#i was supposed to be home 5 hours ago if i had known wed have trouble i would have requested tomorrow off too

[out--of--ordinary]

There was a nolpat lookalike on my flight from hell back home tonight 😔 I've resigned to the fact that freakishly tall hippie cowboys are my type

[korasonata]

I had someone last time ask me about time stamps, so all of these from this point out will have the time stamp at the top of each set of quotes. I am currently in the process of retrieving the time stamps for the previous 5 posts, and will link an updated version when I have retrieved them all.

Link to the video is here: https://m.twitch.tv/videos/1149389841

Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo model streams part 6!

(I am very sorry I tried very hard to make this not as long as it is. There will probably be another extended cut post because there was just SO much happening in this stream)

—

00:00:57

Cleo: Welcome to the stream. Mine and/or Joes. Or, both.

Joe: Yay!

Cleo: I suppose that’s what the “and” means. In that statement. That would make sense. Glue pot’s ready—

Joe: It makes sense to me.

Cleo: …that makes me even more nervous that it makes sense to you, Joe. Not gonna lie.

—

00:16:34

Joe: So, anyway, last night at dinner, uh, like I— I had put this interview on while I was cooking and I kinda left it on as my daughter sat down for dinner and I was like “hey, this is an interview with this very famous journalist from about 50 years ago. Uh, he’s got a really interesting voice and a really interesting cadence, and I wanna kind of listen to it so I can— maybe copy it as like a joke in one of my videos.” And my daughter listens to it for about a— a minute—

Cleo: And then says “now that’s— is that you?”

Joe: *laughing* She just turns to me and she’s like “my friend…her parents got her…did you know they make crayon applesauce now? It says crayola. It tastes. Like they’ve blended a brown crayon. And sprinkled it on top.”

Cleo: That sounds grim.

Joe (prideful laughing): And it just kind of matches the cadence while also talking about something terrible to ingest?*laughing* And I just start cracking up because like— *laughing continues* she gets it! And she’s just like “why are you laughing?” Because you just— you nailed it! You nailed the pauses, you— you nailed the subject matter, like this is— this is just great!! And she’s like “no! This is a real thing! This crayon applesauce is terrible!” And I’m just laughing and laughing and she’s like trying to explain why it’s not good, and I’m like “I understand why it’s not good, but—“

Cleo (reading chat): “Joe’s daughter is awesome.” I think you’re probably correct. Joe’s daughter is indeed awesome.

Joe: Yeah, I’m very very happy with my daughter. (Reading chat) What was for dinner? Well not crayola applesauce!

—

Cleo (in response to someone complimenting her 3rd Life videos): Awe! Thank you joytobake, that’s really nice! I am…always pleased when people like my personality. Because I’m never sure that people should, you know?

Joe: Yeah, that’s— that’s what we were talking about— I think before we started streaming, was like, Cleo really gets me, and that’s a huge red flag.

Cleo: That’s a— yeah. As a human being. Understanding Joe - massive red flag. Huge. This is a danger. To everybody. And particularly Joe.

Joe: It’s the terror of being truly known.

—

00:47:08

Joe: Up until this point I didn’t show the instructions, but now I feel like I have to.

Cleo: Because otherwise people are going to judge your competency?

Joe: Yeah! They’re gonna go “ok. Any idiot can figure out how these pieces go together” but if you look at these instructions, that’s not true. I’m a spectacular idiot, and I have no idea what I’m doing with these.

Cleo: I mean. I want— I want to confirm. Yes. Spectacular.

Joe: Yes. Thank you Cleo.

Cleo: *snicker* You’re welcome Joe. I always like to insult the people I care about the most.

Joe (quietly): I know…I appreciate it.

Cleo (Watching chat): I’m waiting for Cam to confirm that.

(Cam in chat: She insults me SO MUCH, she called me a gibbon last night…)

—

00:59:42

Joe: *reading tips*

Cleo (reading chat): “you can’t stop Joe when he’s on a role.” This is true.

Joe (not paying attention): *still reading tips*

Cleo: I mean you can, you just have to go: Joe. Joe. JOE. And then he stops sometimes.

Joe (quietly, but with emphasis): WHAAAAAAAAAAT??!?

Cleo: I’M DOING A THING!

—

01:00:46

Joe (reading tips): “This is an encouragement donation for more of you singing in the future.” Ooo, I think Cleo would like that because the future is not now.

—

01:02:23

Cleo (genuine singing): Ground control to major Tom…

Joe: *listening in awe*

Cleo: …That’s…pretty much all I know…

Joe: Oh, I was gonna let you keep going, I— I wanted to hear more.

Cleo: Oh no. That’s pretty much all I know.

Joe: But yeah. Hypothermic haddoc writes (singing) “tell my wife I love her very much!” …I was waiting for you to jump in with the (singing) “she knoooooows!”

Cleo: Again. Again, I don’t know the song very well.

Joe: Oh. And here I am sitting in my tin can—

—

01:47:54

Cleo: *leaves to get a drink*

Joe: While you’re getting your drink I guess I’ll provide some musical entertainment.

SILENCE

Joe: …I don’t have anything prepared. So, let’s see…do we have any birthdays? *laughing* if it’s anybody’s birthday I’ll sing to you while Cleo’s gone.

Cleo: I’m back.

Joe: Oh ok. Well, sorry birthday boys. And girls.

Cleo: feel free to sing to people. I’m sure people want that.

Joe: no…well, I was gonna do it while you were away cause I need to get up and get my drink as soon as you’re back.

Cleo: Oh, go and get a drink and I will sing happy birthday—

Joe: So I’m gonna go get my drink, I’ll be right back.

Cleo: —to people who have chosen to spend their birthday…here…I’m not judging, uh, but— (upbeat singing) Happy Birthday to you! You smell like a zoo! (Talking) …uh, etcetera etcetera… (Singing) I forgot how this song goes! Nevermind it sucks to be you! *blows a raspberry*

—

01:49:09

Cleo: I mean it’s Cams birthday on Saturday, and I will sing to Cam on his birthday. His birthday is not today. I mean he probably wants me to not sing to him on his birthday, to be fair—

[Cam: Please don’t sing to me]

Cleo: —but you know, I might do it anyway. Cause it’s obnoxious. And I will laugh. (Reading chat) “Happy Birthday! Here’s some genocide! Please don’t sing to me…” *laughing* I won’t sing to you if you don’t want me to, Honey.

[Cam: Not happy birthday at least lol]

Cleo: I might torture you in other ways though.

—

01:50:55

Cleo: Hiiiiii Jooooooe.

Joe: Hello! Joe Hiws hewe! I am back fwom my dwink bweak!

Cleo: …what is that voice?

Joe (in a Kermit the Frog/Swedish Chef/Yoda hybrid of an accent): I feewl wike it’s fwom home star wunner or something, I don’t know! It’s almost Kermit THe Fwog Hewe, but not quITe!

*Cleo laughing*

It’s a little— (Normal voice) I dunno. I still had some of my drink in my throat, so I was like— I didn’t wanna like accidentally cough it out on the microphone as soon as I started talking. So I was just like (weird voice continues) I’ll do thIS vOIce

*Squealing giggling from Cleo*

(Same iteration of previous accent now blended somehow with the voice of Goofy from Micky Mouse) It’ll keep my mOUth in a shape that if I start— me coughing up a dwink it’ll just go into the chEEks on EIther sIde. It’s a natuwal, uh bARRier against, uh, hydration escapism! Uh yuh!!

Cleo: *giggles* Ok Joe. Ok.

Joe: *high pitched laughing* I don’t know Cleo! I’m just gonna keep making noises until people give me money! It’s jus— it’s how I pay rent.

Cleo: *laughing* Making noises until people give you— ahhhh…..

Joe: Yeah

Cleo: — actually…..yeah. Yeah. Yeah…Um (reading chat) “it’s drunk Kermit” *wheezing*

Joe (drunk Kermit The Frog voice): It’s 5:00 somewhere!

Cleo: *laughing* thanks for this. I needed— I needed this moment of— of— whatever this was.

—

01:53:54

Joe: So my daughter said the most Wednesday Adams thing to me the other day—

Cleo: Oh no

Joe: Except she didn’t do the deadpan delivery. She was very upbeat about this. So apparently “UP” has, on Dinsey+ a series of shorts about the old man and the dog. Right? And they’re called something like “a Dougs Life” cause Doug is the name of the dog

Cleo: yeah.

Joe: and she goes “oh! And it’s short! Like a dogs lifespan!”

SILENCE

Cleo: …Your…kid is very much your kid, you know that right?

Joe (proud dad): I know right?!

—

01:58:20

Cleo: I mean…you’d kill it at the Met Galla. Not gonna lie.

Joe (excited): Oh my god— I wanna get one of those Manuel suits that has like all the rhinestones and the flowers on it? Um, but, you know, like, those are very expensive.

Cleo: We live with what we can afford. Maybe someone can make you a Diamond encrusted suit that you can wear on camera. And have all the sparkles as green.

Joe (very excited): Oh my gosh— actually— so—

02:20:45

Joe: Meanwhile in my Discord everyone’s posting what they describe as “eye searingly beautiful” lime green wedding dresses. For my next wedding. Um—

Cleo: *snicker* is that what you’re wearing for your next wedding?

Joe: you know, honestly at this point I don’t wanna make any assumptions about anything.

Cleo: *cackling*

—

02:31:07

(This is context for the next one)

Cleo (reading chat): “some people have too much time on their hands” I mean, I personally would not drive 8 hours to see— um…

Joe: …me?

Cleo: I dunno, I might drive 8 hours to see you.

Joe: I offered to drive 8 hours to see you when you were coming to Disney and you said no, so I’m gonna assume that you would not drive 8 hours to see me.

Cleo: I mean, I— li— the key word there was “might”. I wou— I would have to have my mini frea— well I was freaked out at that point. When you offered, and and I was just like “oh god no.” Because, you know, social anxiety is a thing.

Joe: Mhm. I’ve heard of that.

Cleo: Yeah. And I do not do well particularly meeting people for the first time, even people I’ve known for a while. I go very very quiet and umm…I think it’s worse actually with people that I’ve known for a while? Um, online, um…because— cause my brain goes “well you’re gonna make a s—your, your— your going to do something and say something stupid. You going— they’re gonna hate you in real life” um…so, yeah. My brain absolutely freaked out at that moment.

—

02:34:12

Cleo: But, you know, like I say, I get hate mail on the regular, it’s fine. I mean part of that is daring to be a woman on the Internet, but only part. The other part is the fact that I’m also an awful human being. So, you know.

SILENCE

Cleo: …the silence isn’t doing— the silence doesn’t do you— do me any favours Joe.

Joe: Well, you know, I didn’t wanna talk over you when you’re sharing your insecurities.

Cleo: yeah….

Joe: That seems rude.

Cleo: I mean—

Joe: So I wanted to make sure you were done.

Cleo: no no no no, that’s fine. I’m always done Joe.

Joe: And nOW I can actually tell you how I really feel.

Cleo: No, please don’t. Not onl— no. That will— that will make me even more uncomfortable.

Joe (upbeat singing): The praise train is on its way!! Choo choo!!

Cleo: Noooooooooooooooooo!! Nooo!!

Joe: For Cleo it’s her day!! Choo choo!!

Cleo: *noises of distress*

Joe: Cleo is really great!! Choo choo!! Choo choo!!

Cleo: *distressful crying*

Joe: She’s not merely ok!! She doesn’t have to be the best at talking to people for the first time!! Cause they’ll love her anyway!! And sometimes they’ll even rhyyyme!! Yay for Cleo!!

Cleo: *physically going through a full body cringe* noooo

Joe: See, it would have been rude if I did that in the middle of your thing.

Cleo: *sob laughing*

Joe: That would not have been socially acceptable.

Cleo (through tears): I’m not even sure it was socially acceptable now.

Joe: WHY NOT?!

Cleo: (sobbing and laughing simultaneously) I hate you so much.

—

02:38:05

Cleo (reading chat): “We all need a Joe in our life, who sings a theme song for us when we’re talking ourselves down” I’m not sure you do.

Joe: Yeah, that wasn’t really a theme song? Like, if I was gonna do a theme song for Cleo—

Cleo (with immense dread): Oh no…no…no…

—

02:43:07

Joe: I’d just like to point out (very obnoxiously high pitched voice) That this is Cleo’s average person voice, which means that 50% of people have an even higher pitched voice!

Cleo: …You know, I can’t actually stab Joe through the Internet. And I’ve always been upset about that.

—

02:53:36

Joe (with all the enthusiasm of a 16 year old girl gossiping at a slumber party): Ooo I wanna ask Cleo about giiiiiirls!!!

Cleo: Ask me about girls! I’m— I’m happy for you to ask me about girls.

Joe: Ok, so, do you— do you feel comfortable saying what your specific, uh, type of woman is? I’m— I’m curious about that.

Cleo: Um, it’s— it’s nerdy girls? Specifically. Umm…not too, um…you know, the kind of running, climbing, you know— sort of— person. You know, it’s— it’s the sort of— it’s the sort of— action girl kinda thing. I kinda like that type. That’s sort of my type.

Joe: Mhm. Yeah, like—

Cleo: Why, what’s your type of girl?

Joe: Well, uh, usually it’s somebody that is— very anti authority— un— un— dissatisfied with the status quo. So usually more punk, or that sort of thing.

Cleo: Yeah. That’s— that’s— that sort of plays into the action girl sort of thing as well. Yeah I get that. So yeah.

Joe: yeah, umm, you— yeah so I don’t know. Um— so not necessarily, uh, as focused on the athleticism element there, but I know like—

Cleo: Well it’s not really athleticism, it’s— it’s more— it’s more—

Joe: —in terms of like, um, hiking, cause like, uh, you know in college there’s like a climbing and camping club or whatever—

Cleo: Oh yeah, it’s not that sort of person. It’s— it’s more, um…getting out and having a go at things. Like, you know, not— not being afraid to—

Joe: Adventurous

Cleo: Yeah! Adventurous! That’s the word!

—

Cleo (whispering): I don’t know where this bit goes! *gasp* it goes over there!

Joe (whispering): You can do it!

Cleo: I can do it! I believe in me!

Joe: You’ll find a place to glue it! It doesn’t necessarily have to be the right place!

Cleo: I know!

Joe: You’re equally valid regardless!

Cleo: Thanks Joe!

Joe: You’re welcome!

Cleo: It’s appreciated!

[reidingmelodies]

His Greatest Mistake

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn! Reader Category: Angst with a dash of fluff Includes: Sad Spencer, brief mention of injury, implied emotional cheating Word Count: 1.4k (oops) A/N: This was requested by @ssa-m-187 based on the song Be My Mistake by The 1975!  Thank you so much for the request, this one was a challenge in the best way and I loved every second of writing it ♡

Masterlist | Ash’s 500 Bash

It was never supposed to be like this.  It was supposed to be him taking engagement photos with you, him sending save the dates with you, him sitting by your side and planning the wedding you had always imagined.

Instead, it was him clutching the picture he was so obviously absent from to his chest in the dim light of his apartment.

He knew something had happened the second he walked into the bullpen that morning.  The room was quiet, any and all previous conversation halting the moment he locked eyes with Penelope across the way.  

And he knew.  When her eyes shifted towards the floor and her breath stuttered in her throat he knew in his soul that it had to do with you.

But he never imagined this.

She dropped the picture into his hands with murmured words of comfort, leaving him with the promise that she would be in her office alongside a cup of coffee with his name on it if he needed to talk.

And as she walked away, he turned the picture over and felt his heart break into a thousand fragments with no hopes of ever being repaired.

The phrase ‘save the date!’ glared at Spencer from the top of the cardstock, but nothing compared to the feeling of ice in his veins at the sight of your smile.

It was a smile he hadn’t seen in person in 3 years, 4 months, and 12 days, but it still danced through the forefront of his brain each night he went to sleep and each morning he awoke next to his greatest mistake.

And as he sat in his apartment after a day of comforting glances laced with pity thrown at him from each direction he couldn’t help but relish on the what ifs.

What if he had loved you better?

What if he had fought harder?

What if he called you instead of her that night?

Loving you was the easiest and yet the most courageous thing he’d ever done.  With you, casual touches came quicker, tough conversations came easier, confessions of love flowed smoother.

Not like with her.

He had met you exactly 6 years, 5 months, and 18 days ago in the most cliche of ways- when he spilled his coffee on your shirt as you were reaching around him for your own drink.

Stuttered apologies somehow turned into telling stories over cups of freshly brewed coffee and before either of you knew it he was leaving the shop with your number in his phone and plans to see you again on Saturday at your favorite museum.

And then Saturday brought along the promise of more dates which turned into spending nights entangled under sheets and mornings filled with apartment hunting before finally signing the papers for a place of your own.

And for 3 years, 1 month, and 6 days it was bliss.

At least that’s what he liked to tell himself.

The bricks that had surrounded his heart were entirely non-existent when it came to you.  You held the key to the inner workings of his heart, and you would safeguard it with your life if you were asked.

And he held the key to yours too, but it turns out that only meant so much.

The majority of your relationship was simplicity in the sweetest form.  It was the feel of your favorite sweater, the smell of your favorite candle, the taste of your go to comfort beverage.

It was simple.  And yet, it was everything.

He longed for the moments a case would end and he could fall into your arms with the promise of drifting to sleep with the feel of your fingers mindlessly spelling ‘I love you’ along his back.  Time off of work was spent cuddled together on the couch, letting the sounds of whatever was playing on the television serve as the background noise for whatever silly debate the two of you had fallen into.

It was simple.  But somewhere along the way the simplicity gave way to complications.

2 years, 9 months, and 18 days into your relationship he found himself enthralled by a guest speaker at your favorite library.  You had to work late so you weren’t able to come, but at the moment he found himself grateful for that because it meant more time with her.

It meant more time to bounce theories off of her, more time to be absolutely captivated by her genius.

It also meant more time for them to trade phone numbers.

And later that night as he told you all about the speech and the amazing lecturer he had met you were ecstatic that the lecture turned out even better than he had hoped.

That ecstatic feeling probably would have dimmed if you knew about the phone number burning a hole in his pocket though.

As the weeks flew by he found himself calling her more and more.  It was never of a romantic nature, always related to one theory or another, but it was enough to draw his attention away from you.

And as the distance between you and him grew, and grew, and grew, one of you was sitting at home desperately thinking of ways to fix it while the other was making up excuses about misplaced paperwork keeping him at work while the low battery tone of his phone chimed away in his pocket.

And on the 1,132nd day the greatest love Spencer ever knew crumbled to the ground.

The case was bad.  So bad, in fact, that he found himself in a hospital bed for a few days after a close call with an unsub.

But as much as everyone told him to call you, you weren’t the one he longed to talk to.

As visiting hours ended and the team left his bedside to get some well-needed rest, he found himself glued to his phone talking to her.  

And while her voice was what he so desperately wanted to hear, he couldn’t help the pang in his gut every time he ignored one of your calls as yours was the voice he so desperately needed to hear.

On the plane ride home, he thought of all the ways he could explain the delayed homecoming to you, all the ways he could hide the wounds gracing his chest from you for the next few weeks.

But, he should’ve known someone would have told you.

He came home to your suitcases packed while you sat in the sea of luggage against the sofa you had picked out together in the blissful beginning of your relationship.

Oh, how he longed to be back there now.

He wanted you to scream, to storm out, to do anything that would lessen the guilt that maliciously tore at his soul.

But instead, you were calm, albeit heartbroken.  You explained you had a feeling something was going on, but the fact that he had gotten hurt and didn’t even tell you proved it.  You told him it was okay, that you wished him all the best, and then you left.  With a tear running down your face but your posture holding all the grace in the world.

