able to do everything that you want or even need to be able to do. As such, I’m not angry at them for deciding this since most likely, they had to work with what they had available.

That being said, it is still a problem. A 12 episode season has both its pros and its cons. With the pros, they were able to keep an overall steady pace and focus on what needed to be focused on without having to extend it or cram in filler. But the cons are you have to cram in as much as possible with limited time and put aside the things that aren’t as important. Grif wasn't as important as the other things. Huggins wasn't as important as the other things. They didn’t have time to elaborate on all the time travel, so they did as much as they could and then focus on the story. And Simmons Labyrinth was just a bad idea and would have still sucked even with a longer episode total, so nothing to say there.

My point is, while I do think that 12 episode seasons could work for RvB, they probably shouldn't have done it in the middle of a story arc. Again, they might not have had a choice, but it’s still an annoyance. The first half was fine and the best of the season. But the second half felt much more rushed and overstuffed. Episodes 7 and 8 shoved in exposition and it came across as more confusing than informing. Donut forgave everyone FAR too easily and it didn’t feel like they genuinely felt sorry after being called out. Which made the moment where he did call them out feel slightly less impactful. Only slightly, Then we rush through fixing the paradoxes and The Labyrinth within like four episodes, which when watching all the episodes together really makes it and the ending feel really anti-climactic. It’s like they shoved a ton of character stuff within like ten minutes, but we don’t get to explore it naturally. A problem that I think 15 episodes would have helped solve, but 12… it just… was not enough.

If they do go with 12 episodes again, I think it’ll work better since they’ll have a new story arc that they cal plan properly for. They didn’t have that luxury here. That, on top of Joe having to leave and Jason having to take over writing duties. Which is another annoyance. IDK the circumstances obviously and not to diminish Jason, but Joe should have been allowed to finish his own damn story, the fans' opinion on if he was good or not be damned. But again for all I know he chose to walk out, so I’m not going to go any further than that. Considering what they did have, the fact that they did make a good product is to be admired. But there’s still a lot of problems imo. Ones that I think that the episode count ultimately caused most of. As such, it is the thing that I dislike about RvB17 the most.

                            ______________________________

Again, this is only my opinion. There was a lot that I did like about RvB17, and when I write the Likes post I’ll gladly talk about them. That being said, I do think that this wasn't as good as 16 and IDC how many people think I’m insane for saying that. It had story issues, character issues, and the second half was ultimately just a mess. A fun mess, but still a mess. No, IDK how any of these could have been done better and IDT it’s so bad that it can’t be amended in later seasons. But overall, these issues did damper my enjoyment and things that I hope to see improved in the future.

Okay! Dislikes are done! Thank God! Now I can do the happy stuff! Hopefully, the Likes post will be ready in a few days. But thank you all for reading, and I hope that you enjoyed~

[orliando]

Reconciliation

Part 1

(( This is a bit of backstory on Orlando that took place shortly before his previous marriage to Levyn Ari.  Prior to this point in his undeath, Orli had never managed to appropriately manage his affliction in regards to the blood lust that all death knights must succumb to.  Since it was rumored but never proven that he had murdered previous partners in a state of black out rage induced by the dark bidding, it was decided that he would be forced to come to terms with it through the aid of his brother and close friend.  The following is a recounting of his ordeal. ))

The knight sat curled against the wall, his head leaned back against the worn wood, knees curled to his chest as his hands hung idly over them.  Turning his gaze towards the low ceiling of the room, he exhaled a slow and heavy breath, narrowing his eyes as they began to focus, and then blur, into the dim, flickering light of one of the enclosure’s few lamps.  Watching the flame dance within its glass encasement, the briefest hint of a grin would flit across the corner of his lips, before disappearing into the pale features of the elf’s tortured face.  Exhausted, bright blue eyes would slip closed, his body remaining still upon the stoned floor.  Almost instinctively, his mind would begin to float to a different place, memory that he fought to keep in the front of his distracted mind.  A half elf stood before him, a young priest, pale hair illuminated by the noon-day sun.  The smile washed back over Orlando’s face, feeling the fleeting warmth of the Silvermoon sun as if he were still standing in it.  