And somehow, your calm nature in the midst of his internal storm made it even worse.

He needed to do something, anything, to get out of the apartment that was a living, breathing museum dedicated to your love.  

He should’ve chased after you.  But instead, he went to her.

And with that decision, his future was set in stone.

No matter how riveting his conversations were with her, they didn’t hold a candle to the debates he had with you.  With you, cuddles before bed were an honored tradition; with her, it was custom to stare at the wall and keep his hands to himself until he fell asleep to the thought of your smile.  

He saw you in everything.  In the bouquet she placed on the table (they were your favorite flowers), in the body wash she used (it was your least favorite scent- and because of that it was his least favorite, too), in the book she kept next to her bed (it was the book he used to read to you on nights you couldn’t sleep).

You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

And now, as she called him to bed and he stuffed your photo in between the pages of the first book he could reach he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had made a terrible mistake.

A mistake that he was destined to fall asleep next to that night, wishing that instead of her, it was you.  

***

Link to join my taglist ♡

Permanent Taglist: @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @shadyladyperfection @homoose Spencer Taglist:  @averyhotchner @muffin-cup

[moonchildstyles]

are you still going to do that vampire blurb where he goes too far when drinking he blood? Please🥺

the first vampire blurb im so excited I hope everyone likes it!!🥺🥺🥺🥺

wordcount: 5k+

extra for this piece

I miss you terribly, my love. I can't wait for you to come home to me.

(Y/N) hasn't been home for over three weeks at this point and Harry thinks he's going to go crazy. She was only supposed to visit her family for a week, then that week turned into two, and then her sister begged her to stay another week to help plan her wedding. Harry loved how kind his petal was, but at times like these he almost wishes she was as selfish as he and had returned weeks ago. He doesn't know how he was able to handle centuries without her, since these past twenty-five days, four hours, and thirty-two minutes have been an absolute nightmare.

He had even tried to invite himself on the visit, but (Y/N) insisted that she wanted him to meet her family in another way, not shoved into their home for seven days where they would have to explain away too many of his mannerisms. He wishes he hadn't listened, and instead tagged along; he would have if he had known he wouldn't see her for almost a month.

Bonding had caused a shift between them, as it does with all couples who allow the relationship to form. Although Harry no longer felt his heat blazing through him every time she walked into a room, there was now as if there was a string attached to his unbeating heart and if his (Y/N) was ever too far for too long, it felt like his chest was at risk of being ripped open so his heart could return to its rightful home with her. Now to add on the crossing of country lines and the way the days seemed to tick by like they were years, Harry was certain he was on the edge of his second death. Not to mention he was verging on four weeks without a proper feeding.

He was starting to get desperate. The simple texts and fleeting FaceTime and phone calls weren't enough to sate the hunger he had for her presence.

Petal

I know:( I miss you too so much!! But my flight is tomorrow morning and I should land before 5 so this time tomorrow we'll be together again!! I love you so much!

I'm about to go to the cake tasting with my sister so ill talk to you a little later H!! Try to sleep itll make the time go by so much faster i promise!!

Harry only sent back a small message saying I love you too before locking his phone, knowing there was no point in waiting for the three small bubbles to pop up before a response. As he laid in their shared bed that didn't smell enough like her anymore, he felt a lingering hunger pain echo through his stomach. He knew he probably didn't look too healthy, and he was embarrassed that this would be the version of himself (Y/N) would first see when she came home, but he couldn't do much about his sunken in eyes and ghastly skin, not when he couldn't feed from anyone but her.

(Y/N) had left a sweater for him, one of her most worn and loved (a pretty periwinkle thing he had bought her a couple of months ago, the sleeves decorated with small white bows going down the seams), for him to hold at night, or when he missed her (so it was always within arm's reach). He decided to take her advice and try to sleep for the night, as it would be good for his failing strength as well, so he cuddled the sweater to his face, the collar between his cheek and the pillow with the middle clutched in his hands.

Harry fell asleep while counting down the minutes until the return of his love.

—————

"Harry, wake up. I'm home."

Harry swears that he was dreaming; he hasn't had a dream in centuries, but he knows that the soft fluttering voice echoing through his head was something that could only be made up by the softest and sweetest parts of his mind. He only clenched his eyes shut tighter, hoping to hold onto whatever had blessed him with their presence in his dream world.

"Harry, c'mon, I've missed you. Please, wake up."

The voice was now accompanied by a shake to his shoulder. He dared cracking his eyes open just the smallest bit. Instead of seeing the fluffed up white linens of his bed, he saw the fabric of (Y/N)'s periwinkle sweater edging his vision only to act as a frame around the one thing he knew he wasn't creative enough to conjure from his own thoughts.

The softly smiling face of his bonded soulmate dominated his sight. Everything about her seemed to be different from the last time he saw her; as if he was seeing her for the first time all over again (in a much more pleasant meeting, of course). She was still in the clothes he was sure she had worn to the airport (she wouldn't allow him to lend her his private plane, saying it was his and she would only use it if he was on the flight as well), her shoes kicked off and her hair messy on the top of her head as she was laid up next to him with her chin propped up in her hand.

"Petal," he sighed, abandoning his previous position in favor of wrapping himself as she fell back with a laugh. The mattress bounced beneath them as Harry maneuvered himself to lay atop her with his body fit between her soft thighs.

"Hi," she bubbled, her own arms wrapping around his neck. Her hands laid flat against his shoulder blades with her fingers splayed across the expanse. Harry felt his skin heat at each point she touched, having forgone a shirt last night as he slept alone.

"What are y'doing home already?" His words were muffled as he spoke into the skin of her neck. His lips brushed against her thrumming pulse point as her comforting heartbeat soundtracked their reunion.

"I told you I would be home tonight, what do you mean?" her voice was sweet as she spoke, her blazing fingertips now tracing small shapes along the contours of his back. He swears he could feel the rounded shapes of hearts along his skin.

"'S already that late?" Had he really slept for just short of a full day?

"Yeah," she laughed, her hands going still against his skin before she drew back from him. He pulled back from his home in the crook of her neck, wanting to get a look at her face again, scared she would be gone before he got the chance to memorize every detail again. "When did you go to sleep?"

"Yesterday," he answered simply, no longer caring for the topic of conversation when she was right there for him to kiss instead of worrying about what time it was.

"Oh, are y—"

(Y/N)'s words were cut off as Harry pressed his lips against her's, immediately slotting them together and falling into the routine he had so missed in her absence. A warmth spread through him starting at their joined mouths and to all the places that had gone cold without her, including his unbeating heart which he swears came alive the moment he saw her. Her lips were especially soft against his own chapped ones, the only cure being her. Her fingers were tangled in the messy curls on the back of his head, twirling them around her fingertips and holding him securely against her—as if she was scared he would be the one to pull away. (Y/N) hooked a leg around his hip, pulling Harry closer to her. He melted into the contact itching to wrap his arms around her but not wanting to put his full weight on her, although he felt light enough to float away in that moment.

She allowed him to take what he needed from her, licking into her mouth and never letting his lips stray from her's for long before diving back in and refamiliarizing himself with what he felt he was deprived. Eventually—too soon in Harry's mind—she tugged on his curls and lent a hand against his chest, pushing him back from her lips. He reluctantly followed, pulling back only far enough to see her eyes and allow her to speak while the tip of his nose nudged against her's.

"H-Harry," she panted, her lips glossy and swollen, "You need to bite. You look sick and I know it's been way too long."

"I know," he breathed, barely listening to her words, only saying whatever he thought she wanted to hear so he could get back to kissing her. He didn't care if he needed to eat, all he wanted was to feel her kiss and remember just how wonderful the taste of vanilla chapstick and everything her was.

"H, listen to me," she said, her soft voice firm as she placed both hands on the sides of his jaw to steady to gaze on her. "You need to eat. You look like you're going to die. But I'm home now, I can help."

Harry's had to close his eyes before they rolled into the back of his head at the idea of getting to bite from her again after so long. He craved to be close to her in that sense again; craved to have a part of her running through his veins again. Not to mention the way he couldn't get the taste of her out of his head. Aside from the thought of getting to feel her soft body in his arms and feel the warmth of her lips against his own again, the taste of her honeyed blood was number one on his mind.

Now, here she was, right underneath him with her comforting pulse thumping under her skin. She was there just for him; for him to take what he needed.

Harry didn't say anything before he gently flipped them over, leaving her to sit in his lap with him laid against the creamy colored pillows and the carved, golden headboard of their bed. She preferred this position when he bit her, Harry found. She liked allowing him to move her as he needed and feeling him wrapped all around her was comforting. Harry thought it was ironic she found comfort in the same creature that was drinking her blood, but he never complained, happy to pull her body close to his in any situation.

She fell into the routine, her muscles deflating and relaxing as she allowed Harry to grip the back of her neck and keep his other arm anchored around her middle. He loved when she wore her hair up like this, twirling strands falling around the base of her neck wisping around his face as he tucked his mouth against her throat. As always, he planted small kisses around the area, giving her a moment to get used to the feeling of him being there and allowed her a chance to back out if she wasn't ready or didn't feel up to it in that moment. He would never take anything she didn't give to him first. She only further softened in his hold, her head leaning against her opposite shoulder with her pretty neck bared just for him.

"Ready, m'love?" Harry murmured against her skin, the tip of his tongue dipping out and licking along the patch he typically drank from.

"Mhm," she squeaked, her hand curling around the bicep that held her against him, while the other twisted in the sheet beside her. She braced herself like this each time in an attempt to cling to the reality she knew she would lose as soon as he sunk his teeth into her.

"Always s'brave and willing for me," he prattled for a moment, knowing she loved his praise for her, especially in moments like these. He's convinced her blood tastes sweeter after he's whispered his affection for her.

His fangs extended from his gums, the tips piercing into her fragile skin. He absently heard her gasp at the initial stinging pain, her hand wrapped in the bedding flexing and twisting around the fabric. The moment her blood touched his tongue, Harry wasn't able to comprehend anything else. He was sure she started to feel good, only because she relaxed in his hold again, small moans sounding through his muddled mind. Each note and fragrance of his lover's blood ran through his head, nothing to be missed or wasted as he took gulp after gulp from her soft neck. He didn't know if it was because it had been so long, but he swears she had never tasted better; as if the cherries and strawberries he had picked out for her were injected into her veins and left a saccharine coating only for him to taste.

With each pump of her heart, Harry took another wave of her blood down as his muscles tightened and his hold around her intensified. He absently raised his knees behind her, his entire body now cocooning her to him. He couldn't hear anything over the sound of her heartbeat gonging through his head, the sound being the only thing keeping him in the moment. He vaguely felt her grip on his arm begin to loosen, her warmth beginning to pale in comparison to the euphoria he was feeling as he swallowed all she could give. It was as if he was feeding for the first time all over again; the taste of her blood making him insatiable.

His muscles felt alive again, now stronger as he held her with his fingers digging into waist and holding her to him with no easy escape out. He felt like himself again, only his mind was still lost in the warm blood filling his system. By the time he was even aware (Y/N)'s heartbeat had weakened to a frighteningly slow pace, she had already slumped motionless in his arms. Her neck went slack in his hold as her eyes fluttered shut, a soft call of his name dying on her lip as she lost consciousness. Blood slowly seeped from the punctures on her neck as Harry unlatched from the soft skin in horror of what he had done.

She laid limp in his arms, her face peaceful as if she had just fallen asleep while cuddling in bed and not because he had taken far too much of her blood in a selfish rush to sate his hunger. The only reassuring factor was the too-soft thumping of her heartbeat he could hear; the only thing letting him know he hadn't done the unthinkable.

"(Y/N)?" he whimpered, "Petal?"

No response.

"C'mon, m'love. Wake up, yeah?" he pleaded, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly against him, as if he could give her back the blood he had taken if he held her close enough. "'M sorry, darling, jus' please wake up."

This moment felt reminiscent of possibly the worst moment in Harry's long life, after fighting off the Blood Children only to find his human on the edge of death. She held the same stillness, her skin lacking the comforting warmth he'd grown accustom to, and her daydream inducing gaze shuttered behind her eyelids. It was as if he was back in the parlor with her laid out on he ottoman as he begged and pleaded for her to come back to him; pleaded for a second chance with her.

But this was worse. So much worse.

He did this to her, not some horrifying creature with no conscious and only selfishness driving its actions. No, this was Harry, the man she had bonded with and trusted with her life. She trusted him enough to give him everything in her to keep him alive. She gave up a life to be with him; a life filled with loved ones, and growing old, and a peaceful end surrounded by the people who mean the most to her. She gave that all up for the one man that seemed to usher that end in.

Harry did all he knew to do, licking the wound and hoping and pleading with anyone that could hear him and would pity him and bring her back from the brink. He held her tightly against him, his bare chest against her's, in an attempt to also feel her heart pumping as well as hearing the slow ticks. His eyes welled up with tears, the same tears he hadn't shed since the day he had found her crumpled and broken in his garden, as he pressed warming kisses to her neck, rushing apologies against the skin.

"'M sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry. Please, please, please come back to me, m'love. Please pity me." His words were sobs against her skin, his breathing uneven and broken as he tried to think of anything he could do to bring her back to him.

Through his blurred and jumbled thoughts, he tried to think back to what she would do after the feedings to recover. If she didn't sleep almost immediately after, she would eat some of the fruit he forced her to get and drink water (or as much as she could before Harry tugged her back into his arms as his own form of aftercare for his recovery). He didn't know what else to do in his panic, and he couldn't quite take her to the hospital and explain to everyone that he had drank too much blood from the love of his life, so he bundled her safely in his arms and rushed to the nearest kitchen in that wing of the house.

Harry felt guilty as his warm tears slid down his cheeks when he had settled in a seat at the island; guilty that he was able to feel the cool water bottle in his hand due to the artificial warmth he stole from his human. His brows were furrowed as he held her in his lap, scrubbing the tears from his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. One hand held the back of her head and the other, wet with his tears, grabbed the cold bottle of water from the marble countertop—the same one he had found her pinned against the night he saved her from Magnus, and where he had helped nurse her back to health after a night too much like this one. He nudged her mouth open as best he could, separating her lips with a pull of his thumb. He swallowed thickly as he tipped the bottle towards her mouth, allowing a small trickle to fall down her throat. She instinctively swallowed, Harry watching closely as her throat contracted with each small mouthful he fed her.

He tipped the bottle away from her as she began to stop accepting the water, her face staying relaxed as she turned her head to the side. It was slow and delicate, the way she moved, making a fresh wave of tears overflow Harry's waterline. He was the reason she was so weak and fragile.

He never thought he would need to protect her from himself.

He maneuvered her in his lap, fixing her to straddle him as he kept an arm tight around her waist and another on the back of her head to guide it to rest in his own neck. He continued to coo to her, hoping something would translate through and bring her back to him, even if it was just for her to yell and curse and fight him. He just wanted to know she had a chance.

He sounded like a broken record with his apologies and his pleads for her pretty eyes to open. Each pass only roughed the sea of tears that fell from his eyes and melted into the strands of hair bundled on the top of her head. The loose yellow t-shirt she wore shown splotches of the same liquid right beside the red stains on the collar of her own blood that Harry had spilled.

He doesn't even know how much time passed as he sat in the kitchen with her delicate body balanced on his lap, his words falling on deaf ears. He made a few more attempts to try and introduce more water in her system, but, at most, a single mouthful would be swallowed down before she was reflexively turning away and rejecting his efforts. The sun had gone down long ago, leaving the room in darkness with the only light coming from the pale moonlight from the windows. Not once did Harry ever retire his efforts.

He continually listened in on her heartbeat, the sound growing minutely stronger with each hour that passed. He spoke to her, telling her everything he would do to make it up to her if she let him. He sang to her, thinking of all of the modern songs she had played around him, hoping that although he had tripped up over the words plenty of times, that it could spur her into waking up. It wasn't until he had finished singing one of he favorite love songs he had heard her humming around the house, did he hear the smallest little moan leave her lips.

"(Y/N)? Petal?" Harry rushed, his voice frantic and wavering. Instead of responding, her arms that had been cuddled between them, untangled and laid flat against his chest. Her palms heated his skin as her nails made small indents against the muscles as she flexed her fingers.

"Harry?" she whispered after a few painfully long moments, her face still tucked into his neck. He felt her lips brush against his skin, his own fingers tangling in her hair as he hugged her tight in relief.

"Oh, m'petal," he sighed, planting kisses to the top of her head, "I love you, I love you, I love you. 'M so sorry, (Y/N), darling, so sorry."

She slowly inched her arms around his neck, lethargic in her movements and words. He felt the wet of her own tears on his neck, smearing on his skin like the blood from the bite had streaked across the arch of her own. "H-Harry," she whimpered, "You-you—"

He felt his heart break at the way her own sobs cut her off, what he was sure to be an accusation fall from her lips now turning into tear-soaked heaving breaths.

"I know, I know."

He only held her as her back shook under his hands, his cheek laid atop her head with the flyaway strands he had just been fawning over now tickling his face each time a sob wracked through her. Her arms were tight around his neck, holding herself closely to his chest in a worrying attempt at seeking comfort from the one person that had put her in such a position. Harry doesn't know how long he sat there trying his best to silently comfort her and help her let out each of her overwhelming emotions.

"W-why didn't you," a stuttered breath inturrupted her already shaky words, "why didn't you stop?"

That string that Harry swore tethered his heart to her seemed to be on the verge of severing, leaving only a thread in place of the cord. He couldn't feel her in that moment, all he felt was the guilt of being the reason her fragile body had been on the edge of breaking.

"I-I..." I wasn't myself, I wasn't in my right head, you have to believe me (Y/N). I don't know what happened, you just tasted so good and I was so hungry, I couldn't stop. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor—

Harry couldn't find he words to describe the headspace that taken all semblance of rationale from him. He couldn't find any explanation that would make the fact that he had almost killed her in a blind, selfish state of hunger okay; he couldn't find anything that would make it make sense. And nothing ever would make it okay.

He could never make this okay.

"Th-that was not—I don't—... 'M sorry, 'm so sorry, m'darling."

Harry's own tears resurfaced, dripping down his cheeks as he held her. (Y/N) slowly—almost hesitantly—removed her head from the home he made for her in his shoulder. She lent back, Harry shifting his hands to span across her back and steadying her still wobbly motions.

Her eyes were puffy and her skin was lacking the usual warmth and healthy glow it held. She looked frail and each of her movements flowed as if she didn't trust herself. She looked broken.

"What happened, Harry?"

"Nothing I can say will make it better, (Y/N), I am so sorry—"

"Just tell me what you were thinking. I want to know."

Harry broke under her whispered insistence. If telling her all of his jumbled thoughts was something she wanted, then she would have it. She would have anything that could possibly keep her from breaking their bond.

"I-I do not know what happened," he swallowed the lump in his throat, the bubble of grief only bobbing, "I couldn't think. All I could feel was how hungry I was and how good y'tasted and I lost everything in me. I did not even realize until it was too late, you were already-already—...'M so sorry."

His voice was reduced to a fragile whisper by the time he had finished, ready to be shattered at any indication of rejection from her. He couldn't even meet her eyes as he felt her gaze trace over his features. Harry counted thirty-seven of her heartbeats before he felt her hand gently cradle the side of his jaw. His eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the contact, taking any comfort she was willing to give although he knew he didn't deserve any of it. He stayed still as her thumb brushed along the skin of his cheekbone and swept over his fluttering eyelid. She spread warmth with each of her movements.

"Will you look at me, please?" her voice was quiet and more steady than he had heard it since she opened her eyes.

He did as she asked, immediately lifting his gaze to meet her own softened one. He laid his own hand atop her's, his fingers curling around her palm as he pressed a kiss to the skin of her wrist. A tender smile settled across her lips at his actions, the same smile he had daydreamed of while she was away.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her words quiet as if it were a secret between the two.

She was asking him if he was okay? As if she hadn't been the one that was on the verge of death all thanks to their beloved's doing. How could he have gotten so lucky to become bonded to a woman like her?

"I am only okay if y'are."

She breathed a small laugh, the giggle not quite coming from her chest nor reaching her eyes. She lent forward after a beat, pressing a kiss to his cheek that Harry swears could have brought tears to his eyes if they weren't already there.

"I'm okay," she started, her other arm draped around his neck with her nails tracing faint shapes across his shoulder blade as his muscles relaxed. His free hand stayed lax as it ran up and down the length of her thigh as her legs were still split to straddle him between. "But, we're never going that long without you biting, ever again. And you can't ever lose yourself like that again. This was.. It was really scary, H, and-and I can't go through that again, especially from you."

Harry watched with his heart breaking as tears glossed over her eyes as she set her conditions.

His own hands shifted to cradle her face between his palms, his fingers brushing back the baby hairs clinging to her to her cheeks and temples. "Never again, petal, never again. 'M so sorry."

"I know," she cooed, tipping her chin and pressing her lips against his.

Harry threw himself into the contact, wanting to reassure her that he could keep his control. The slip was something he would never allow to happen ever again, as her safety and health will never fall from his focus no matter what state he finds himself in when he finally gets to bite into her neck. He needed to prove it to her.

His lips moved gently against her's, the faint remaining taste of her vanilla chapstick enough to mend the cracks in his unbeating heart. Harry decided that if he could only taste her like this for the rest of his existence, that he would happily starve as long as he could have moments like these.

(Y/N) was the first to pull away, having a harder time of keeping her breathing even than usual. Harry only moved his kisses from the corner of her mouth and trailed down her neck, ending over the bruising skin of the bite that had tainted their reunion. He gently soothed the spot with petite licks of his tongue glazing over the skin and cleaning splotches of blood he had missed. He puckered his lips, sponging apology kisses to the quickly purpling skin. She hissed at the sting as he kissed the center of the bite, Harry quick to rush whispered apologies into her ear.

He would do anything to take those pinpoints of pain and put them on himself.

"I love you," he crooned to her, pressed to kiss to the side of her face before her ear. He rested his forehead against her temple, his eyes falling shut. He matched his breathing to her's, wanting to feel close to her.

"I love you, too, Harry. Always."

Harry counted each of her heartbeats as they sat in silence together—his favorite sound in the world next to her laugh. Her fingers continued to massage against his scalp, the motion soothing his fogged mind.

"Can you do something for me?"

Harry didn't hesitate before he nodded his head in response. "Anything."

"Can you make me a grilled cheese, please?"

—————

Hours later, Harry was laid in bed next to his petal, her eyes softly blinking up at him as he traced her sleepy features with the tip of his finger. Once his digit reached the full of her mouth, she puckered her lips and pressed a kiss to his skin with her eyes rounding out as the moon shone against her pupil.

"Harry, it's okay, really. I feel so much better now that I've eaten and had something to drink," (Y/N) insisted, grabbing a hold of his hand and lacing their fingers together and forcing his full gaze to meet her's.

"Jus' don't like seeing y'hurt because of me."

When she had changed out of her clothes and into something clean and not reeking of his misdoings, Harry had been the first to notice the finger shaped cluster of blackened bruises marring the skin of her hip. They matched the horrific one splotched across her neck he wasn't able to drift his eyes from for too long in fear of it worsening. Sure, he liked seeing her wear his mark after a long night (or morning, or afternoon, or evening, orday) with him, but these marks weren't anything he ever wanted to inflict on her. Not like this.

"Its okay, because it's never going to happen again. I trust you, H, and I know you would never want to hurt me," she reassured him, shuffling herself closer to him over their linen white sheets. Harry was quick to drape his arm over her waist, wary of the bruises only inches from his hold.

"Never again, petal," he reiterated, pressing a kiss to her forehead and tucking her form against his chest. "Love you too much."

He felt her yawn against his still bare chest, her hands laying flat against his muscles as he felt her body further relax under his arm. He could only imagine the look she had on her face with her eyes straining to stay open in an attempt to stay awake with him. (She had told him more than once that she felt bad for leaving him for hours on end while she slept, but he always shushed her and said that he would take those hours of cuddling over her being a zombie the next day running on no sleep just to listen to his silly stories).

"Go to sleep, m'love. I'll be here when you wake."

"Love you," she sighed against his skin, a small kiss pressed to the dip of his collarbones.

Only a moment later, her heartbeat slowed to a relaxed pace and her breathing evened out. The string he had swore was wrapped around his heart, strengthened as he laid beside her.

—————

thank u so much to whoever requested this and to everyone for reading!! I hope this is good enough for the first vampire blurb!! if you have any requests or ideas of ur own please send them here!!

[gryffindordaughterofathena]

Hello, hello! This week, we are going on a little:

Home Tour!

Notes: Answer the following with pictures (dialogue from your characters is optional!). Collages are highly encouraged if you want to answer a question with multiple pictures because tumblr mobile only allows 10 total pics. Otherwise, tumblr on a desktop lets you add multiple pictures (non-beta)!

For both:

What does the outside of the home look like? (Front/back yard, garden, pool, etc)

Living room and home office (if any)?

Kitchen and dining room?

Bedrooms? (Master, guest, others)

Other rooms?

Do you own your dream home? If not, what does that dream home look like?

What is your favorite room to spend time in with each other?

So, I am like a million years late to this, but here we are.

Read previous interviews here

HOME TOUR

This is set, 5 years after their wedding, their daughter Tiya is about to turn 4. So they aren't exactly newlyweds.

Diana : Eeee! I am so excited for this.

Ethan : You are excited for every single interview Rookie.

Diana : But this time it's a home tour, and it has been delayed for months for our busy schedule E, of course I am excited, you should be too.

What does the outside of your home look like?

Diana : Let's take you to our backyard before we enter our home then.

Ethan : We have a sitting area in our backyard where we can keep an eye on our daughter as she plays with Jenner and Nala.

Diana : And invite our friends over when the weather is favourable, it's a nice spot for spending time together with our friends.

Ethan : We are also sprucing up the garden whenever we have free time.

Diana : I am not much of a gardening expert, I can only tell when things look pretty. The roses were actually Harper's idea.

Living Room and Office

Diana : As you can see, I wanted a white aesthetic for our living room. It feels more cozy.

Ethan : And the office is supposed to be for both of us, but Diana prefers the library or the sitting area in the backyard for working.

Diana : I already sit in an office for 80 hours a week. I'd much rather use the other areas of my home for working when it's possible.

Kitchen and Dining Room.

Diana : It's mostly Ethan's kitchen as I rarely cook, I just admire my hot husband from the counter, while he cooks.

Ethan : The Dining is adjacent to the kitchen.

Bedrooms?

(A little girl comes running from one of the rooms.)

Diana : Bree, meet our daughter Tiya. Tiya say hi to the nice lady.

Tiya : Hi! Are you here to see our home?

Bree : Yes, will you show me your room?

(The little girl looks up at her father)

Ethan : Parrot do you want to take us to your room?

Tiya : Yes

(Tiya leads them to her room)

Tiya : This is my room.

Diana : She helped me to clean it up for you.

Bree : It's really pretty Tiya.

Tiya : Do you want to visit the story room now?

Diana : She means the library, she insisted on keeping her books there too, so it's story room to her.

Other Rooms?

Diana : Welcome to my favorite place in the entire house, the library or better known as the story room.

Ethan : Diana spends most of her free time here. I have often found her nestled in the couch with a blanket and her books on her days off.

Diana : This is my safe haven, ever since I was a kid, I wanted my own library with a step ladder and now that I have fulfilled that dream, I never want to leave this place.

Ethan : I must admit, the library is a really beautiful part of our home.

Diana : You should see it when it rains, the glass windows leave such a beautiful effect here.

Do you own your dream home?

Ethan : We do.

Diana : This is the exact home I had imagined my future in when I had first dared to think of a future about us. A place which reflects both of us.

Ethan : (tangling his fingers with Di's) years ago, I had told Diana that I want to want a life where I can have a quiet life with the person I can call family.

Diana : But you said that you'll always have a certain restlessness.

Ethan : I don't think I see that restlessness in myself anymore. All thanks to my wife.

Diana : (smiles and kisses his cheek)

What is your favorite room to spend time with each other?

Diana : You mean apart from our bedroom?

Ethan : Rookie...

Diana : What? You didn't think I'll make this joke? But jokes apart, It's the swing in the porch, it's so pretty and perfect for impromptu date nights

Ethan : With our busy schedules and as parents having extravagant date nights is not always possible, but that doesn't mean I'll not take my wife on dates. So most nights this has to do.

Diana : You know me Ethan, I enjoy these dates more than those "extravagant" ones, these are beautiful and peaceful, just what we need after wrangling interns at the hospital.

Ethan : (laughs) You are becoming like me.

Diana : Effect of spending too much time with you, I don't regret it though.

Ethan : (kisses her softly)

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Tags : @genevievemd @jamespotterthefirst @drariellevalentine @rookie-ramsey @aleynareads @miss-smrxtiee @terrm9 @aestheticartsx @fireycookie @maurine07 @starrystarrytrouble @schnitzelbutterfingers @tsrookie @anntoldstories @iemcpbchoices @stygianflood @sophxwithers @actuallybored @iloveethanramsey @natureblooms24 @chemist-ana @mercury84choices @casey-v @uneravine @mm2305 @mrsethanfreakingramsey @smilex1104 @missmiimiie @shanzay44 @sweetheartdetectivex @potionsprefect @headoverheelsforramsey @jerzwriter @mainstreetreader @coffeeheartaddict @adiehardfan @mia143 @kdjdhdvksojs @theblueestonedpendant @openheartfanfics

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[virgil-is-a-cutie]

All The Good Girls Go To Hell

This is based on the ask I got of Snow being the bad guy and which turned to Snow White Going Evil AU. Also the title is from Billie Ellish's song. Also thanks to @thegayestasexual for helping me with the title. Also genna base Mira's looks on the comics but add the parts from the show as well. As well as change a few things.

Warnings: none so far really just slight mention of alcohol use

Diana was excited for her story to start right away. Her class had graduated a few months ago and she was eagerly waiting for her fairytale to start.

Mira hadn't even enacted anything on her which was strange really.

She must be planning something spectacular!

She was pacing the walls of Good Castle when she curiously looked out a window and furrows her eyebrows.

A black horse, which oddly had a skull crown decorating it, with knights guarding it, which was somewhat odd since the only person in the land of Ever After who had a black horse with skulls delicately placed on it was...

Oh.

Mira Queen.

Diana frowns, 'why would Mira be here?' she thought before she lit up at the realization.

Every past telling of the Snow White story had the Evil Queen of the story marry into the White family. However, that really couldn't be the explanation

She rushed her way downstairs and skidded as she heard the giggles of Mira Queen who was smiling at something Snow's father, Good King (Edward King), had said.

The giggling caught her off guard, but she shook it off.

"Hey dad," Diana said with a bright smile before furrowing her brows as her father looked at her nervously before smiling big again.

"Diana dear! The person I was looking for," he said with a kind smile.

"What for?" she asked curiously as she glanced at Mira who was wearing a lovely dress that had more bright color in it really.

"I have some news to tell you my dear," he said softly as he glanced at Mira before looking at his daughter, "Mira and I are courting," he says.

Diana blinked and took a step back at the news. Sure her mother died when she was just a few days old and sure it had to do with her birth combined with how her Evil Queen made the poisoned apple a bit too strong.

Or so they say.

That and because they had to start the tale early because Diana's mother had gotten pregnant at 15 years old with her Good King and didn't want word of what Alice White had done.

Of her being pregnant, so Grimm had told her parents and the Evil Queen of their tale to start the tale early. So as to not have a scandal.

No one suspected anything really.

Mira's mother, Miranna Queen (who was in a way Diana's step grandmother), had been 21 years old because Mira's grandmother had Miraralla first while Alice's mother had Alice 6 years after the birth of Miranna Queen.

So all this time her father spent his time raising her with her maternal grandmother, who was resurrected for the specific purpose to raise Diana, by his side. Never getting in a relationship with anyone, since he was raising the next Snow White.

So to hear that her father, who is 34 years old, is dating Mira is a shock.

Especially since Mira is the same age as Diana.

Even though past tellings had Queens marry that age as well.

Or a bit older.

She smiles weakly, which went unnoticed by Mira and Good King who were holding hands.

She was weary now.

She... didn't think this would happen at all really.

___

"They make such a lovely couple," Diana jumps as she turned to look at Red Ridding Hood, Crimson Hood, and The Big Bad Wolf, Remus Badwolf.

Mira's bffas of course, whom came to the party dinner Good King had hosted.

How odd she had friends who were supposed to be enemies.

Diana smiled weakly and glanced at Diana who was with Edward, the couple were happily talking with Fiona Thorn, better known as Maleficent, and Valarie Goodfairy.

Mira wore purple fish tail skirt that had black stitching that helped make it seem as if animal bones were decorating the skirt, a black queen Anne top with black platform heels. Her hair was done in a fishtail braid, her small crown with the bone of a raven sitting on top delicately on her head.

The sight of beauty.

Diana pushed down the burst of jealousy she had for Mira.

It was ok, she was Snow White, the most fairest, of course Mira would be the fairest 1st. That's how the story goes.

She looked away after a minute to look back at Crimson and Remus and smiled wearily, "indeed."

Crimson bit back a smile, she and Remus knew from Mira that she felt as if Diana was uncomfortable with the relationship of her enemy with her daddy dearest. However, to Crimson and Remus it was clear Mira truly did love Good King. The man had wooed her well and he didn't care at all about her being his daughter's enemy.

The two have been dating for over 5 months, well 7 if you count the 2 months when they kept their relationship a secret, and they looked to be going strong.

"Nothing wrong with it," Diana said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes as she looked back to see Good King place a kiss on Mira's cheek.

Diana wished Willow was there, but her tale was already in progress and well... she wasn't really allowed to dinner parties or anything really.

She did see the ugly stepsisters and their evil mother. So there was that. However, they left after a while once it was 9 PM, she just hoped Willow was ok.

The poor girl never had a chance to leave the home she was now trapped in.

Emerald Lockes was here though, but the woman was so annoying with how she silently criticized the palace each time she came for a visit.

Diana bit back a groan before putting on a dazzling smile and walked up to Emerald.

At least she could talk with her.

Albeit probably not that of interesting things.

___

A year in a half (or almost 2 years and a month really) to Mira and Good King's relationship and Diana was getting impatient.

When the heck will their tale begin?!

She was thinking this during a ball that her father had thrown for Mira's 21st birthday and everyone was invited.

Diana wore a sweetheart gown

With her hair in a curls, but she felt a bite of anger seeing what Mira was wearing.

(Mira wore this)

With her mint blonde hair in waves with a small braided part in it.

It was a simple but elegant look that she had somehow been able to pull off with the many animal bone jewelry she wore.

She smiled sweetly to guests and danced with random Charming princes before pausing in confusion as the music stopped.

A spotlight flashed onto her father, who was smiling at Mira who had her hands on the pockets of her dress, whom held a microphone.

The next few things her father said caused her to stand there frozen as the whole room cheered and clapped.

Her father proposed to Mira.

Mira was marrying her father, the Good King, Diana's daddy dearest.

She felt her stomach clench before breathing deeply.

A few hours after the ball ended she paced her room and took deep breaths.

"It's no problem! Plenty of Queens have married a Good King to progress or create a story before poisoning their Snow White," she whispers to herself as she chugged on the bottle of wine that she had sneaked out of the wine cellar.

Her lips were a light blue, the bottle half empty, it was full when she entered the room.

"Yeah...no need to worry! Plenty of them even divorced their Good King," she giggles nervously.

Not remembering that it was a rare few of Queen who did end up divorcing their Good King, but that was years and years after their tale was done.

"Our tale is meant to start," Diana hisses before taking another drink as she remembered how her father called Mira beautiful.

"He's speaking out of love of course," she mumbled to herself.

____

Diana stat there frozen as Mira walked down the isle.

A week had passed after Mira's 21st birthday and the wedding was happening.

Everyone who was important was invited, even the common folk.

Much to the surprise of no one, Mira opted to wear a black wedding gown.

Her blonde mint hair now dyed black was in curls and she held the black roses close to her as she reached Edward. Remus having walked her down the isle.

It very much suited her.

The rest of the wedding was a blur, all Diana remembered was feeling ice in the pit of her stomach.

'Just part of the story,' Diana chanted in her head throughout the whole day.

3 months later Dia- no! Snow White was now in the woods with the seven dwarfs.

In the glass coffin they made her.

3 months after she had been awoken by her prince, Prince Draiden Charming, and married him she was now living the best life.

She had her own kingdom, well... the kingdom that all past Snow Whites were able to rule over once their story finished.

Her grandmother had given it to her after she got back from her honeymoon.

She fixes her hair when she pauses a little.

"I haven't seen father for almost 4 months," she whispers shocked before finally deciding to go over to Good Castle to visit her father. Surely Evil Queen and him have already divorced.

The story already ended, no need for them to be married!

Snow made her way to Good Castle, she hopped off the carriage and in excitement threw open the doors. She looked around furrowing her eyebrows.

There were many dark knights guarding the place.

....that could only mean one thing.

Evil Queen was still here.

"Ah! Snow! What a lovely visit!" Mira called out from the top of the stairs, her mint blonde hair in a messy braid as she wore a black and violet fish tail skirt with a long sleeved button up black shirt with slingback heels.

"Hello Evil Queen," Snow said with a weak smile which wasn't noticed by Mira who smiled as her husband hugged her.

"There's my beautiful wife! The fairest in my heart," Edward said playfully.

Snow freezes at that. Evil Queen? The fairest?

But.... she was the fairest! Her! Snow White! She, Diana White,THE Snow White was the fairest!

She felt as if she was splashed with cold water.

But she felt as if a damn had been broken.

Mira couldn't still be married to Snow's father unless.... unless their story hasn't actually finished.

If it did then Mira and Good King have to have divorced by now....

"Snow?" Snow blinked and fought off the urge to sneer at her enemy as shr looked up st Mira.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to stay for lunch? Me and Edward have a few things to do later on so really lunch time is the perfect time to catch up," Mira said with a bright smile.

"Sure!" Snow said ignoring the hisses in her mind as Good King cooed at Mira and called her beautiful.

'Draiden never calls me beautiful,' Diana thought bitterly.

'Surely our tale isn't done,' Diana thought darkly as she was handed her plate.

The anger inside of her continued to grow the whole week as she kept visiting and watched how wonderful her father and her enemy's marriage was. Her marriage wasn't like that at all.

How unfair.

Mira couldn't be the fairest. Snow White was!

But Good King kept calling her beautiful! He HAS to call Snow that.

She is his daughter. It's fair.

But he never did it.

How unfair.

Jealousy continued to grow.

She was the fairest.

All of Ever After knew that.

But it looked like they needed a reminder.

Tag: @2sunchild2 @thegayestasexual @unmaskedagain @captainrose35 @falling-electricxangel @calliopeia @mlbchaosqueen @animalgirl05 @alicesangelofmusic @thyladyanput

[thememestho]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ 911 fox sentence meme

enjoy this overly extra sentence meme series. episode 1.05 (part 5 of ?)