Snapped quickly back into reality by the heavy footfalls echoing against the wooden floor above, the knight winced, shifting where he was with another, almost mournful sigh.  His eyes reluctantly lifted open, his head turning over one shoulder to face the distant corner, and in it the demon-forged blade which held him captive.  The darkened spear stood propped beside the knight, cold and dormant, it’s blackened blade satisfied for the moment.  As far as he may try to distance himself from the accursed metal, Orli knew it would only take time before his master would call to him again, whispering, calling, and then demanding to be sated once more.

Closing his eyes again, the knight would force his thoughts back to the light of the city, refusing to acknowledge his current state of imprisonment.  In his mind, he caught sight of the young priest, their eyes meeting for the smallest moment before the opposing hazel gaze dropped swiftly to the pavement below.  With a quiet laugh and a crooked, beckoning finger of the elder elf, the two would finally meet.  Hours would pass, or days...in the hazy darkness of the cellar.  The pair found themselves on the bank of a small pond deep in the woods of Eversong, sheltered by the ageless forest as they lay quietly beside one another.  With scarlet hair splashed against the ground behind him, the knight turned his head to face his companion, hands folded and still over his chest.  “I love you, Levyn…”  His quiet words drifted down now into the calm water below.

The priest would shake his head, eyes narrowing as if pained by the phrase, the sting of tears reddening his eyes.  “”No, you can’t...you couldn’t.”  The half-elf’s gaze remained pointed towards the setting sun above them.  I love you, Levyn Alleandruin… The knight would stubbornly repeat himself, without failing, until the words took their  meaning in his lover’s ears.

The footfalls would return, followed again in kind by the knight’s attention.  His eyes tilted upwards, following the sound of movement until it ceased, punctuated by the finality of a heavy door swinging shut.  He was now alone for the time, left only with his thoughts and the ever-present pull of his bloodthirsty companion.  “How do you intend to do this?”  Within a moment of rare silence the words of a familiar feminine voice would echo in his ears.  He means to barricade me in the basement until I break the door down… With that thought, bright blue eyes would turn towards the dark staircase, and then upwards. “Until I lose all sense of myself and break that door down…”  Orli whispered into the shadow.  The inevitability of this outcome left him vulnerable...raw...stripped back bare to nothin but the boy he’d been a lifetime ago, small and helpless.  His head dropped, hanging between his two thick arms, a sliver of red spilling over to tease the corner of his vision.

With a slow, purposeful inhale, the elf would reach an arm behind his head, releasing the remainder of his unruly mane, an inexplicable warmth encompassing him as he felt the phantom embrace of his lover...his husband...surround him.  How long would  it be before he would feel such light again?  The knight’s hands rose to surround his companion’s face, drawing the smaller frame towards his own body, held prisoner there by the joining of their lips.  Now they were sprawled upon the sands of Tanaris, the tips of their feet dipped in the warm waters of the vacant beach.  Careless as young lovers could ever be, they would lay there until the dawn, lost in the space of each other and ignorant of the world beyond.

Returning once more from the fog of his own cluttered mind, Orlando’s eyes would raise, his shoulders splaying back to stretch against the hard wall behind.  Adjusting to the dim light, they began to wander around the expansive room.  He had been trapped there, only partially of his own volition, with nothing more than the clothes on his back...for how long, he had no way to know.  With no light to seep in from the outside, and no trace of the world beyond, the cloud of his own consciousness was left to decipher how much time had passed.  The knight was, however, no stranger to his surroundings, for whatever small comfort that would provide.  The room was hazily familiar; somewhere he had been perhaps less than half a dozen times before, the dank and oppressive underbelly beneath a place he’d once called home.  Following the damp, stone wall, he took his time reacquainting himself with its occupants.  Hung on one slab was an arrangement of various armaments, a vicious array of remorseless metal, hung with care by their master and left to ominously stand guard over the remainder of the cellar.  His eyes slipped over each blade in turn, following each curved and sharpened line as if surveying a former lover.  Half of these instruments he’d forged with his own two hands, a handful he’d wielded in practice.  The familiarity of each piece would awaken another memory from somewhere deep within the elf’s fractured mind, the clattering ambience of an active forge, the hissing from deep within the flame’s heart, the rhythmic pulse of metal upon metal.