Do you love him?

How do you know?

Marriage is supposed to change you.

Just have a seat, let us do our job.

Hey, I got you.

What’s the matter with you!?

You know what you did, you son of a bitch!

Back off _____.

Back off, really? Not 24 hours ago, you were saying, "Help."

So, this wedding... It's an arranged marriage.

Can you imagine committing to someone you don't even know? 

Does anyone really know anybody?

So how long they gonna have you chained to that desk?

That girl is wicked.

I swear, it's like I don't even know these people I'm supposed to be the closest to.

Trouble at home?

_____  and I went over there to make sure he was still alive.

It's like he's got this invisible wall up.

I got nothing else to do all day anyway.

You don't owe her anything. In fact, you got credit in that account.

I just don't want her making waves.

Look like Bruce Wayne isn't the only one with a few secrets.

He's a fireman.

I'm kind of having a nervous breakdown.

She was gone when I woke up.

How long has it been, a year?

I mean, you know me better than anyone has ever known me.

I'm not that troublemaker anymore. You can see that, can't you?

Withholding can become a challenge.

They've given me their absolute trust, and I've given them nothing in return.

All it takes is a conversation, kind of like this one.

There are things about me they just can't know.

You smell minty.

Did I miss dinner?

Where'd you get such a beautiful brain?

Probably Target.

If I don't go for my walk before bed, my back tightens up.

A broken back never really fully heals, so...

Wait. Don't-don't go.

Babe, I'm-I'm gonna be right back, alright?

I accepted the idea that when you went to work, you might not come home.

Baby, I just forgot my phone and then I lost track of time.

You're my rock, _____.

No, no, don't touch me.

You've been lying to me for months.

I didn't want to believe it because you were so adamant when you got out of rehab last year that that was, that was the last time.

It's anything to make the pain go away.

I didn't want to tell you about it.

No. I-I was handling it. I thought I was.

I'm not weak. I can beat this.

I'm strong. I am unbreakable.

I-I'm Superman. I go into burning buildings and I come out without a scratch.

That’s me, not this.

I don’t want you here tonight.

I love you. I'll forgive you for this, just... not tonight.

I'm right here. I'm right here. Do you think you can walk?

Guess he didn't want any trouble.

You've been carrying this all by yourself all this time.

It's not the kind of story I want to share.

, if you don't trust your friends to see and know you for who you are... Honestly, completely... Then you don't really have any friends.

You’re allowed to be human.

I just miss 'em so much.

So you about ready to tell me what's bugging you?

_____, that’s not fair.

She doesn’t give a crap about him.

Worst first date ever, right?

You’ve not had sex in almost a year?

Did you get that from the macho handbook?

I mean, you were like a full-on Jedi.

I feel calm around you.

So, that is the most amount of time I have ever spent with a woman I want to have sex with without actually having sex with her.

It's that nightdress.  lt's just so hot.

And no matter what you're feeling right now... don't go have sex with some girl on Tinder.

You were thinking about it.

It is a beautiful day, ________. My love.

Call me _______ again, you're going over the balcony.

What are you, high?

I have never seen you laugh like that. 

Well, I wasn't always like this. So shut down.

And I moved forward by never letting anybody get so important to me that I had to go through that kind of loss again.

But apparently I'm not very good at it, because you and _____ have become that important to me.

[ljf613]

In honor of @atlaocweek, here's a rough excerpt of a future chapter from the we all want love/we all want honor-verse, for Days 3 & 5: Heritage & Home/Secrets, featuring one of my favorite OCs.

Ever since the soldiers left, Ling's father had been spending a lot of time in his office. Ling didn't really understand what the end of the war was supposed to mean. Could a fight that had gone on since his great-grandmother was a little girl really just stop like that? Rumor had it that the Avatar had been involved, but hadn't they just heard a few months ago that the last airbender died in Ba Sing Se? But the soldiers had left. The soldiers had been a presence in Gaoling for Ling's entire life, part of Dad's long ago deal with the Fire Nation, the one that had taken away the sister Ling had never known. He'd just thought they would always be there. And yet, just two days after the brilliant comet had torn through the sky, all of the red armored soldiers had packed up and left, with an official notice to the local liegelord-- that is, Ling's dad-- that his contract with the Fire Nation had been broken, and Gaoling was no longer a territory of the Fire Nation. And ever since, Ling's dad had been spending a lot of time in his office. Sometimes he had people in there, but most of the time he was alone, signing papers and scouring records. It was because of Ling. Well, properly speaking, it was because of his mother. Or, at least, his mother's family. Five days after the soldiers left, Dad had called Ling into his office. When he'd arrived, Mom was there. Mom. Mom, who almost never came inside the mansion, let alone into Dad's office-- but who'd been over every day since the soldiers left. The two of them had sat him down and told him they were thinking about getting a divorce. Ling knew about divorce, of course. His classmates Yan and Lei both had parents who were divorced, and they had explained it to him. (Divorce meant two houses, and Mom and Dad not being together, and a lot of other boring legal stuff Ling and his friends were too young to understand. But Mom and Dad already lived in different houses. They had for as long as he could remember. He'd asked them, once, after Yan's parents had split up, if they were also divorced. They'd told him no, and when he'd asked why, they'd explained about the family name.) So when they asked him how he felt, he said he didn't mind, but what about his father's name? "We've decided to dissolve the House," Mom had explained. "Do you understand what that means?" He did. Their family had been the liegelords and ladies of Gaoling for hundreds of years. His parents wanted to change that. Which meant- "Are you okay with that, Ling?" Dad had asked. "It's your inheritance." Ling was the heir of his house. That meant he was next in line to be the Lord of Gaoling. (Unless he did what Mom had done, and married someone his father could adopt in.) Mom and Dad were, in essence, taking that away from him. "Yeah, it's fine," Ling said. "I don't need it." Being in charge of Gaoling had never helped either of his parents. He didn't know all of the details, of course, but he knew that it had been what drove his parents apart, put the wrinkles in his father's forehead and perpetual tears in his mother's eyes, and caused him to grow up an only child. No one had ever told him that giving up the land entirely was an option, but as soon as he knew it was, he'd known that was what he wanted. Dad had been a little surprised at Ling's quick response, but Mom had smiled, and Ling had felt a weight he hadn't noticed until then being lifted off his shoulders. That was why Dad was spending so much time in his office, trying to make sure everything was in order before the divorce. He'd been working late hours and taking meals in there, which meant Ling was the only one in the dining room when the letter arrived. It was enclosed in a canister on the back of a messenger hawk that had flown in through the window and landed on the back of Ling's chair. Carefully, the boy had opened the compartment, curious about the flame emblem emblazoned on it. The letter was sealed with a familiar mark-- the sign of the Fire Nation Royal Family. Why are they writing us? I thought once the contract was

broken, we wouldn't have to deal with them again? He was even more confused when he saw who it was addressed to. To the Lord and Lady Beifong Why would a letter for his mother arrive here? And why would anyone be writing to both of his parents, who hadn't lived together since Ling was an infant? Now he had to know what it was. Ling broke open the seal and scanned the letter, eyes widening with every word. Then he stood up and ran to his father's office.

Lao Beifong looked up as his six-year-old son came barging into his office. "Ling! How many times have I told you-" "Dad, Dad, you have to see this!" The boy held a up letter that was tightly gripped in his hands. "Have you been reading my mail?" Lao sighed. Ling was a bright child, but far too curious for his own good. "Well, yeah, but look!" He took the page, expecting some news about the Avatar or the war or- Lao gasped. "Impossible," he breathed. But there it was, in black and white. You are cordially invited to the upcoming wedding celebration of Fire Lord Zuko and the Lady Toph Beifong.

- Excerpt from "why you're still standing by this sinner's side"

[invisibleinorange]

Bridgerton’s Adrift  | 20/?

Chapters: 20/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: M Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton,  Pretty Much Everyone (at points) Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin Summary:  Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes".

Eloise didn’t know what it was like to fall in love.

Everything that she knew about the concept came from books or the relationships of people around her.  She only had a vague recollection of her parents prior to her father’s death. Half the time, it felt more like other people’s memories than her own.  She hated the fact that with every passing day she remembered her own father less and less.  Aubrey Hall had been her first home and yet it always felt strange to be there. London always felt more like home but that was where she’d spent the majority of her formative years.  She’d returned there out of love for her brother though.

Benedict hadn’t been himself since Colin returned.  She dared not speculate his feelings at first but she had known he was running away from something. She’d always been particularly close to him. Even though he didn’t tend to have many secrets, she usually was the family member to figure them out.  Just like he’d treated her cuts and bruises as a child, she wanted to fix whatever ailed him. That was why she followed him to Aubrey Hall.

She assumed that like all the past moments where they’d experienced an upset or difficulty they’d be able to fix it.  It was a bit of an egotistical notion to think that she could be the one to help him find his way back to the family but it was truly what she’d thought.

She had assumed it would be easy.  It wasn’t.

The brother that she found at Aubrey Hall looked like Benedict but there was something very hollow, sad about his presence. He was there but he might as well have not been. It had been weeks and despite having plenty of opportunity, he kept every conversation succinct and impersonal. He hadn’t once confided in her how he was feeling when she’d ask how he was. A simple ‘fine’ was his go-to reply and she knew he was far from it.

She had thought that if she brought up home, that might encourage him to speak about it.  Every time she received a letter from Penelope or an entry from Whistledown, he’d read it aloud.  He looked uncomfortable at the latest mentions of Colin and Penelope but the way he looked when she’d get a new article from Whistledown was much worst.  Even on a good day, those things would cause him to make an excuse and lock himself away. She usually wouldn’t see him until days later.

The first time he’d skipped a meal, she’d thought he might be ill and she’d even gone as far as to take it to his room for him.  The door was locked though and when she knocked he didn’t let her in to deliver it.   When he finally did emerge the next day, he looked tired and older but he acted as if he hadn’t been a ghost.

She’d had never seen him like this and she was beginning to worry.  It did cross her mind that Benedict might never return to the family. She didn’t want to meddle and make things worse but she didn’t like the state of things. She didn’t want to see her favorite brother unhappy but she also didn’t quite know what the solution was.

She had thought a solution could be found in non-familial companionship. He also didn’t seem to want to discuss that either. She’d casually suggested he reconnect with the Modiste or literally find anyone to be less gloomy. She’d mentally prepared herself for him to say no but she hadn’t been prepared for an absolute meltdown.

Benedict was always the quietest and the gentlest of her brothers. The bottled up emotions exploded at that suggestion though. He destroyed one of their mother’s favorite vases with fist. When he realized what he’d done, he cried and Eloise couldn’t remember ever seeing him cry. She knew it wasn’t about the vase or the fact he’d managed to hurt his hand. He didn’t say it but somehow she knew: his heart was broken.

If this was what love was like, Eloise was more certain than ever that she wanted nothing to do with it.

--

Even though Eloise didn’t tell him that she pitied him. Benedict knew it. He hadn’t asked her to come. He hadn’t wanted anyone to be there with him. He needed time to mourn in peace without anyone in the Ton judging him.  Penelope Featherington might not have been dead but she might as well have been.  She was going to marry Colin.

A few months ago, it wouldn’t have been a problem. He would have been thrilled at the choice and welcomed her into the family.  He didn’t think he could stomach it now. He couldn’t bear to put on a smile and watch her marry Colin. He couldn’t handle seeing them at family dinners and seeing her smile or laugh at the things Colin could say. He couldn’t handle thinking of them sharing a marital bed or her stomach swelling with his nieces and nephews.

He wasn’t foolish enough to try and stop it nor did he want to. He wanted nothing more than for her to be happy and he knew that she would be. He knew Colin would actually treat her well.

It was selfish but he intended to never return to London. If he’d been less of a coward he would have bought a ticket to America or France and slipped beyond his mother’s grasp. Aubrey Hall was his stepping stone.  He needed to go so far away that no one in the family could question why he didn’t return home for holidays or weddings.    

Eloise wasn’t letting him.

The morning after he’d cried in front of her, he debated leaving at first dawn.  She wasn’t a morning person so she wouldn’t hear him slip out and by the time she saw his letter informing her of his plans he’d be too far gone.

When he started to write the letter, he couldn’t bring himself to compose it so things continued on as they had been.

--

Mothers rarely interrupted the solitude of bachelor quarters but most men didn’t have Violet Bridgerton as their mother.  Anthony had been sleeping off a hangover when he heard his mother’s huff as she pushed back the curtains to the room.  The sunlight was appalling and he attempted to pull his pillow over his head.

“Where is your brother?” she demanded of him.

He grumbled in his sleep.

“At his place or… wherever Penelope is,” he said.

“That’s to be assumed. She told me she was visiting her family but Portia Featherington says she hasn’t seen her in weeks,” Violet said.

He lifted the pillow away, dark hair shaggy from bed head. His gaze moved to his mother and he realized she was worried and not actually mad. His brain caught up to the moment.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” he said after a moment.

“Colin was supposed to be with you at a match,” she said after a moment. “I can only imagine that there wasn’t one.”

Anthony debated covering for his little brother there but he knew better than to do that in this moment. Violet was a force and even if they were okay, he was going to have to go and find them.

“I was at the club until hours ago,” he confessed.  “If you’ll be so kind to give me some privacy I’ll get dressed and go find them.”

Violet crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes.

“I gave birth to you. There’s nothing I haven’t seen,” she uttered before complying and headed toward the door.  “You better find them before I do.”

--

Anthony checked every place he knew to search and came up empty handed as far as the city went.  He’d thought he would find them easily but there was no sign of them anywhere.  He begrudgingly called upon the Duke of Hastings for assistance.

Simon had far more resources in the city to operate from.

It was dusk before they learned from a servant who had heard from a footman that Colin had taken to sneaking away with Penelope for romantic time.  They’d apparently last been seen leaving the city in a carriage.

His theories went salacious but it was Daphne who suggested that perhaps there was nothing salacious happening at all.  It was possible that they were headed to Scotland to wed.

Anthony did the math in his head.  It would take 4-5 days if they traveled 12 hours at a time.  They had a good lead on him but if he traveled on horse instead of carriage, he might be able to catch up.  He didn’t necessary intend to stop them.  Perhaps if they wed, the family could finally have a little peace.

He took off immediately only stopping to rest the first time when he reached Aubrey Hall because he was famished and exhausted.  He knew he could find Eloise and Benedict there and if there was anyone who’d know how to find them it would be that pair.

He found them in the drawing room.

Eloise was face first in a book and Benedict was drawing.  He briefly caught sight of it and found it a bit… somber but now wasn’t the time to focus on that.

“What are you doing here?”  Eloise asked.

“I own this home,” Anthony said after a moment. “Besides, I needed rest and reinforcements.  Colin and Penelope have gone missing and my top suspicion is that they’re headed to Scotland.”

Benedict stiffened, struggling to keep his face impassable while Eloise looked alarmed at the news from London.

“You should just let them go,” Benedict said after a moment.

“I’m not planning to stop them,” he said with a sigh. “I’m mostly planning to drag them back home so our mother can murder them for not having the decency to inform someone of their intent as my wedding gift.”

“Coldstream Bridge,” Eloise said after a long moment. “Lady Whistledown mentioned it recently.  She was talking about – well, it was an elopement for a young Earl who fell in love with someone and couldn’t bear to await a special dispensation.”

Benedict was on his feet, grabbing his coast before there could additional discussion of it.  Anthony exchanged a glance with Eloise before shrugging.

“So much for rest,”  he grumbled before following him.

Series this work belongs to:

[linssikeittomies]

The Place Between Here And There - Chapter 10: ...And Happiness In Private Life(cont'd)

Masterpost AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7  Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 9(cont'd)

I've finally updated the status of the fic to ABANDONED, I was going to do that way earlier but I didn't want to admit defeat, and then I just kind of forgot... Time really starts flying by as you get older, it totally doesn't feel like 2 years passed by^^' I'm still writing scenes for later on in the fic, and I've had the general outline of the story planned for a long time, but I haven't been able to write complete chapters for any of my projects for over a year now, it's very annoying. Anyway, this is the rest of chapter 9, not my best work but at least I like the part with Toris. He's noticed Ivan's small efforts of being nicer and wants to encourage them. Thanks for everyone who read this story and sorry for not being able to bring it to conclusion for all of you who were invested!

-

Ivan sent Fredya home until Wednesday – claiming it was so he could concentrate on work, but he was sure Fredya could tell he was just fretting about the upcoming meeting. Ivan was terrified Katyushka would get carried away, and that was closer to certainty rather than possibility, and then Fredya would walk out of his life. He had known from the start that the time would come sooner or later, but he had much hoped it would fall on the later end of the spectrum. This was a wholly different case from that of his first girlfriend - the one he had been with all of three days before Katyusha started talking about weddings. She had left him the next day, not surprisingly, and he hadn’t really cared one way or the other - she had been far too practical to occupy his thoughts when she wasn’t in sight. But if Fredya left as suddenly, and he was certainly impulsive enough to do so on the spot, then... Obviously it still wouldn’t be the end of the world,of course it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, losing a home for example would be far worse than losing a companion, it really wasn’t that big of an issue when you thought about it – there was no reason to lose what little will to live Ivan had left over something that insignificant. No reason.

So Ivan would not worry about it – he slammed the door on the thought, and worked hard to put all his concentration on his notes. He had not yet studied Rogers enough, his files on the computer had sat abandoned for too long. Opening his folder, going over the routes again, verifying time codes, Ivan fell to a comfortable, familiar routine, cup of tea beside him growing cold. Rogers didn’t have much of a routine, which made observing him a challenge and data collecting a thrill. At least this was an activity that Ivan could still lose himself in despite whatever non-turmoil was boiling in his gut. Comparing coordinates, discovering overlaps, identifying patterns, data was something Ivan was good at. Data had no emotions, so it was easy to handle. Data didn’t mind his extracurriculars, didn’t judge him for his jealousy, didn’t snoop into his past. Though it also didn’t text him at 3 am to tell him about a silly dream it had. Even less it cared about whether he was coming home for the night or not. It not wanting to watch brainless, cliched superhero should have been a positive, but in the dark, the brain gets sentimental. Ivan suddenly wished he had a file on Fredya. Ivan certainly had enough data on him, though so far it was all in his brain and a few lines in his notebooks. One photo on his phone, a selfie Fredya had sent some weeks ago. It was taken with one of those filter things, Ivan wasn’t familiar with the apps so he couldn’t tell if it was instagram or snappychat or whatever others there were. Fredya had cartoon glasses on his nose, on top of his real-life glasses. He was doing a victory sign, and there was a badly drawn pink heart floating in the lower left corner, not anchored into anything. The composition of the photo was bad. A large dead space occupied the top left, a pile of dirty clothes was poking into the frame from the bottom right. The lighting was scarcely better, the only diffuser was the dust inside the light fixture. Fredya’s artistic ability was nil, though he did make for an attractive subject, harsh shadows and all. It would be nice to have proper photo of him, before he got out of reach. With a reference to guide him, it might be possible. Ivan quickly scanned his bedroom for inspiration.

Perhaps it was too much effort for 2 a.m., but Ivan rather liked the end result. The handful of stars drawn on the wall to form a suggestion of a halo – however wrong it looked on Ivan – and hands posed to form a heart on the chest, and some minor lighting adjustments on photoshop, he thought it near perfectly captured how Ivan saw Fredya. Bright, innocent, center of the universe, unashamed of his affections. Fredya wouldn’t put as much effort in to it, even if he did take his own version of the photo as Ivan had requested, but that was also good. It wasn’t in Fredya’s nature to try too hard at something he didn’t feel like understanding - such as art other than of the moving pictures variety. Together, the photos formed a piece – the fantasy and the reality. It was a commentary on expectations. Fredya may or may not look at the photo when he inevitably got up to go the bathroom sometime soon, but he wouldn’t take his own until afternoon if ever, so Ivan finally went to bed. He only had a few hours before his shift started.