The slightest flit of movement caught his eye from across the room.  There, in the farthest corner emerged a dart of white, no bigger than a thumbprint.  He sat straighter, his forearms pushing against his bent knees as he strained his vision, following the flicker as it coursed against the wall and closer to him.  Half of a laugh fell from his lips as the figure paused, then began its path again, this time turning towards the knight.  A mouse, he smirked.  Somehow still quite bright and clean despite its unkempt habitat.  The creature made its way to the tip of Orli’s boot, where it stood quite fearlessly on hind legs, sniffing curiously at the elf.  He grinned in return, offering a fingertip to the creature to inspect.  The mouse would rest a tiny paw against the outstretched digit for a moment before abruptly returning to its cover within the crevasses of the room.

With a sigh, Orlando leaned himself back onto the wall, alone again with his thoughts now.  Once more, the knight found himself within Silvermoon’s walls, standing before a vaguely familiar flame, coaxing a delicate blade from the relentless heat.  Another moment found the knight slumped on the floor, leaning with utter exhaustion against a wooden beam with no recollection of how he’d come to rest there.  Sprawled across from him was his lover, tears streaming down the half-elf’s reddened face.  A flush of anger rose in the knight’s own cheeks, a surge of disappointment mixed with utter terror.  What had he allowed to transpire in this place?  And at what cost… The depths of his own selfish emotion hit hard against the pit of his stomach as he was forced to watch the damage play out before him yet again, soul ripped apart and laid bare at his feet, for no other reason than to satisfy his own childish desires.  Is this what the worth of mortal men had been reduced to in his lichborne eyes?  Was he no longer capable of understanding something so complex as love?

Darkening, his shadowed eyes would slowly continue their path, following the room around its raw edges as the true nature of the place gradually revealed itself.  In the corner opposite the knight’s imposing blade, a small, iron barred cell stood, simple in its purpose.  Orlando couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that he’d not been chained within it, as would seem befitting to so many.  One less thing to destroy...the quiet voice in the back of his head would whisper softly.  One less piece of iron in your way…. Orlando’s head began to swim with darker thoughts, a flood of shattered memory threatening the small slivers of light that he clung to.  He would find himself again, this time in the darkened woods of Northshire, in the shadow of the great capital city.  A man stood before him...no, he knelt...beaten and broken, presented for surrender at the knight’s plated feet.  “Mercy…” the dark-haired man would cry, though he would find none.  With a curl of his cursed finger, the lich would command the human to his feet once more, eliciting a slender strand of electrified shadow to trace its way around the captive’s neck, demanding his compliance.  A steel covered hand would clasp the bare throat before it, as ancient words of an unholy tongue spilled forth their torturous intent.  A thin smile of satisfaction crossed the knight’s plush lips as he watched his victim slowly strangle to death for the second time at his hand…

Dark, sultry voices would pull eagerly at the elf’s subconscious again, the seductive enchantment playing upon the corners of his mind, perforated sharply by flashes of barely coherent vision.  A young rogue lay before him, auburn hair streaked with red, his bare chest littered with welted lash marks, purple and stark against the boy’s pale skin.  Orlando knelt still between his feet, ever watchful blue eyes focused on the now quiet breaths of a lover who’s voice he would never hear.  Another’s now echoes in his ears.  It is the anguished and impassioned cry of a young priestess as their bodies join to become one, the edges of each soul blurred by their union.  Willfully the knight struggles to replace the insistence of one with the memory of the other as it begins to fade into the shadows, ever distancing the elf from what he held most dear.  He clung to the phantom feel of the warm, bare skin beneath his own, grasping desperately at the thin strands of remembrance as they slip through his fingers like so much sand in the wind.  Would this be the last time he would know of such an embrace?  The thought would pollute his presence as the darkness continued to haunt him, lingering over the knight’s shoulder like a patient predator, waiting for the opportune moment of weakness.  But he would not succumb so easily, it was his inherent nature to suppress such invasion, to outlast the persistence of his nefarious suitor until his body had no choice but to comply.  Never a willful submission; that was his creed.  To abstain from the sinister temptation until reckless abandon took hold, until all he had left in service to the dark call was a physical presence and nothing more.

[acostarsandwritings]

Nightcrimes

Previous | Chapter 5 | Next Chapter Index

Summary: when Feyre Archeron, director of a major bank, is the victim of an attempted robbery, she is suddenly reintroduced to her old highschool sweetheart, Rhys. Rhys is exactly as she remembered, except darker than ever; and it seems that he is no stranger to crime. Feyre’s life is about to drastically change - and whenever Rhys is involved, that can’t be a very good thing.

@atya-malik133 @booklover242 @anythingsjmaas @i-love-territorial-illyrians@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @always-namelessismyprice @ice-queen-a@nightfae@highladyofherondale@cassiancalore@court-of-fandoms-and-art@queen-elain@reallyangryrn @kybaeza @always-namelessismyprice@readingismycopingmechanism@rory050@susanablackbeauty @saltierthanbottomofapretzelbag

She couldn’t breathe. Ianthe knew, Tamlin knew, and she couldn’t breathe, there was no air, no oxygen, she couldn’t – “Feyre? Feyre, breathe.” Feyre could only wheeze. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. You can do it. Breathe, Feyre, I’m right with you.” Alis was in kneeling in front of her, hands on her shoulders. “That’s it, deep inhale, long exhale. You’re okay, Feyre, it’s okay.” She was seated on the floor of her own office, fingernails digging into her palms. Gods, the mess she was in… All she could see was Tamlin’s ice-cold stare, Ianthe’s smug, sneering face somehow managing to look down on her even from where she was seated. After what felt like an hour, she could finally breathe again. A sob rose in her throat. “Gods, Alis, why did I ever think this was a good idea?” Alis looked at her with empathy in her eyes. “Because you’re the best thing about this company, Feyre. You’re honest and you work hard. We need you here, even those who don’t see it.” Feyre slumped back against the desk behind her. “They must think I’m an idiot.” “No.” Alis shook her head. “They probably think Tamlin’s a huge dick, though.” That got Feyre to laugh nervously. “Yeah..” Both of them stayed silent for a while, until Alis leveled her eyes with hers. “Will you ever tell me the truth? Of why you visited Rhysand?” Feyre turned her eyes towards the floor. “You know I can never keep secrets from you, Alis. You have a sense for these things. It’s why I hired you.” A grin from the woman opposite of her. “Maybe. But I also want the best for this company, and if you decide to get back to bad ex-boyfriends, I might have to stop you.” Another nervous laugh. “Trust me Alis, I don’t want him anywhere near me again.” And yet… Yet somehow, Feyre couldn’t help but think of Rhysand. Of the taunting messages he’d sent her. Of his face in his back office, all calm and collected. The high school bad boy who always got what he wanted. The jock who, secretly, had a heart made of gold. No, not gold, she forced to remind herself. Crime lords didn’t have clean hands.