-_-_-_-_-

Fredya had sent an emoji Ivan didn’t understand the meaning as response to the photo, followed by hearts and something that seemed to be an abbreviation, Ivan didn’t research the meaning. It likely wasn’t important. Ivan got coffees for everyone again, and Amanda gave him a incredulous look. It was getting suspicious, Ivan acting nice. He should dial down on the social interactions for the next few days. It would be good practice for when Fredya left him, anyway. “Oh, thank you for going through the trouble”, Toris commented smiling. Ivan studied the smile, trying to map out proportions and gauge timings, but again he failed to replicate the gesture. It kept coming out as sarcastic. He would prefer if both would just shut up and their coffees without scrutinizing his intentions. Let a man act civil to fellow humans beings in peace. “If everyone is done sitting around, we need someone to go interview Fowler’s parishioners.” Predictably, Amanda volunteered for the task. That left Ivan and Toris at the office, reading through statements, comparing alibis and viewing security footage, the same draining and pointless sinkhole of never-ending choppy black-and-white footage that glared a print of the screen in your soul, so that in the end when you lost everything else to dementia and cataracts, you would still see that stinging bright rectangle staring you in the eye, smirking gleefully, taking pleasure in removing everything one used to take joy in, and replacing itself in place of loved ones. That metaphor ran a little wild at the end, there. In all fairness, it could be intriguing work when results could reasonably be expected, but everyone and their mother knew the only thing learned from these particular ones would be just how much time were wasting on them. Even Toris, being his professional self, couldn’t resist glancing at the clock every few minutes. He would of course try to make it inconspicuous, just letting his eyes dart to his wrist and back again, but it was noticeable enough when one was more concentrated on the coworker than the work. It came to Ivan’s mind that perhaps this was another aspect of Toris he should try to simulate, rather than keep studying, his work ethic was excellent. Surely that was something most people would approve of. And Fredya did often complain Ivan was rather lackadaisical about his work, he would appreciate the effort. “How do stay so focused?” he asked sincerely. It was admirable, really, how Toris could throw himself at something so tedious. Toris blinked at him in confusion, probably surprised to see his colleague who was supposed to working beside him blatantly ignoring said work. “I’ve practiced it for years, there’s really no easy trick for it.” “Ah. Shame.” “I find that meditating regularly helps. And a good diet.” Well, that was already two things Ivan would not be trying out. “I could send you some articles  if you’d like.” “You should spend your free time on yourself. You work too much.” Ivan went idly back to his files, not really feeling like working, but deciding to at least give it a shot, but feeling Toris’ curious eyes still fixed on him was too much of a distraction. After several seconds of silence he couldn’t take it anymore. “Yes?” “Thank you. That was considerate of you.” Ivan didn’t know how to answer that. It had been such a banal thing to say. Not warranting any response, really. Just a stock phrase, however true of some people and situations - such as this particular specimen. Toris must have heard the exact same statement hundreds of times in his life, knowing that he had an actual social circle who cared for him. Ivan was outside that circle, and people rarely care for the things outsiders say in matters like these - surely Toris should feel nothing particular about anything Ivan said. There was no need for him to smile like that, it was just embarrassing for a grown man to get so giddy about faint praise. Ivan scoffed and went back to his work.

-_-_-_-_-

U maek a habot of drawning on walls huh Outside of his brief childhood, Ivan had only ever drawn on walls three times - once in a drunk, misguided bout of creative frenzy, once to write his number on an intriguing man’s wall to annoy him, and once in an attempt to save a relic of happier times for the future. Mostly when you are involved, it seems. Perhaps you are my muse for wall-related artistry It had been a while since Ivan had drawn a portrait, but now might be the time to dust off that skill set. Ivan considered himself more of a photographer, but there was also something appealing about creating from scratch. Although... he would need to keep the portrait hidden, it would raise questions and pity later on. Ivan wished he was better at abstraction, that way it wouldn’t look like Fredya to anyone else, but his mind seemed to be too observational for it. It could only make sense of things that connected together in realistic ways, it couldn’t create anything out of feelings alone. Perhaps he simply didn’t have enough of them for that kind of art. The dinner with Fredya and his sisters was a few hours away, but Ivan was already nervously ironing his clothes. He once again pleaded Katyusha to control her romantic impulses, and of course she promised, but Ivan knew that meant little. She had very bad self-control. Tasha’s picking me up, we’ll meet you there Natasha was coming? Nataliya was coming?! Fuck - what was she - this was bad news - why hadn’t she said - oh god, forget about Katyusha ruining everything if Nataliya Grigorova was coming! She never mentioned wanting to come along That sneaky little girl, she told me you said it was okay, haha He would not survive this night sober. He wanted to make a good impression. He did not want to be drunk when the only three people who mattered to him were all in the same room. He wanted to be fully conscious, to enjoy an outing with his family while being fully genuine, not just sedated into calmness. But lord knew he would not survive the night sober.

-_-_-_-_-

Remembering the fit Fredya had thrown the last time Ivan had driven not-strictly-drunk-but-also-not-sober, he was glad that they had arranged beforehand for Fredya to pick him up. Because he was observant in the most inconvenient ways, Ivan had been sure Fredya would notice something was off, maybe a smell or the slow movements to counteract the unsteady hand-to-eye-coordination, but fortunately he was too stoked about meeting Ivan’s sisters again, officially, to notice Ivan’s oddly calm demeanor. He babbled excitedly the whole way there, and was halfway across the street before Ivan had even fully exited the car. “Come on you snail! They’re gonna think we ditched them!” “It’s only a few minutes away, you can afford to slow down”, Ivan chuckled. Fredya was so adorably excited, he resembled a puppy on a walk. “Being overeager is as bad as being late.” “Beg to disagree! Pick up the pace slowpoke!” Fredya sped up ahead, Ivan kept his leisurely pace. He missed the re-introductions, but it seemed like he hadn’t been needed for those at all - Fredya and Katyushka already looked like old friends, while Tasha regarded him with a haughty look, but nary a nasty word. She raised an eyebrow at Ivan, as if saying really, you chose this clown over me?, and he simply smiled pleasantly at her. As they waited for their food to arrive, Fredya and Katyushka were unsurprisingly the only ones to hold up conversation. They had found a common ground in Star Trek - in that Katyusha had heard a lot about it, but had never watched an episode and was interested, and Fredya was an expert in all the series and films and liked talking about them. They went through the pacifistic ideas on the original series and how it sometimes contradicted itself on it, analyzing the casting choices for the remakes, some more things that Ivan had no interest in.  When their plates were brought, the were in the midst of trying to speak klingon - the attempts of both of them were saddeningly hilarious. Or perhaps they were both surprisingly accurate. Ivan had no way of knowing, the franchise being something he had never taken an interest in. Of course he liked space, but he was more fact-oriented than a fan of fanciful fiction. “You seem so young, it’s almost like you’re still in college”, Katyusha giggled, and Ivan could not agree more. The youthful energy Fredya exuded was refreshing, at least most of the time. “Never went to college, I went straight to work from high school”, Fredya explained, crumbs flying. That was the one habit that Ivan never found charming in Fredya, it was just plain disgusting. Tasha made a small chortle of contempt that passed Fredya by. “Our brother is a very intelligent man”, Tasha commented sharply, and Ivan knew exactly what she was going for – he had come to the same conclusion, himself. And truthfully, neither of them had been wrong - Fredya really was stupid. “Oh, tell me about it”, the insulted man chuckled, not understanding what was being implied. Ivan would have liked being able to defend Fredya, but the thing was that Fredya was not intelligent – intellectually or socially, and attempting to claim otherwise would have been pointless. He might have been considered smart in some useless areas, such as entertainment trivia, but faint praise is just as damning as admitting faults. Trivia! There was the opening Fredya needed to impress Tasha! “He has a master’s degree in movie trivia and celebrity gossip, if nothing else. Just give an actor’s name and he will tell you every movie they have ever been in.” “And not just that! I can also tell which year each movie came out!” Fredya exclaimed proudly. Ivan started with an easy one - Tom Cruise. Tasha did look reluctantly impressed as the titles and dates kept on coming, but refused to admit defeat. She tried her favorite actor, someone much more obscure. “Ken Foree?” “Hmm… The midnight man, 2017… Rift, dark side of the moon 2016, Cut slash pri- no wait, I think he was in Divine tragedies, 2015, Cut slash print 2012 –“ However, since

Tasha’s obsession with her brother refused to give way to respect for her perceived enemy, she realized that to claim victory she could simply ask about any non-American film star. “Anastasia Zavorotnyuk.” “Anastasia who?” Of course he pronounced the name the American way, but Ivan was still mildly impressed he could tell Анастасия and Anastasia were the same name. “Zavorotnyuk.” Tasha allowed herself a malevolent smirk as Fredya racked his brain for the name in vain. “A true expert wouldn’t limit himself only to Hollywood”, Tasha hmphed in triumphant malice, believing to have proved her superiority over him once and for all, despite not showing an ability to counter his. It seemed the point had only been to prove Fredya was not omniscient. In Ivan’s eyes, it was enough to be merely well-versed. “He does hate subtitles to the point where I thought he might be illiterate”, Ivan joked. “Hey, at least I speak the language of the country I live in!” “Verily, my darling, thou speakest with the most biting of tongues. Shakespeare himself would envy your prowess.” “The guy lived like hundreds of years ago, who gives a shit? Ivan Drago was famous in the 80’s.” “Ivan can sound almost native when he tries”, Katyusha said, trying to diffuse the argument, not knowing the workings of their relationship well enough to tell it was all said in jest. “I haven’t tried in years, I doubt I could anymore”, Ivan thought. He had tried training his accent away in high school, so he would sound less foreign in job interviews. Having a foreign name was bad enough in an application. He had never achieved a smooth, natural accent, he had to concentrate very hard which caused the words to come out very slowly and robotically, and still there was always a hint of foreign phonemes. Combined with his attempts to deepen his voice – an incredibly embarrassing failure on its own – had made him cringe, even back then. Tasha had encouraged him, of course, because in her mind anything and everything her dear brother did was the right decision. Excluding taking romantic interest in someone other than her, of course.

The rest of the evening went by in much the same fashion. Fredya and Katyusha got along swimmingly, Tasha made snide remarks about Fredya, Ivan defended him in mean ways, Fredya played along. It was all very pleasant. Finally the staff started dropping hints that it was time to vacate the table, so they got up and parted ways. Katyusya was enchanted enough to not wait long enough to be out of earshot before starting to gush about her baby brother’s relationship, which made for a perfect opening for eavesdropping. “Don’t you think Vanechka looks so much happier than usual?” Katyusya said, nearly clapping her hands in excitement. “Idiocy might be contagious”, Tashenka grumbled in response. “I never imagined he’d go for that type, but I guess it goes to show opposites really do attract!” Katyushka squeed. “It’s only for the moment. That American moron will start getting on Vanya’s nerves soon”, Tashenka claimed, not sounding too confident herself. Ivan had expected that to happen as well, in the beginning. “I hope he won’t, I think Alfred is good for Vanechka. He’s come out of his shell.” What did she mean by that? As far as Ivan was aware, he had never been shy around his sisters. Or other people, for that matter. “What’re you frowning about?” Fredya asked. “I’m eavesdropping. Katyusha likes you, and Natasha doesn’t despise you.” “Well that’s good news isn’t it?” Fredya smiled, and tried to hear the women. “Man, you got great hearing. I can’t hear them at all.” Yes, it did take some practice to achieve Ivan’s level of spying on other people’s conversations. And by then they had gotten far enough that Ivan couldn’t hear then anymore either, actually. “Your eardrums must be damaged from the all screeching you do.” “You��re walking home, asshole.”

-

Tasha + Katyushka = affectionate nicknames for Nataliya and Yekaterina. Tashenka + Katyusya = one level more intimate. Ivan is being drunk and sentimental so at the end of the evening, the way he feels about his sisters is something like most people do when seeing tiny kittens. Thanks again for reading! Maybe in like 10 years so I'll add a final "chapter" describing the rest of the plot, but I know myself and won't make any promises. I have some more snippets on the masterpost if anyone wants to frustrate themselves with a story that will never be finished.

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. LXIX

It was a love story from the very beginning.

I Want You Back (Part II)

(11x16b/11x17)

Hello there! Finally finishing the second part of this meta.

It will focus on the parallel between the entity from the 'Safe House' episode and Amara it’s suggesting. Afterwards we will talk about one of the episodes that were discussed more controversially among us Destiel shippers, I'm talking about 'Red Meat',  and I will show you step by step that it is, indeed, a very Destiel one.

Thanks to @destielle for beta-ing this one! She's amazing. Thank you girl! 😘💝

Soul Eater

Let's talk about that haunting parallel I just mentioned.

If you check episode 11x16, there is this entity from that house that ate souls. 

RUFUS: A Soul Eater? What the hell is that?

BOBBY: Undead creature that feeds on souls. Hence the name. They exist in a place between our world and… another. Soul Eater moves into a house, and once it does, it makes what the lore refers to as a ‘nest’.

RUFUS: A place that exists outside of time and space.

//

SAM:The nest looks and feels like whatever house the Soul Eater is in.

The creature created a fake house, like a reflection in the mirror. It’s a fake home in which the entity shows people the souls of the ones they love in different and terrible situations (dead) to keep them under it's dominium. From the moment the seal was broken, the creature attacked again. 

SAM: Apparently, the nest messes with their victim's head, shows them things they love, parts of their soul in distress, it keeps the victim's soul vulnerable.

So we have a broken seal, a powerful creature eating souls, a fake reality to keep them dominated, right?

And Bobby saying that he could feel the evil in that dimension…

I think we have the perfect description of Amara here, Dean and Sam broke the sigil, Cain's Mark, and she was released, she eats souls, just like the Soul Eater, creating a fake happiness/reality to dominate the victims/Dean.

Again the writers are showing us that Amara is evil, her dominance over Dean is established through fear.

I think it’s vital to mention that between all the books Rufus and Bobby were reading, there was one with the title "Fallen Angel", it make us recall Castiel and Lucifer with the particularity that they're sharing vessels at that moment. Two fallen angels: one fell due to love and the other due to hate.

Another interesting visual narrative that acted as a foreshadowing, was the soul eater placing a hand on Dean's chest in the same way Rowena will place her hand on him in the last episode of the season where he’ll become a soul bomb.

And now, pay close attention to the following scene, because it’s connected to the next episode (Red Meat).

RUFUS: What'd you see, Bobby?

BOBBY: My boys. Both of 'em. Both of 'em dead. And I saw… well I don't know what the hell I saw.

And…

SAM: Hey, you said the Soul Eater made you see things. Plural. So… what else did you see?

DEAN: I saw you. Dead on the floor.

This was a foreshadowing of Sam laying dead on the floor (well he won’t die, but almost) in the next episode. But it’s A BLATANT MIRROR. BOBBY SEEING HIS SONS DEAD ON THE FLOOR. AND IT’S REFLECTING PURELY FAMILIAL LOVE. A father and his two children who are brothers.

FAMILY LOVE, there's no hint of ROMANTIC LOVE in here, no Wincest! Bobby was actively chosen to pose as the mirror. The writers easily could have used a couple with the husband seeing his wife laying dead on the floor, right? But it was BOBBY who saw his boys on the floor, just like Dean saw his brother. It’s about Family!

Sorry I'm a little bossy here, but I need you to understand this point before jumping to the next one.

Using Logic

Let's analyze episode 11x17 with logical facts…

The mentioning of Castiel at the beginning of the episode is there to remind us that Dean is feeling miserable because they couldn't rescue him yet. And he is not sleeping because of that. Sam is trying to comfort him by saying that they’ll get him back.

The episode introduced Corbin and Michelle, a newly-wed couple very much in love.

Corbin would do anything to protect Michelle (Dean mirror) and he is the one becoming a monster (werewolf), so he’s acting as our Castiel's mirror here.

Sam gets shot, and he has a very bad wound. We have Corbin trying to kill him, because he would do anything to save Michelle, even if that implies making a bad decision.

Now, we have Dean thinking his brother is dead. But keep in mind that WHEN HE ENTERS THE ROOM SAM IS ALREADY DEAD (in Dean’s eyes at leat). So DEAN DIDN'T SEE HIS BROTHER DIE. HE FOUND HIM DEAD, LAYING ON THE FLOOR. (First fact).

Then this… he asks Michelle to assist him in his try to contact Death… but … he also says this ..

Dean: Okay. After I do this, go get the doc and tell her to, um... Tell her to bring me back, if she can. If not... no hard feelings, okay?

He is not suicidal here, THIS IS TOTALLY DIFFERENT TO EPISODE 13X05 WHEN HE WANTED TO DIE, NOT WANTING TO LIVE BECAUSE CAS WASN'T ANYMORE. Even knowing Sam was dead, Dean wanted to live. GIVING YOUR LIFE FOR YOUR BROTHER DOESN'T COUNT AS A SUICIDAL THOUGHT, BUT INSTEAD AS SOMETHING ANYONE WOULD DO FOR THEIR BROTHER, especially when that brother is your little brother you raised yourself like a father. (Second Fact).

Dean wants to be alive because he needs to rescue Cas.

Billie: That's what I thought. It's cute, though. You pretending you're trying to save Sam for the greater good, when we both know you're doing it for you. You can't lose him. But even if Sammy could win the title bout... the answer would still be “no.” The answer will always be “no.” Game's over, Dean. No more second chances. No more extra lives. Time to say bye-bye to Luigi, Mario.

This sums up perfectly how Dean feels about Sammy. He raised him, he always took care of him. He can't lose him because all his life revolved around Sam. This is not Wincest, this is solely FAMILY LOVE. Remember what we said about Bobby a little earlier, these were Bobby's feelings too.

I will put here an addition from Destielle, she talked about the well known toxic codependency, and i think is important too:

"Billie basically calls out the toxic codependency between Sam and Dean here. ‘You’re doing it for you’ she deadpans. It’s more about Dean fulfilling the task, or rather duty, John gave him so early on, that it’s part of Dean’s personality. An automatism. He doesn’t want Sam to live because it was Sam’s wish, but because Dean needs Sam to keep things the way they always have been as so not having to deal with himself."

Is interesting because John Winchester heritage to Dean was the GUILT and the FIRST BORN duty, so practically, he keeps reacting and acting like a soldier that needs to protect the little brother and the entire world, I talked so many times in My metas about this toxic heritage and about THE BIG PROTECTOR living inside Dean. Interesting comment my friend! Thank you!

Dean’s spirit [sadness and desperation in his eyes]: I'm asking you... I'm begging you, please. Bring him back. Bring him back and take me instead.

DEAN WINCHESTER WILL ALWAYS GIVE HIS LIFE IN EXCHANGE FOR THE ONES HE LOVES BECAUSE HE IS DEAN WINCHESTER. NOT JUST FOR SAM, BUT FOR THE WORLD, AND CAS.

Billie: I'm not here to bargain with you, kid. I'm here to reap you. And the kicker is... Sam's not dead. [Dean looks stunned] But you are. Or will be, soon enough.

Now… let's go with Michelle and Dean's conversation… the third fact:

Dean: Michelle, this is gonna be very hard. But you will be okay. And, eventually... eventually you'll get back to normal.

Dean is talking from experience. Drawn from every time he lost a friend, a family member (including Sam) which he always affronted in the same way, by hunting, drinking heavily and stuffing bacon in his face. It always was hard at first but got better with time until he got back to normal. He's talking with determination because he lost a lot of beloved people. But … he hasn’t lost the love of his life yet… Michelle did…

Gif set credit @thejabberwock 👇

Michelle [sighing]: No, I won't. They said I could leave... [she sighs] an hour ago. But... where am I even supposed to go? After everything we survived together... [turning back to Dean] I watched the man I love die. There's no normal after that.

This is a rich piece of text over there. First of all, she's convincing Dean she won't be back to normal. Ever. She's the one talking with authority now, because she's talking from her experience of losing the love of her life… 'where am I even supposed to go?' SHE'S LOST, Just as lost as Dean will be for the first 5 episodes from season 13. 'After everything we survived together…' these words are carving deep into Dean's heart, because the man he loves is in danger in the very moment, and I know he's recalling everything they survived together. 'I watched the man I love die, there's no normal after that', Dean's face is priceless here, full of fear, he doesn't want to go through the same Michelle has and had to. He doesn't want to watch Cas die. And I want you to remember the first fact I pointed out, MICHELLE IS SAYING SHE WATCHED CORBIN DIE, not that she found him dead. Okay? So we are not talking about a reference to the death of Sam here. Dean didn't watch him die, he found him dead. And secondly, Dean knows Sam is okay by now, so why would he display a face full of pain and fear? Who's the one in real danger now, possessed by Lucifer? CASTIEL. DEAN DOESN'T WANT TO SEE CASTIEL DIE. HENCE THE TERRIFIED EXPRESSION.

AND THAT'S WHY IN THE NEXT EPISODE HE WILL FIGHT AGAINST RATIO, AGAINST WHAT’S THE LOGICAL THING TO DO, JUST BECAUSE HE DOESN'T WANT TO SEE THE MAN HE LOVES DIE. Sorry for the yelling. But I needed to make things clear.

To Conclude:

The Soul Eater in episode 11x16 is a blatant mirror of Amara. Another way to show us her dominance over Dean is a forced and dark one.

Episode 11x17 must be analyzed with logic. The clues are in the details and related to the previous episode in which Bobby saw Sam and Dean dead. It was purely about FAMILIAL LOVE and it must not be mistaken for something else because that just would be a twisted interpretation.

Dean giving his life in exchange for the one of EVERYONE shouldn't be mistaken for suicidal tendencies, too.

The fact that he wanted to go on with his life EVEN THOUGH BEING CONVINCED SAM IS DEAD is an important difference to how Dean is behaving in 13x05.

We have the foreshadowing for Castiel's death and Mourning!Dean and a prelude to 11x18 where we’ll have a very desperate Dean trying to save his angel.

Hope you liked this one! See you in the next meta!

Tagging @metafest @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weirddorkylittlediana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @foxyroxe-art @authorsararayne @anonymoustitans @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @wildligia @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-is--endgame @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @tenshilover20 @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@imjustkipping @destielle @agusvedder @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis

If you want to be added or removed from this list just let me know.

If you want to read the previous metas From s11, her you have the links.

Vol. LXII, XLIII, XLIV, LXV, LXVI, LXVII, LXVIII

Buenos Aires July 7th 2020 5:36 PM

[1989dreamer]

FTH-2020-Seventy-Five Percent

For @fandomtrumpshate​‘s 2020 auction, big thanks to @evanesdust​ for bidding on me and for being so patient.

AO3 link

Summary: Stiles and Derek are roommates at college, and living together is going well considering Stiles is harboring the hugest crush on Derek. When Derek needs an emergency date to his sister's tenth anniversary dinner, Stiles agrees. He doesn't expect it to get messy. He's kept his feelings in check for three and a half years. Spoiler alert: it gets really messy.

From this prompt. “We’re fake-dating and I’m supposed to publicly break up with you but you’ve been irritating me lately so instead of dumping you I publicly proposed to mess up your plan and now we’re getting married, fuck” au.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fake Dating, Pining/Mutual Pining, Minor Misunderstanding, Human AU (full tags can be found on AO3).

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“I need a date,” Derek says apropos of nothing, and Stiles carefully sets down his brush, leans across the aisle, and stares at his friend. Derek flushes. “I mean,” he all but spits out between gritted teeth, “that my sister is having her tenth anniversary dinner, and I am the only single one in the family. If I don’t have a date, I’ll spend the whole time being accosted by my relatives.”

“And that’s my problem how?”Stiles asks. He goes back to his painting. The life model flexes just a tiny bit, and Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“It’s your problem now because I will pay you to come with me,” Derek says, an undercurrent of threat in his voice. Or tears. Could be tears. Derek sounds mad when he’s about to cry sometimes.

Stiles sets his brush down again. Of course Derek would hit him where it hurts the most. All of Stiles’ meager earnings from his part-time job go toward keeping his Jeep running so that he can make the trek back up north to visit his dad when he’s on break from school.

“How much?” he demands, hating himself for being this easy.

Derek looks relieved. It’s a good look for him. Although, Derek looking good is any day of the week. “Thanks. Like three hundred for the day of? Maybe fifty for each additional thing that comes up?”

“And how often will things come up?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe once or twice. I’m sure at least some of my family will want to call you to make sure that you’re real.”

Stiles claps a hand to his chest. “You haven’t told them about me?” he asks, pretending to be scandalized.

It’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes. “I have told them about you, but in the context that you’re my best friend at college and we live on opposite sides of the state.”

“So they don’t think I’m real?” Stiles asks, not sure if he should be insulted or not.

“The most common thing I’m asked about you is ‘What is a Stiles?’” Derek grins, private and sort of cheery. “I’ve kind of stopped referring to you by name now. Just easier that way.”

“Hardy har har.” Stiles pokes Derek. To be completely fair, their freshman year, when Stiles would go home, he’d complain to his dad about his unfairly attractive, selfish, loud, attractive roommate. His dad had been convinced that Derek didn’t exist until he met him when Stiles was emptying his dorm room.

Now he and Derek have an apartment off campus, and Dad keeps trying to get Stiles to invite Derek to Beacon Hills because he claims he should at least get to intimidate his son’s future husband before their wedding.

Never mind that Derek has never even been seen with any dates, much less given Stiles any hope that he could possibly have a chance with him.

Until now. Except not really, because Derek just needs a pretend boyfriend, not an actual boyfriend.

“Why me?” Stiles asks, squinting suspiciously at Derek as he tries and fails to draw the absolute lounge of the life model. Stiles is recommending that Isaac never model again. It’s too much ego and not enough clothes, although Isaac did keep his scarf draped artfully around his neck when he dropped trou. “Why not Boyd or Erica? I’m sure either of them would be pleased to play Derek Hale’s date for a night.”

Derek shakes his head. “Both of them have already met my family. And so has Isaac. We were all friends in high school. You’re the only one I talk about regularly. It’d seem too weird if you weren’t the guy I was secretly pining after all these years.”

Stiles intensifies his squint. “Am I?” he asks bluntly.

“Are you what?” Derek refuses to make eye contact, making quick lines with his charcoal across his drawing of Isaac.

“Am I the guy you secretly pine after?”

“No…?”

Stiles throws his brush at Derek, not even a little sorry when it smacks against his chest and Derek complains that he’s wearing his favorite shirt. It’s not his favorite shirt. Stiles stole that a year ago and has yet to return it.

He’s a bit of a stalker. It’s a habit he’s trying to break. He will break. When he and Derek have graduated and gone their separate ways. When all they’ll be in a few years is the occasional drinking buddy, living too far to justify visiting more than once every couple years, work and life getting in the way of their friendship.

Stiles shakes himself. “So don’t make it a question.”

Derek sighs in defeat, handing Stiles his brush back. “Look, Laura already thinks that you’re my secret boyfriend.”

“I thought they thought I didn’t exist,” Stiles says, bitterly. He takes the brush and lays it down, turning to face Derek. Then he gives Derek a tissue to at least wipe off most of the paint. Too bad it’s oil and will stain.

“Laura helped me move in this year. She saw you and your dad from a distance and I pointed you out.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “I could have met your sister?”

Derek squirms. “Yes?” he hedges. “But she was asking all these weird questions like our first kiss, where we go on dates, if we’ve gone all the way yet. I didn’t want you to deal with that, so I distracted her until she had to leave.”

“So I get to meet her now?”

Derek nods. “It is her anniversary after all.”

“Cool.”

Then Stiles ignores Derek in favor of finishing as much of his painting as he can before class lets out.

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

Lunch is leftover chili with homemade cornbread that Derek made earlier. Stiles taps a pen on some paper, thinking over all the things he knows he should put into a contract of sorts for his and Derek’s arrangement.

Stuff like pet names, PDA, just what they’ve “done” as a couple, how long they’ve been dating, and just how long they are supposed to be together before they break up.

Derek sees the list, scratches out pet names—“Trauma,” he mutters as explanation—and adds the terms of payment as well. He also writes down that the breakup should be public so that Derek can take time to “recover” without his family breathing down his neck.

Overall, there’s nothing really objectionable to pretending to date Derek aside from the fact that Stiles would much rather actually date Derek, but how to tell your presumably-straight roommate that you wanna suck his dick and kiss his lips?

Derek gathers the dishes and starts washing them. “Hey, so, my lab is today, so I’ll see you after 5:00. We can talk more when I get home.”

“Sure thing.” Stiles has to run himself or he’d stay and watch Derek clean up. It’s almost like a dance when Derek really gets into it. Stiles likes to park his butt on the couch and watch him while he pretends to do his homework. If Derek’s lab runs late, it explains why he’s cleaning now. Which means that not only will Stiles miss it because he needs to go to class, but it will be his turn to cook and clean tomorrow.

Ugh.

Stiles had considered Derek selfish freshman year because Derek hadn’t known how to share a room. He’s not sure why though, it’s not like they were each other’s first roommates either. Now Stiles feels selfish because he doesn’t mind cooking or doing chores but he had enough of that at home and was hoping to relax at college.

“Hey, see you tonight?” he asks, Derek waves in response.

Stiles goes to class, the pit of his stomach rebelling with every step. Why are things different now? Derek doesn’t want to date Stiles. He just wants to get his family off his back.

Concentration is out the window, so Stiles just spends all his class time thinking up the various scenarios that his and Derek’s plot could go so, so sideways.

By the time he makes it back to an empty and sparkling apartment, he’s nearer to a panic attack than he has ever been in the last three years including the whole fiasco with his first roommate during freshman year.

Stiles goes to wash his face, hoping that the cold shocks his system enough for him to stave off the attack, but Derek finds him there a few hours later, and Stiles has no memory of it.

Derek gentles him through the remainder of his attack, sets him up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and his favorite movie, and then just sits in silence while Stiles tries to process the fact that he just had a goddamn panic attack over pretend dating his roommate.

After another movie, Derek moves onto the couch, letting Stiles snuggle into his side.

“All good?” he asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I will be though.” He waits for a few minutes, long enough for Derek to lean against him and start drowsing. “Tell me about your family.”

Derek yawns. “Well, you know Laura, the one who’s celebrating. She’s older than me, by like a million years. Made her insufferable growing up. And then there’s Cora, who’s about four years younger than me. We were rivals growing up. Every crush I had, she had too. And she’s kissed about half of them. I have a couple older brothers who are even older than Laura and even more insufferable, but in the way that us younger Hales are the dirt under their shoes. Especially my youngest sister. She’s the baby of the family and the most normal. But I guess it’s because my parents were tired when they got around to raising her.”

“Hmm, so many Hales to meet.” Stiles’ heart beats extra hard at that. Not only does he have to pretend to date Derek, but he has to pretend to date Derek in front of—Stiles counts on his fingers—seven Hales that aren’t Derek. Five sibling Hales and two parent Hales.

“And my uncle Peter,” Derek adds, drowsily. “He’s a dickhead. He’s also as old as my brothers but he was far more invested in causing drama with the younger Hales.”

“Laura too?”

Derek nods. “Laura especially. He almost wasn’t invited to her wedding. I will be very surprised if he doesn’t do something that gets him kicked out of her anniversary dinner.”

“And you want me to meet them?”

“Well,” Derek hedges, and that hurts so much and so viscerally that Stiles climbs off the couch and goes to the kitchen to pretend to drink a glass of water from the tap. Derek follows him after a minute. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want you to meet them. You’re my best friend. It’s just that they don’t have the greatest track record with people I bring home.”

“What, like I’m not good enough for you?” Stiles fans the flare of anger growing in his chest. Anything but another panic attack is preferred.

Derek sighs. “It’s a dumb test. I think everyone goes through it, but I don’t know because I don’t participate. I mean, it’s dumb to make your sister’s boyfriend hate her family when before he wanted to be with her, right? It’s like we’re trying to scare them off.”

“So like they’re not good enough for the family,” Stiles repeats.

Derek’s shoulders fall. “I guess. I always hated it, so I wouldn’t bring anyone home so that they couldn’t do that to them.”

“Partners,” Stiles points out.

“What?”

“You said ‘sister’s boyfriend,’ so this assholery only happens with potential partners. Is that it?”

Derek frowns at him before nodding, understanding dawning on his face. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“So, I’ve never met your family because…?”

The absolute look of panic that flashes across Derek’s face is in parts thrilling and heartbreaking to see.

“I understand,” Stiles says. “Well, it just means that I truly am the right choice of friend to take home to mother.”

Derek barks out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, sure. Please don’t call my mom ‘Mother.’ It makes her unreasonably angry. I think she thinks it makes her sound old. I think she sounds older when my nieces and nephews call her grandma.”

“How many nieces and nephews do you have?” Stiles asks, suddenly, acutely aware of just how much he doesn’t know about Derek. It makes him feel like a chronic over sharer and like Derek doesn’t fully trust him.

Derek shrugs. “I think Laura has three kids and my brothers each have two, but that was last Christmas so they could all have more on the way. I have five nieces and two nephews that I know of.”

“And we’re driving down to Chula Vista, right?”

Derek looks relieved, grabbing at Stiles’ floatation device of a conversation change. “Yeah, yes! Definitely. I mean, it’s about seven hours. We could take a flight down, it’d probably be quicker, but more expensive. And besides, this means that we can leave whenever either of us want to.”

“Yeah, how’s that going to work?” Stiles points, and they head back to the couch. Derek sits, angled so that his knee is brushing Stiles’. “Do I just say, ‘Laura insulted me, I want to go back to college now’?”

“Absolutely yes. If any of my family makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, let me know, and we’ll leave as soon as possible.”

It’s a nice reassurance, and Stiles hopes to assuage all his fears as easily, so he and Derek spend the rest of the night, until Derek falls asleep, discussing the finer matters of how to “date” a Hale.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The rest of the week until Derek’s sister’s tenth anniversary dinner blurs by. Lots of packing for what is essentially just a day and a half, getting Boyd to agree to look in on the apartment even though they have no pets or plants that require sitting, and arguing over whose car they’re taking. In the end, Derek agrees to allow Stiles to drive his Camaro for a short stint, and they depart, happily, on Friday after classes.

The drive is uneventful, even when Derek oversleeps the first leg and Stiles ends up driving two thirds of the way to their destination. Derek doesn’t even grump about it, just smiles dopily until he notices Stiles looking at him, and then he steps on the gas.

They pull into the drive of an enormous house at about 11:00 pm. The whole house is lit up. Stiles snorts awake to stare at it.

“That’s your house?” he squeaks.

Derek shifts, uncomfortable. “My parents’ house,” he says. “They’re rich. I’m not.”

“It’s a big house.”

“Yeah. That’s because my uncle and his family live with them, and I think Cora still lives at home and so does Laura and her family.”

“And you? Are you going to live at home when we graduate come spring?”

Derek doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens his door, shuts off the engine, and pops the trunk.

Almost immediately, the door opens and a very pregnant woman waddles out to stare at them, her hands fisted on her hips. The light from the porch illuminates her perfectly.

Derek hands Stiles his suitcase and then starts up the stairs. When he reaches the woman, he takes a step back.

“Cora?”

“Yeah, dumbass. Who else would it be?”

“But aren’t you dating what’s-her-name?”

“Lydia, and yes. We decided we would use sperm donors.” Cora rolls her eyes. “You would know all this if you talked to us more than just at the holidays.”

Chastised, Derek ducks his head. “Sorry.”

Stiles thinks it’s been awkward long enough, so he sticks out his hand. “Stiles Stilinski. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hale.”

“What kind of a name is Stiles?” Cora asks.

Derek clears his throat. “He’s my boyfriend. And Stiles is a nickname.”

Cora gives Derek a flat look. “Your boyfriend?”

Derek nods. He looks so nervous. He hasn’t looked this nervous since he and Stiles were paired together after the first rooming fiasco.

“Well,” Cora eyes Stiles with a disapproving glare, “I guess you’d better come in and meet the rest of the family. The ones that are awake anyway. Be extra quiet: the kids are asleep.”

Inside is just as opulent as the outside, perhaps more because inside is completely lit up and doesn’t have to battle the darkness of night.

There are portraits of what must be the Hales and their families everywhere, tasteful crystal décor, and polished marble floors.

It’s very austere, and Stiles understands why Derek said his parents were rich but not him. Stiles has seen how Derek chooses to decorate, and it’s in warm tones with soft surfaces and very limited bits of chrome.

Twin sweeping staircases stand guard at the end of the foyer, leading up to what presumably is more austere marble and crystal, severe lines of cold.

Two handsome people, the woman is an elgant black gown, the man in a black suit, Windsor knot in his silver tie, stand in front of the staircases. Cora stops next to them, says something lowly, and then heads upstairs. Nervously, Stiles clings to his suitcase and follows as Derek walks, spine straight, face blank, toward what must be his parents.

His mother lifts her head, and Derek stops in his tracks.

“Wonderful of you to join us, Derek,” she says, like she’s a queen surveying her subjects and finding them very lacking. Stiles had thought his clothing, a dark t-shirt covered with an open blue flannel shirt and khakis, was fine in Berkeley. Here, it’s completely out of place. Derek’s outfit of a maroon shirt and dark slacks looks a little less out of place, but far too casual for this foyer.

“Mom, Dad,” Derek returns, and it is so incongruous with the image they’re presenting that Stiles has to stifle a hysterical laugh.

After a few more moments, Derek’s parents break, and smiling, they all but run to Derek and hug him at the same time. Derek’s father disentangles himself first, turning to Stiles and offering his hand for a shake.

“So this is the man who’s caught our little Derek’s heart?”

Derek flushes at his father’s words, but he doesn’t disagree.

Mr. Hale grins, using Stiles’ hand to tug him into a quick hug. “Welcome to the family, Stiles.”

“Uh, thanks?” Stiles doesn’t wriggle free, but it’s a near thing. Derek must realize how out of place he’s feeling, still reeling from the complete change in demeanor, because he laces his fingers through Stiles’, grounding him.

Talia nods at their hands. “And how is the relationship? Single rooms?”

Stiles coughs to cover another laugh. He and Derek share a bedroom in their apartment—it was cheaper than two bedrooms—so they should be okay sharing a room. A bed might be another matter, but they’ve been living together at college, so if they’re dating, they should already be comfortable with seeing each other naked, having morning erections around each other, and all those other embarrassing things no one ever talks about happening when people start having sex with each other.

Derek blushes. “It’s a little new, the relationship, but it’s strong. We can be trusted to be in the same room.”