It was already dark when she got home. She’d promised Alis that she would talk to her somewhere next week, when all of the dust had settled. Exhausted, Feyre closed the door behind her and turned on the lights. It took a few seconds for her to register the difference in the room – next to the door was a huge bouquet of wildflowers, assembled with great care. Feyre’s heart started beating in her chest. Oh, gods. With trembling hands, she reached for the flowers, finding a small card attached to a beautiful orange rose. Dear mrs. Archeron, I am terribly sorry for the harm my indolence may have caused you. Please accept these lovely flowers as reconciliation. I made sure to match them to your temper. Yours truly, A hot piece of ass P.S. No listening devices this time Stunned, she looked at the paper in her hands. First, he tried to have her killed, and now he sent her flowers? What the hell was wrong with him? “I’m not gonna fall for that, Rhysand!” Feyre’s voice briefly echoed through the apartment. Silence. She looked around suspiciously, half expecting him to walk out into the hall, half expecting her phone to buzz with an answer again. This time, however, she would be ready for him. But nothing came. “Guess you actually kept your promise this time,” she muttered, clutching the pressed paper in her hand. The damned asshole. For a second, she debated calling chief Vanserra about the break-in – but reporting it would mean explaining why there was a break-in in the first place, and usually burglars didn’t leave beautiful bouquets of flowers. In reply, the flowers just stood there in all their glory. Feyre eventually placed them on the coffee table, still holding the paper tight. She didn’t dare to throw it away. Staring at it, she wondered if she should burn it (they always burned it in movies), but after a while, she just hid it in a drawer of her desk, intending to never think of it again.

“How did your girlfriend like the flowers?” Rhysand still jumped the slightest bit when Azriel’s voice slid out from the shadows in his office. “I wouldn’t know, my friend,” he coolly replied. “I truly didn’t wire it this time.” Azriel let his eyes go over the desk. “If only you had a guy who had a knack for stalking, huh…” Carefully, he picked up a few papers scattered on the glass table. “Are these what I think they are?” Rhysand kept himself from snatching the papers away. “Would you ask if you didn’t already know the answer?” Azriel didn’t even look up from the papers. “Yes, they’re the financial reports from Archeron Finance. I had Mor get them for me a few weeks ago.” That got Azriel’s attention. “A few weeks ago?” Rhys only nodded. “So you knew, then.” Another nod. “I did know she owns the company, yes. But that’s where you come in, Azriel. Something is wrong with these reports. There is money missing. I ordered Cassian to get it back into decent hands, but he fucked up, as you might have noticed.“ Azriel huffed. “What if she’s just stealing it herself?” Rhysand casually shrugged. “I won’t pretend decent people can do stupid things, Az. But I’m fairly certain it wasn’t Feyre. That job is her life. I have no suspicions that she might have ambitions like my own.” Azriel flipped through the pages. “If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have noticed there was money missing.” “It’s well hidden,” Rhysand agreed. “But not well enough for our Amren.” “You got her to check them.” “I did. And she found where it’s going.” Azriel chuckled, a humorless sound. “Let me guess, Columbia?” Rhys clenched his jaw. “Venezuela. Same destination, however. Drugs. Weapons. The occasional political assassination.” “And you want me to find the guy who did it.” Rhys turned around to face him. “Yes.” Azriel folded the papers into a bag he seemingly materialized out of thin air. “Consider it done, then. What about miss Archeron?” Rhysand went back to looking out of the window, staring in the direction of the city center. “I want you to find out everything you can.”

[aion-rsa]

Fatman: Why Mel Gibson Found Christmas Spirit at the End of a Gun

https://ift.tt/3evPPz5

Sometimes you find the Spirit of Christmas in the strangest of places. For brothers Eshom and Ian Nelms, it was at an awards season screening of Hacksaw Ridge in December 2016. The pair had already been dreaming of Fatman and its desperado Santa Claus for more than a decade when they attended the event. But they weren’t there that night for Santa; they came for a Q&A with Mel Gibson, the mercurial filmmaker who seemed to be on the cusp of reconciliation with Hollywood.

Arriving to his own screening renewed and happy, and with a bushy gray beard worthy of Methuselah, Gibson could still make a hell of an impression, both on an industry impressed by his World War II drama and the two young filmmakers with eyes due North.

“Gibson came out and he had this amazing beard,” Ian recalls over a Zoom interview, still with a twinkle in his eye. “He was a little slumped over and kneading his beard, very passionately talking to the audience about what he was excited about in the film and why he made it. But he also was right at the end of that award circuit, and you could see that he was a little worn out… you could see the wear and tear on him [and] a guy that was little beaten down at that point. We instantly looked at each other and we’re like, ‘That’s the guy.”