“It’s late,” Derek’s father says. “Let’s get you boys settled, and then we can all talk tomorrow.” He looks at Derek with kindness in his eyes. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to.”

The room he and Derek are deposited into is medium sized. Stiles would have thought all rooms in the house would be enormous. Derek watches him studying it before explaining, “I went through a phase where I didn’t want anything from my parents, so they moved me in here. It used to be a closet, but it was the smallest they were willing to let me be without me moving out.”

“How old were you?”

Derek shrugs. “I was ten.” He frowns at Stiles’ sudden chuckle. “I was very self-righteous. I thought we were bad because we were rich and I didn’t want to be.” Quieter, he adds, “I was very bullied in school.”

“So was I,” Stiles reveals. “I always pretended that it didn’t bother me, but it did. It’s why I chose Berkeley. Close enough to go home to see my dad, but far enough away that I didn’t have to see my tormentors again.”

“I’m glad we found each other,” Derek says. He points at his bed, a single twin. “You can have the bed. I’ve got an inflatable mattress around here somewhere. I can get that blown up and sleep on that.”

Stiles is too tired to argue. It’s only a little after 11:00 pm, but they’ve been driving for most of the day, and he just feels under stimulated and uninterested in anything except brushing the gnarly taste of garlic pretzels out of his mouth and collapsing into a deep, refreshing sleep.

“Bathroom?”

Derek points down the hall, and Stiles takes his travel bag with him. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he opens the door, but it certainly isn’t a soft coral pink bathroom with matching rugs, toilet cover, and shower curtain. It’s hideous. Stiles loves it.

Everything was getting a little too marble for his liking. This shows a human side to the Hales.

Because he’s Stiles, he snoops a little. Finds magazines in a holder on top of the toilet. Gross. Finds extra soaps and feminine products hidden in the cabinet under the sink. Cool. Other spare products and towels are kept behind a closed door. Good.

Overall, the bathroom passes muster enough that he feels comfortable scrubbing his teeth clean, scraping his tongue, and washing all evidence down the rose quartz-colored sink.

Derek comes in before Stiles finishes drying his hands on the fluffy, rose-scented towel.

He does a double-take at the room, digs under the sink for a little while, and stands up. “We’d better leave no evidence that we were ever here,” he says, ominously. “The bathroom’s been redone since I was last here at Christmas. I think that means, especially because her favorite color is pink, that this bathroom is Lydia’s and we shouldn’t ever be caught in here.”

“How unhygienic,” Stiles replies, pointing at the magazines. Derek claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the sudden bark of laughter.

“I agree. But honestly, it’s probably a lot more hygienic than your phone.”

Stiles bumps shoulders and then heads back to the room. Derek has indeed found and inflated an air mattress. Stiles crawls onto it to test the bounce, and oh, there’s his pillow. For some reason it’s on Derek’s bed. He grabs it, tucks it under his head, and just like that, out like a light.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles wakes up to a warm body next to his, someone’s leg wound around his, someone’s head on his shoulder. He blinks up at the ceiling, watching as the sunrise fills the room with a lovely, rosy glow.

Then he remembers where he is and what’s supposed to be going on and sits up, arms flailing as he tries to dislodge himself from a very deeply asleep Derek.

He hears a clicking sound, and his head snaps around to find an elegant strawberry blonde in very tight blue wrap dress aiming a phone at him.

“Whasit?” he grumbles, glad that both he and Derek apparently decided to sleep in their clothes. Usually, they’re both strip down to boxers kind of guys. It makes it hard for Stiles to sleep sometimes when he just really wants to lick Derek’s abs or jerk off over him. And apparently there goes his morning wood.

“It’s just payback,” the strawberry blonde says, loud even though it’s obviously early. Derek jerks awake, snorting, and gasping like someone doused him with cold water.

It doesn’t help Stiles’ inappropriate boner at all.

“Payback for what?” Stiles asks. He’s never met this woman. Why does she need payback?

“Oh hey, Lydia,” Derek says, gruff. Sexy morning voice alert. “What brings you to our room today?”

“Someone used my bathroom.”

“Didn’t used to be your bathroom,” Derek responds. He turns to Stiles. “Stiles, this is Cora’s fiancée, Lydia. Lydia, this is my boyfriend, Stiles.”

“Hmm, so he is real,” Lydia remarks. She snaps another picture, says, “Stay out of my bathroom or I’ll expose your sleeping arrangements to Mom and Dad.”

Derek yawns, lazily slipping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and using the lax grip to tug him back down. “Mom and Dad already know we’re sharing a room. It stands to reason that we’re comfortable sharing a bed too. After all, we’ve been living together for almost four years now.”

Lydia huffs and flounces out of the room, but Stiles saw on her face; she lost and she knew it. And she didn’t mind.

Derek adjusts his grip, nuzzles into Stiles’ neck again. “Hope this is okay?” he murmurs.

Stiles swallows hard. “Yeah,” he grits out. “This is perfect.”

Still, Derek rolls away from him. “I’m going to get up now. It’s the perfect time for a quick run. There’s a bathroom down stairs, third door on the left. Ask my mom or dad if you can’t find it. Don’t trust anything Lydia or Cora tell you.”

He grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his suitcase and heads out.

Stiles flops back on the bed, wondering if he’d done something wrong. Derek’s leaving feels like dismissal and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s because he was being a little too enthusiastic, i.e. the boner, or not enthusiastic enough.

It feels horrible, like a pit is growing in Stiles’ stomach, and he realizes that he won’t be able to maintain the charade of being Derek’s boyfriend without someone on his side.

But he’s in Chula Vista, not Beacon Hills. His dad is a whole ten hours away, and Stiles hadn’t realized that he only has one friend in the whole world.

How Derek is more sociable than him, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that if he doesn’t spill to someone, he’s going to break down, and the public breakup won’t be public nor a breakup.

He’s sort of saved when Cora knocks on the door and comes in before he can do more than say, “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to apologize for Lydia,” Cora says. She sits on the bed, cradling her stomach. “Mom and Dad are humoring her because her parents just got divorced and she’s not taking it well.”

Stiles studies her. “You weren’t this nice last night,” he says, hoping that she isn’t offended. When she throws her head back and laughs, he lets out a little sigh of relief.

“No. I’m not a night person.” She rubs at her stomach, catches herself, and sits on her hands. “Look, the baby likes to tap dance on my bladder, and whoever said morning sickness was only morning or just in the first trimester lied their fucking head off. I was startled when Derek brought you home. He’s been talking about his roommate nonstop. I actually thought you were dating before now, but he never said your name, always claimed we’d think you were imaginary if he did that.”

“I get it,” Stiles says. “Whenever someone stumbles over my real name, I tell them I go by Stiles, and every time, I get, ‘What kind of a name is Stiles?’ instead of ‘Cool, something easier to say.’ It’s discouraging.”

Cora’s hand comes up to pat at her belly, and she frowns down at it. “I swear I’m not usually this tactile.”

“It’s okay. It’s your body. Hormones and all.”

“Tell me why you decided to date my brother. Did he finally get his head out of his ass and ask you?”

Stiles coughs. “Uh, sort of?” He winces. “I mean, yeah, he finally asked and we made it official, but I mean, I haven’t dated anyone since high school, and Derek’s never been with anyone else as far as I know.”

“That’s it exactly.” Cora points at Stiles and he looks down at himself. He’s not bad looking—if his dad can be trusted—and he’s been making more of an effort with even his casual clothes since he and Derek began living together. “Derek doesn’t date. So why you? No offense.”

“Some taken,” Stiles replies. He shrugs at her. “I don’t know why.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Cora hauls herself up, shakes her head, and sinks back to the bed. She pats next to her, and Stiles hesitantly joins her.

She leans in close. “So, how much is he paying you?”

“Wh-what?”

Cora has a gleam in her eyes that makes Stiles entirely uncomfortable to be trapped here with her. “I’m guessing that you and he aren’t really dating, but since it’s Laura’s tenth wedding anniversary this weekend, he doesn’t want to be bothered by the copious aunts and grand-aunts that like to pinch his cheeks and ask when he’s bringing home his bride. Ergo, you, because my brother may be many things, a coward, spineless, and utterly useless at getting dates, but he does have a soft spot for you.”

Stiles stands up. “Derek isn’t spineless or a coward,” he says, angry at her. “Why would you even say that? Do you even know your brother? He was terrified to come to college. I don’t know why. He hasn’t shared that with me yet. But when I needed a roommate after my first roommate turned out to be the biggest bastard on campus, he stepped up. We’ve been friends since. It was a natural progression of our relationship because, yeah, we fell in love with each other.”

Cora grabs his wrist. “Don’t leave. Not yet. I’m sorry.” She tugs, and he sits. He’s breathing hard, heart beating a little too fast. He doesn’t know why he got so angry except for the fact that he knows the true Derek, the one who likes cooking and cleaning and studying microbiology and taking life art with Stiles just so he’d know someone in the class.

Cora takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I said that about Derek. I just needed to know.”

“Know what?”

“That you love him too.”

Stiles blinks. Derek doesn’t love him. Not like that.

“I can see that you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Derek loves you. He won’t admit it but it’s in his voice when he talks about you. It’s in the way he won’t let anyone call you imaginary but also won’t reveal your name, because he’s trying to protect you. I don’t know. I do know my brother, and I know that he loves you, and you love him too.”

Stiles doesn’t even know where the tears come from, but he finds himself sobbing on Cora’s shoulder as he confesses that Derek did actually hire him precisely for what Cora accused.

She listens patiently.

Then. “You’re both the biggest idiots.” She throws a roll of toilet paper at him. “Kleenexes get a little rough on the nose when you’re prone to hysterical fits,” she explains to his raised eyebrow. “Quadruple ply is a Godsend.”

Once he’s dried his face and blown his nose, Cora takes his hand again. “Look, I get it. I do. Our family can be overbearing. It was hell keeping them off Lydia’s and my backs long enough to have the discussion about children. And we’re not even married yet. But trust me on this: Derek does love you.”

“So how do I get him to ask me?” Stiles asks. “I mean, after all this. We’re supposed to have a public breakup after this weekend.”

Cora laughs. “Mom and Dad are going to be so pissed they let you sleep in the same room if you do that.”

“I’m serious. I’m supposed to break up with Derek so that he can, I don’t know, save face with his family. I guess because they’ll never see me again.”

She nods. “Makes sense.” She tilts her head, chewing on her lip. “Okay, I’ve got it: instead of breaking up with him, you propose to him. Confuse him. If he really likes you, he’ll probably say yes, and you can be engaged for however long you like. If he still wants to break up with you, then he can’t do it without a little shit sticking to him.

“Oh, I know! You can do it when we go to the mall!” To Stiles’ confused face, she explains, “It’s a tradition to do a scavenger hunt in the mall after a celebration. After we celebrate Laura’s anniversary, we’re going to the mall. It’ll be the perfect place to propose. Or breakup.Whichever it ends up being.”

“One problem: how am I supposed to live with Derek if he says no?”

Cora shrugs. “I don’t think he will, but you could make him move out if he does.”

“Another problem,” Stiles says. Cora rolls her eyes. “I don’t have a ring. I don’t even know Derek’s ring size.”

“That’s easy enough. I have everyone’s ring sizes. I’m the official jewelry expert in the family. That’s why.” Stiles nods. The Hales are so weird, but he finds it endearing. He supposes the Stilinskis would be just as weird to the Hales with their traditions. “Anyway, I’ve got the perfect ring for you to use.” She struggles up and then waddles toward a room three doors down the hall from Derek’s closet room. Stiles waits for her at the door. When she comes back, she tosses a small black box at him.

He flips it open and stares down at the silver band set with a single black cubic zirconium stone. Cora’s right, it’s perfect. It’s neutral enough to go with Derek’s wardrobe full of warm tones and dark pants, but also enough of a statement to bring attention to the fact that he’s wearing an engagement ring. Classy but not overstated.

Derek does have a few bright shirts mixed in, but he doesn’t wear them anywhere but around the apartment. Stiles thinks it’s because they’re gifts from him and Derek likes how soft they are. It makes Stiles unreasonably happy whenever he catches Derek wearing one of them.

“Are you positive he’ll say yes?” Stiles asks. He really doesn’t want to destroy his and Derek’s relationship. Although, he has a feeling that they’re already way past that.

“About seventy-five percent,” Cora says, and because they’re at her room, she shuts the door in his face before he can complain about those odds.

Stiles wanders back to Derek’s room. He keeps staring at the ring. It’s too soon to propose, right?

They’ve only just started dating, right?

They’re not really dating. It won’t be a real proposal. Right?

He closes the box and hides it in his pillow. Then, he grabs a change of clothes and his travel bag and heads to the downstairs bathroom for a quick shower.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Over the course of the day, Stiles is introduced to far more people than he ever expected to meet, and is frankly exhausted by the time they all pile into vehicles, he and Derek riding with Derek’s frankly frightening Uncle Peter and his partner, Freddie, to go to the restaurant.

The ring box is secure in his pocket, and he does his best not to touch it, aware that as the “new” significant other, he’s being subjected to a lot of interrogations, hugs, and all around suspicion. Through it all, Derek stays by his side, directing him away from the more prying of the aunts, or having him hide in an empty room until someone can make an announcement that makes Derek’s boyfriend seem like old news.

Finally though, they all sit at six tables pushed together, a buffet against the back wall of the room. The restaurant is owned by a pair of great aunts who insist on Derek and Stiles sitting next to them so they can gossip about the changes at California University-Berkeley.

“You know, Marsha was a co-founder of the first LGBTQ organization,” the more wizened one states. “How’d that go for you, dear?”

Marsha rolls up her sleeve to show off a large scar. “Thirty stitches and an expulsion.” She winks at Stiles. “And I’d do it all over again because it’s how I met the love of my life.”

He smiles politely. “I’m glad times have changed,” he says. “I don’t think I could scar as neat as that.”

“Well, that’s Diana’s doing. Such steady hands even as she berated me for putting my life in danger.” Marsha sighs wistfully. “Some things don’t change.” With sharp eyes, she pokes at Stiles’ soul, and he shudders at the sensation of being seen and known. “You may think you’re not scarred, but you are.” She turns to Derek. “Make sure you treasure this boy, eh?”

Derek nods almost frantically. He grabs Stiles’ and his aunts’ glasses. “Refills?”

“How long have you been together?” Marsha asks, and Stiles knows he should stick to the script he and Derek came up with, but he can’t. So, he leans in, like he’s telling a big secret, and whispers, “Three and a half years.”

Diana whacks at Marsha’s shoulder. “That means they’ve been steady since they met,” she excitedly exclaims. Stiles flushes at the sudden eyes on their end of the table.

“What I meant,” he stutters out, under the heavy, heavy gaze of, like, a million Hales, “is that we’ve been dancing around each other for years. We’ve only just decided to make it official.”

Derek plops down the glasses. “Don’t scare him,” he chastises his aunts, and by extension, all the nosy, nosy relatives. “I actually happen to love him, and I’d appreciate not having to find him again when you all chase him away.”

As if practiced, all the Hales go back to their own plates and conversation.

Stiles leans into Derek, gratefully sipping at his Sprite. Derek leans back a little, and they balance nicely. Until Stiles remembers what he’s planning to do during the after-dinner excursion. Then, he just sits there while Derek chats amicably, offers to refill Stiles’ plate, and almost holds his hand whenever he gets up from the table.

After the meal, Peter and Freddie give them a ride to the mall. Surprisingly, Peter hadn’t done anything to get kicked out, like Derek had predicted. Stiles thinks it’s because whenever Peter opened his mouth, Freddie squeezed his leg. Someday, Stiles thinks, if things work out, he and Derek could be like that, communicating with just a touch.

At the mall, Laura and her husband, Jordan, hand out a sheet of paper with things to find, and the Hales disperse, a literal army of at least thirty people, led by Marsha and Diana on their motorized wheelchairs.

Stiles allows Derek to hold his hand as they follow along more sedately. Stiles isn’t going to participate in the scavenger hunt, too nervous and afraid that if he uses it as a distraction, he’ll forget why he’s really here.

They get to the second level, and Derek points out a few things on the list, but Stiles has had enough. He sees Cora and Lydia in the crowd and makes his way toward them. Cora catches his eye and nods.

Stiles takes a deep breath, drops Derek’s hand, and then kneels down before he can think about it.

Derek turns to see what’s up and claps his hands over his eyes, like that’s going to make Stiles stand up again.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Derek, love, can you look at me?”

Derek shakes his head. He’s blushing, hard. Probably because they’re in the middle of a crowd. Apparently neither of them quite care for the public spectacle. Good to know.

Stiles pulls out the ring box. He takes another deep breath, teetering on the edge of backing out and letting Derek think it was a prank.

Behind Derek, Cora and Lydia both stand, hands clasped together, staring wide-eyed. Cora knows it’s not fake, so why does she look so invested?

Faintly, Stiles hears someone say, “Go for it!” So he gathers his conviction and opens his mouth.

“Please open your eyes,” he says, softly. When Derek does, Stiles is surprised to see tears there. “Derek Hale, I love you. I know we haven’t been dating for very long, but I already know I want to marry you.” And suck your dick, but Stiles doesn’t say that out loud. There are children present for God’s sake. “We go together like two things that you wouldn’t think would be good, but then they end up being the perfect pair. And I don’t ever want to give that up. Please say yes?”

Derek is already nodding, his expression goes from obviously embarrassed to fond and soft, in a way Stiles is entirely unused to seeing from him, even after living together for most of three and a half years.

Behind Derek, Cora and Lydia begin jumping up and down, squealing. Startled, Derek glances back at them before quickly focusing on Stiles again. He helps pull him to his feet and then wordlessly extends his hand. Stiles slides the ring onto his finger. Cora was right about the size and about the style. It fits perfectly, and Derek smiles at it.

Something warm blooms in Stiles’ chest, and it’s because he put the ring and the smile on Derek.

And oh fuck. Oh fuck, he just proposed to Derek fucking Hale and has gotten a yes. Fuck seventy-five percent. Fuck being unsure if his love is unrequited. Stiles leaps into Derek’s arms and is met with a completely off-kilter, totally unbalanced, completely perfect imperfect mashing of lips and noses, and they tumble to the ground, Stiles on top.

Derek is laughing, patting at him, but he also isn’t saying get up.

That’s Lydia, tugging at them. “Do you know how many germs are on this floor?” she grouses, but despite the hard edge from this morning, she keeps smiling at them like she actually likes them.

The rest of the Hales appear suddenly—probably summoned by a text—and all of them, not a one of them looks angry, they all look happy, pleased, already singing congratulations.

Cora raises her phone to show them that she recorded it all, everything, including what was their first kiss.

Oh shit. He’s so fucked. But he’s so happy too.

Cora’s right that they can be engaged for however long they need. At least they are engaged.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The rest of Saturday passes in a whirlwind, and Derek never stops smiling. The whole drive back to Berkeley on Sunday is spent in contented bliss, and when Derek isn’t driving, he just stares at the ring.

About an hour from their apartment, Derek pulls over, and Stiles jerks awake.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Derek says, but Stiles can hear it in his voice. Something’s wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks again, gentling his tone.

Derek takes off the ring and hands it to him. “Thanks for that. I really liked it.”

“Liked what?” Stiles stares at the ring. It looks wrong in his hand and not on Derek’s finger. It’s only been there about twenty-four hours. It shouldn’t look wrong, but it does. “Is this about the agreement?”

“Yeah.” Derek clears his throat, a clear sign that he’s about to start crying. He looks heartbroken. “The agreement. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do what?” Stiles asks. He turns the ring over, grabs Derek’s hand, and slides it back on. “Your sister already told me that you’re in love with me. I’m in love with you. I proposed-proposed to you. If you really don’t want to marry me, at least wait until we’re home before you break my heart.”