They were ready to shout that’s our Santa!

It’s an unusual origin story for a Christmas movie, but then Fatman isn’t your child’s new Netflix Christmas darling. Starring Gibson as an aged and broken man who is clinging on to the last vestiges of hope for a better tomorrow, Fatman seeks to ground Father Christmas with the same dispirited nihilism that James Mangold applied to Wolverine a few years ago in Logan. Both movies are ostensibly Westerns, informed by the deconstructionist streak of Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven, and both end in a bloodbath.

Yet whereas Unforgiven is the story of a cowboy, and Logan a clawed antihero, Fatman is about Santa existing  in a world where hitmen like Walton Goggins’ “Skinny Man” come out of the woodwork, eager to claim his scalp. However, if you sit down and ask the Nelms about this somber approach to the character, it makes perfect sense in the early 21st century.

“When we were doing some of the research and finding out how much money the holiday season really drives our economy, it’s amazing, right?” Eshom says. “You can see why that engine was created.”

Indeed, according to the World Economic Forum, Americans alone spend more than $1 trillion a year on holiday retail. And that doesn’t even  consider how much more is spent on holiday festivities, public events, and travel.

“I mean, Rudolph, which now seems to be a staple of Christmas, was actually an invention of [retailer] Montgomery Ward’s back in the day,” Ian says. “That’s a marketing ploy. Rudolph doesn’t exist!”

This cold economic reality informs the brothers’ approach to Santa. Other than his genuinely sweet partnership with Ruth (Marianne Jean-Baptiste), aka Mrs. Claus, Gibson’s Chris Kringle is despondent and cynical about the world today. It’s why he allowed his operation to become subsidized by the U.S. government, which in turn wants to prop up the American economy but is as oblivious about the Spirit of Christmas as the little boy (Chance Hurtsfield) who puts a bounty on Santa’s head after receiving a lump of coal on Dec. 25.

It’s an unorthodox take, and one the Nelms’ have been working on for the better part of 20 years. The pair tell us that the concept first came to them in 2003, fortuitously around the same time they bought their first DVDs: Unforgiven for Ian and Unbreakable for Eshom.

“This sort of superhero-Western mashup was, I think, a big catalyst for the film,” Eshom notes, particularly appreciating how grounded and stealthy the superheroics were in M. Night Shyamalan’s Unbreakable. Their premise also fit into each brother’s preference for niche “alternative Christmas movies.” As a pair more inclined to enjoy Kiss Kiss Bang Bang or Gremlins during the holidays, not to mention the Gibson-starring Lethal Weapon, they saw an opportunity to make a unique genre-bender.

However, real movement on Fatman didn’t start until the Nelms began getting their foot in the industry in 2006, and they’ve been refining the idea ever since.

“We always wanted him to be an everyman,” Eshom says about the creative process. “We wanted [Chris and Ruth] to be really relatable and have a lot of what people would consider blue collar problems.”

As the sons of small business owners, the Nelms were able to understand that dynamic intimately, even if the stakes they saw growing up were never over the soul of Christmas.

Says Ian, “[Our parents] owned a photography business for 20 some odd years, and our mom was very much the Ruth. She was the backbone of that business, and he was very much the Chris, where he was the lead photographer. She was an amazing photographer in her own right, but he was the lead photographer and the business had his name on it, and he started it before he even met our mom. But he wouldn’t have lasted five seconds without our mom, because she really held that thing together. Even though he was a great photographer, the logistics eluded him, completely.”

That dynamic informs much of Fatman, which ended up being the Nelms’ fourth feature film. The movie is accurately marketed on the grizzled violence that eventually puts Goggins’ Skinny Man on the opposite end of a snow bank from Gibson’s Kringle. The slender one bellows, “I’ve come for your head, Fatman!” But the film surprisingly plays its absurdities straight, not least of all because of Gibson and Jean-Baptiste’s affection.

It’s one element the brothers emphasized to Gibson when they finally got in a room with the filmmaker to pitch the project; another was how stripped down and crusty their vision of Santa would be.

“The pictures that we were showing him were these pictures of these old trappers, and these guys who were visiting Antarctica in the early 1900s and they were on dog sleds,” Ian says. “We were… really bringing it back to a place of when this guy got started. Maybe the jacket is real leather and that’s real animal fur? It’s like it goes back to a time when he was originated, and we felt like that jacket had been upgraded for hundreds of years with Ruth stitching it up.”

Read more

Movies

20 Christmas Movies for Badasses

By Michael Reed

Movies

The 20 Best Christmas Horror Movies

By Elizabeth Rayne and 4 others

It clearly wasn’t Tim Allen’s Santa Claus, but that was the point. They expressly pitched that point to the star they’d grown up watching in Mad Max and Lethal Weapon movies, and Gibson in turn ran with the “cowboy” angle, modeling Chris on several people he knew in his own life.

Even with this background, audiences will likely be surprised by how stripped down Fatman is when they watch it for themselves. Because while there may be elves with bells on their shoes, for example, these helpers work in a low lit, industrial hell and on a stretch of Alaskan farmland far removed from a magical workshop.

Says Eshom, “We were like, ‘Okay, Santa’s in the North Pole?’ Well, there isn’t shit at the North Pole. So if he really wanted an infrastructure and to [actually] get supplies and power, and all this stuff, we’re like, ‘Okay he’s got to be somewhere where there’s a slight civilization. So Alaska.”

It’s part and parcel for an approach that pivots on grounding the Santa Claus mythology in as much reality as possible. This Santa still rides around the world on magical reindeer, but we don’t actually see that Christmas Eve adventure. Instead we bear witness to the aftermath, where Chris comes home exhausted and bleeding, with a hole in his coat from where some kid shot him with a BB-gun.

It’s obviously unlike any Santa you’ve ever seen before. And while the film has already been welcomed by a niche audience in limited theatrical release, it’s also received plenty of criticism for its violent portrayal of Father Christmas. But the Nelms are unbothered by that criticism.

“This isn’t for kids, you know?” Eshom says. “If you want Miracle on 34th Street mixed with Die Hard, this might be your flavor.”  Additionally, each director is stunned at how much more timely a beleaguered Santa feels in 2020, since they’ve been trying to get this movie off the ground for 14 years.

“We finished shooting right at the beginning of the pandemic,” Ian says. “We finished shooting and then the next day they shut down all productions in Canada. We were really fortunate to finish on time and then we spent the next six months editing it in my basement. So we had a wonderful distraction, which was nice, but it was a weird time to do it because the tension [is] ratcheting across the world, especially in our country being hit so hard by the pandemic.”

Ironically, they made a film about a once benevolent figure looking at the rising despair and naughtiness of modern American society, and recoiling. That tension, which is as tight a string can get without breaking according to Ian, has only gotten further strained since the film’s edit locked.

Nevertheless, the filmmakers don’t view Santa Claus or the Spirit he represents as a cynical one, even in Fatman. Rather they describe Gibson’s Chris Kringle as something of a guiding light: a man who gives toys to urge children toward whatever skills or proclivities they might have to better realize their futures. So Chris’ wearied resolution to continue the job is as optimistic as it is archetypal.

“I think he’s disgusted in himself, really,” says Ian. “He has that line at the end of the film where he just says, ‘You know, it’s partly my fault that we’ve gotten to this point.’ He’s talking about the state of the world, and he feels like he hasn’t quite been doing his job the last few hundred years. He’s let everything kind of slip and slide, as people do… But he’s trying to figure out how to get it back, and that’s really what the bottom line is, right? Like a call to action, he’s got to get back to the old ways.”

Maybe we all can this Christmas.

Fatman is available on VOD and in limited theatrical release now.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Fatman: Why Mel Gibson Found Christmas Spirit at the End of a Gun appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/33eyoPb