Derek just stares at him.

Stiles waves his hand by his head. Maybe he’s just too tired of this damn charade that they never should have done. Maybe he just wants something for himself for once and he’s willing to fight for it. “I know, you told me don’t believe what Cora says, but she also said you talked about me incessantly ever since you met me. Dude, we’re in love with each other, and yes it sucks that it took making up this fake dating thing for us to realize it, but if you think that I’m going to just roll over and say, ‘Hey, that was great, let’s never do it again,’ then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Derek covers the ring with his other hand, watching as it peeks through his fingers. “You’re in love with me?”

Stiles feels like snapping, but doesn’t. “Yes.”

Derek nods. “Thanks. I-I love you too.” He puts the Camaro in drive.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence. Stiles doesn’t feel relief at things being in the open nor at the sight of the ring on Derek’s finger where it belongs.

Instead, he feels dread rising. Something is going to happen when they get back to their apartment, and it might just be the end of them. Stupid, stupid, they just confessed their feelings for each other. Things should be looking up, not down.

Derek parks and immediately goes to grab their suitcases from the trunk. Stiles heads up the stairs to unlock the front door.

“So, I want a redo,” Derek remarks suddenly, his tone forced into easy and cheery.

Stiles pauses where he’s unlocking the door. “Redo?”

Derek moves closer, shoves the suitcases aside, and brackets Stiles’ head with his hands. He leans in until their faces are just an inch apart. “A redo.” And he kisses Stiles, and even though the doubt is still there, warring in Stiles with the warmth of knowing he has Derek’s love, it gets a little smaller when he falls back against the door and Derek follows him in.

“I am gonna suck your cock so good,” he murmurs against Derek’s lips.

“Not if I suck yours first,” Derek returns.

And that is the story of how Stiles and Derek finally stopped pining and started boning.

Cora tells the story of how they got together at their wedding five years later, conveniently leaving out the part about being seventy-five percent sure that Derek was in love with Stiles, but Stiles forgives her because while she may have been only seventy-five percent sure, he and Derek are both one hundred percent in love and getting married.

~ The End ~

[nekojitachan]

Okay, so there was this post, about where I was stuck at a rather miserable wedding. And in the comments, @fuzzballsheltiepants left a comment about imagining being stuck at the wedding with Neil and Andrew at the table.

Well, guess you could say that it inspired this fic.

No real warnings here, other than Neil stirring up trouble. Oh, and drink responsibly.

*******

“Who the hell does a puzzle game at a wedding?”

The left corner of Neil’s mouth twitched upward at the hint of indignation in his husband’s voice; he glanced over to find Andrew, his expression bored (better than murderous), gazing around the room with a half-empty plastic cup held in his left hand. He looked so handsome in his black suit with dark grey dress shirt (sans tie), blond hair freshly trimmed and bangs brushed back from his forehead. Yet for all the enticing picture he made at the moment, Neil would much rather he be dressed in a pair of comfortable sweats – that they both be in sweats and at their townhouse, busy making dinner and spoiling the cats than stuck at Regan’s wedding.

Unfortunately, it seemed that when the captain of your Exy team got married, you were expected to attend the event, especially if you were a married couple yourself and they helped back a transfer that got the two of you on the same team at last.

Dammit.

“I must admit, that’s the first I’ve heard of it – if anything, Nicky would have had it at his wedding.” Neil smiled when Andrew snorted at that, considering the spectacle the event had already been. “Or suggested it for ours.” When his husband grimaced, his smile widened. “Though to be fair, I think seeing who could pick a lock fastest would have been more ‘us’.”

“That or break out of handcuffs,” Andrew suggested while giving him a narrow look for some reason, then finished the last of his whiskey. “But we were smart enough to skip all of this nonsense.” Their ceremony had lasted five minutes, tops, at the courthouse and included only their most ‘necessary pests’ (Andrew’s words).

“True,” Neil murmured as he glanced around the large room crowded with people; some he knew since they were teammates, but most were strangers – Regan’s family and friends, or Sarah’s, he supposed. He’d only known the Dynamite’s captain for a few months, not counting the occasional meet-up when his former team played Andrew’s, and so wasn’t that familiar with the man’s fiancée.

Certainly not familiar enough to feel as if he should be stuck at the man’s wedding, but Regan wanted his team there for some reason, so Neil (and Andrew) had to suffer through the thing. Strict orders had been given – they couldn’t leave until after the cake had been cut and handed out.

Dammit.

At least there was an open bar, which they braved yet again so Andrew could have another drink (Neil stuck with juice since he wasn’t comfortable having more than a glass or two of beer or cider with his new teammates), but it seemed by then that the servers were done walking around with appetizers. Andrew stood there radiating indignation while Dave (backliner) introduced Neil to his wife, Laura, then clicked his tongue in disgust once they left. “They said the reception would start at 5:30. That was ten minutes ago.”

“Uhm, these things tend to run late?” Neil winced at the spark of irritation in his husband’s hazel eyes. “Maybe there’s something left at the cheese table.”

That seemed to appease the walking black hole, at least for the moment; they went into the one room where a cheese and vegetable spread had been placed (and a small classical quartet played music), and found that it hadn’t been entirely picked clean just yet.

They also found Mark, the team’s sub goalie, being berated by a guest who appeared determined to convert him to a vegan lifestyle. “-much better for the planet if you stop murdering animals because you ‘like a nice steak now and then’,” the young woman sneered.

Neil was bored, stuck wearing a suit (even if Andrew had picked it out for him and it always led to a quite enjoyable time later when it came to removing it) and would much rather be home, so he decided ‘what the hell’ because when would he see most of these people again? “Actually,” he informed the woman as he cut into her tirade, “there are some downsides to a vegan lifestyle. I mean, unless you’re growing everything yourself with sustainability in mind, you can negatively impact the environment even if you’re not ‘murdering animals’.” He gave her a cold smile as he nodded to her fake leather purse and shoes. “Think plastic is good for the planet? Or when you just have to have your latest fad vegetable or grain to the point you don’t care how it impacts the area around it?” He tried to remember some of the other arguments Allison had made during their last visit together, but it seemed that he’d already annoyed the woman enough as she’d taken to glaring at him (along with her date for the evening) while Mark smiled in relief and Andrew continued to decimate what remained of the cheese.

“You don’t have to be an asshole,” she snapped before she stomped away (with date in tow), and even tossed her long, black hair over her shoulder in emphasis.

“Thanks.” Mark gave him a relieved smile then took a swig of his beer. “All I did was make a joke about if she thought we’d be lucky enough to have steak for dinner and she went off on me. What happened to ‘each their own’, eh?”

“We’re with you there,” Neil agreed; personally, he didn’t care about one’s lifestyle choices as long as they didn’t impact others, and wished that more people felt the same.

He talked with Mark and Jennie (offensive dealer) who joined the discussion while Andrew basically cleared the table, and then it was back to the bar (some people better have a ride home or plan on cutting themselves off soon, because it was clear the long wait for dinner was not a good thing). “You just can’t resist stirring up shit, can you?” Andrew mused as he swirled the whiskey (at least the bar was stocked with semi-decent liquor or Neil suspected they’d have been long gone, ‘cake’ rule or no cake rule).

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Neil kept a straight face until Andrew scoffed, then smiled enough that the scar on his left cheek ached from stretching so much.

They snuck outside to smoke (one of their five cigarettes each of the day), uncaring of the cold when they were alone and able to enjoy each other’s company in silence for a little while. Then it was back inside, where they found a quiet corner to wait (well, except for when Andrew bitched and bitched about how Regan had no fucking clue how to tell time) for the reception hall to be ready.

Almost an hour and a half later than it had said on the invite, the doors were opened and they were ‘invited’ to sit at their arranged tables for the reception part of the wedding. Regan and Sarah had set things up so the players were scattered amongst their family and friends.

Somehow, Neil wasn’t surprised (not with his luck) to find himself at the same table as the vegan couple.

She gave him and Andrew a cold look and immediately made it clear that she and her boyfriend were the best of friends with another couple at the table, which left two other couples for Neil and Andrew to talk to for the next hour or two. Except that Andrew had never gotten along very well with Lucas, who helped with the team’s media accounts (which meant that Neil didn’t, either), and the other couple were related to Sarah and had kids, so Neil listened to them ramble on for a couple of minutes about nine-to-five jobs and toddlers and just lost focus around the time they mentioned ‘day-care’.

“We’re going back to the bar, and this time distract the bartender while I grab the bottle of whiskey,” Andrew murmured in German.

Considering that vegan-girl was going on about some amazing quinoa recipe, Neil figured that it was the best thing possible, or else he’d be calling Renee to help him break his husband out of prison for mass homicide.

On second thought, it might be a good idea to text her just in case…..

While the maid of honor rambled on about what a precious saint Sarah was, he smiled at the one bartender (who appeared exhausted and looking forward to a break, now that people were seated and about to be fed), and asked about gin drinks while inching a twenty toward the tip jar, and walked off with a gin and tonic he would sadly have to ignore (especially since it was obvious that he’d be driving home) while a smug Andrew cradled his illicit goods beneath his coat back to the table.

Andrew stared everyone down as he drank straight from the bottle, while Neil had never been so grateful to see a salad appear in front of him in his life.

That and the bread baskets had to last them until it was their table’s turn to go to the buffet for any real food, and of course they were table ten. “Isn’t it odd, how all of a sudden the balls seem attracted to Regan’s head,” Andrew said as he snatched up the last two rolls, much to Lucas’ ire.

“Or his car tires are always deflated.” Neil hadn’t thought that the backliner had disliked them, but he was beginning to revise that opinion. “Good thing we didn’t go with the one bar set he wanted as a gift.”

“No, he deserves that horrid vase.” A slight shiver of distaste ran through Andrew’s stocky body.

“Ah, it’s rude to talk in a language no one else understands,” vegan-girl’s bestie said with evident disapproval, never mind that most of the table had been carrying on a conversation together - without Andrew and Neil.

Andrew gave her a blank look while Neil offered his father’s smile until she blanched. “Not our fault you don’t understand it,” he said before he rolled his eyes and turned back to his husband. “Make sure to throw the balls really, really hard.”

The look he received from his ‘better half’ made it clear that he needn’t have said anything.

While they waited for their turn, Neil exchanged a few texts with Renee (Andrew appeased for the moment, but chance for bloodshed still possible, while she mentioned various flight arrivals, that Allison was excited about her upcoming fashion line and that a care package was on its way to them). For his part, Andrew sipped the whiskey while he recited a German drinking song with rather dubious lyrics in a rote manner in an obvious attempt to annoy their dinner-mates.

(It worked.)

Everyone appeared relieved when it was finally their turn to eat; vegan-besties tried to get there first, but Andrew blocked speeding balls for a living while Neil dealt with people larger than him trying to knock him down all the time, so they had no problems getting to the buffet ahead of everyone else. Neil threw a smile over his shoulder at the couple while Andrew grabbed their plates.

At least the food looked decent; Andrew loaded up on the lasagna, fried chicken sliders and prawns, while Neil had the first two and a bowl of fruit salad; the vegetables were roundly ignored.

When vegan-girl saw their plates at the table, she glared (especially at Andrew, who was busy breaking apart the pieces of lasagna). “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Could she not see the bowl of fruit? Neil opened his mouth to argue and then thought better of it – Renee would be slightly peeved if she had to break both of them out of jail, after all. “What type of cake do you think it is, hmm? Chocolate? Vanilla? Almond?”

“It better be the best damn cake in the world after putting up with this shit,” Andrew muttered between bites of food.

On that they both agreed.

It was quiet while everyone ate, which Neil put down to everyone being hungry, and then the married couple made noises about it being late (not really) and the babysitter and kids. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when first the wife left the table and then the husband once their plates were empty, and neither returned after ten minutes.

He was jealous as hell.

Even though there had been a couple of (thankfully short) speeches when the Regan and Sarah had entered the large room, Regan’s best man (Tim, his brother) got up to say a few more words and then the cake was wheeled into the room. Neil and Andrew perked up at that, even though it looked to be covered in that awful fondant icing and lots of gold dust. There was more talking (why?) between Regan and Sarah, and then they finally cut the damn thing.

“Maybe we’ll be out of here soon,” Andrew murmured as he tapped his fingers against the top of the table.

“One can hope.” The next time they got any invitations that weren’t from their fellow Foxes in the mail, Neil was going to come down with a case of food poisoning or something instead of suffer through another wedding.

Andrew got up from the table at one point, so Neil pulled out his phone to text with Renee some more to ask her what she thought might bring on some convincing flu-like symptoms for a couple of days (he’d ask Aaron, but chances were fifty/fifty that the bastard might poison him for real) while he half-expected the fire alarm to go off.

Especially when Andrew didn’t come back in ten minutes.

(He knew his husband hadn’t gone off without him, because then there would be bloodshed.)

Andrew finally returned bearing two plates overloaded with cookies, of all things. “That’s not cake.”

“Nice to see you haven’t taken too many hits to the head yet,” Andrew remarked as he pushed something round, white and covered in powdered sugar toward Neil, who regarded it with some suspicion but bit into it regardless; it was a shortbread cookie with walnuts so not bad. “There’s a cookie table out there.”

“Really?” Neil thought about that while Lucas’ wife (who actually nice) looked on with interest. “Okay, why?”

Andrew shrugged and had another cookie, some rolled thing with filling. “Something about Sarah being from Pennsylvania and it being a tradition there, from what the server told me.” Knowing Andrew, all he cared about was that there were sweets readily available.

Neil leaned against his husband while the glutton ate his way through the cookies, and smiled when a pumpkin spice cookie was nudged his way (it was good). When twenty minutes went by and still no cake but a DJ invited people (more like harassed) onto the dance floor, Andrew made a slight growling noise, had another swig of whiskey and went to fetch more cookies.

It was beginning to feel like they’d never leave the damn wedding, that they were trapped there forever. Neil had survived a life on the run, had lasted through two (three) weeks at Evermore, had been tortured, so refused to be broken by this evening.

But dammit, it was hard.

Especially when the DJ started playing Justin Bieber.

When Andrew began to slide his fingers beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, Neil knew that they had to leave, and they had to leave now. “Go get our coats,” he whispered in his husband’s left ear, followed by a slight nuzzle. When Andrew gave him a curious look, mindful of their instructions for the night, he smiled in a confident (well, Nicky called it his ‘oh shit we’re dead’ grin) manner. “Trust me.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Andrew insisted, yet grabbed the bottle of whiskey which did have a good bit left in it still and left the table.

Neil couldn’t resist giving a chilling smile to the remaining people at the table, which made them cringe back, before he headed to the kitchen. The staff was surprised to see him and tried to politely shoo him away, but all it took was holding up two fifties and explaining how his spouse had a headache so he needed two slices of cake (which was already cut and plated, so what the hell was the hold-up?) to go.

They were only too happy to box those two slices for him.

He made sure to take pictures of the slices, which he’d provide to Coach Denham to prove that he and Andrew had remained at the damn wedding until they’d gotten their cake, per instructions.

Cake in hand, he left the busy staff to their work and headed to the front door, where Andrew should be waiting for him. Andrew and their coats… and a large platter covered with cookies, apparently.

“Uhm….”

“Let’s go,” Andrew said as he shoved Neil’s coat into his arms.

Neil wasn’t going to ask, not when his husband radiated barely contained annoyance and there weren’t any dead bodies (that he knew of, which was all that mattered).

The cake box in the back seat of the Maserati and the cookie platter firmly held on Andrew’s lap, Neil smoothly shifted the car into gear to drive them home. “For any future weddings, we’re out of town,” Andrew declared before he bit into a brownie.

“Agreed.”

It was a peaceful drive home, the only sound the purr of the car’s engine and Andrew munching on cookies. Once they were inside their townhouse, Neil put the cake and the remaining cookies (he smiled when he noticed that Andrew had gotten more of the pumpkin ones for him) away, then fed the cats, who acted as if they were such starved creatures.

When he straightened up, Andrew was next to him. “Hey,” Neil breathed out, his smile strengthening as he was tugged closer by broad hands on his hips. “Renee was ready to fly out here and help me stage a jailbreak in case you snapped tonight.”

“It was close,” Andrew admitted. “Someone tried to get me out on the dance floor, but Terri cut her off before she lost her arm.”

And probably more than that, knowing Andrew, Neil thought with a slight wince; he would have to thank his fellow striker next week. “Well, we’re home now, you still have some sweets left despite everything, and I’ve this suit which I can’t quite remember how to take off.” Neil batted his eyelashes a couple of times. “Won’t you help me?”

“Pathetic as always, Josten,” Andrew sneered, but the heat in his lovely hazel eyes had nothing to do with anger or disgust.

“Josten-Minyard,” Neil reminded him before he was tugged down for a kiss, a pleased hum escaping as warm, strong hands slipped beneath his jacket.

The evening might have been horrible, but he couldn’t complain about the sugar rush from all those cookies Andrew had eaten, oh no.

*******

Ok, I really do need to get back to some in progress fics. But that was mildly amusing (and cathartic).

[a-lockman5]

Dirty Little Secret {Devi x Paxton}

A/N: Hooray! So after about 8.5K, I cut this one off. I like the way it ended, and it was fun to imagine a future Daxton. Thank you so much to the person that requested it! I am throwing around the idea of working on a part 2, so if I get at least 5 “upvotes” for a part 2, I will take it on.

Summary: Devi wasn’t interested in dating anymore. She wasn’t hurt or messed up from a previous relationship. She just wanted to meet a guy that made time stand still. It just didn’t happen. That is, until a man from her past walked into her office.

Warnings: Fluff, drinking/alcohol abuse, time-jump (Devi and co. are in their late 20s), forbidden love, taboo, mild burns, sexual themes - nothing explicit

Don’t forget, request/ask is open!

And check out my MASTERLIST

“Debbie, you have a new patient today,” the office manager, Barb called out, thrusting a folder into the air.

“It’s Devi,” she swiped the folder from her, “you know, like that grandson you’re always going on about.”

“Oh, sorry, dear. I keep forgetting.”

“It’s alright, Barb, thanks for grabbing this,” she turned away toward her own desk. I’ve only been working here for two and half years. Why should you have caught on by now?

Devi Vishwakumar didn’t know what she wanted for the future when she graduated nearly nine years ago. She had spent her high school career with two things on her mind: having a love life and getting to Princeton. She’d managed both. After dating Ben Gross for the entirety of their junior year, Devi and he ended things amicably largely because being friendly rivals was much more fun and somehow resulted in less legitimate fighting. Senior year, she enjoyed the company of another classmate named Tyler Herron. He was academically minded, but still a jock in his own right. He played for the soccer and basketball teams, and Devi found she received common invites to parties that previously she thought only came from her friendship with Paxton Hall-Yoshida. Eleanor and Fabiola continued to prove they were the best friends anyone could ask for, but she also learned to love Shira and Zoey. Though they often seemed more superficial than Devi thought to care for, their aspirations were just as real as Devi’s and they had minds made for business and marketing. When time came for graduation, Devi felt more seen and cared for than she ever thought she could, and that’s what she said in her valedictorian speech. She also couldn’t help throwing a jab at Ben for beating him out, but to be fair, he insinuated letting her win in his own speech.

When she arrived at Princeton the following fall, Tyler forged his own path to MIT. Devi had no intention of bringing a boyfriend into college with her and was not at all hurt when Tyler felt the same way. She did wish she’d beat him to the punch, but at least they too split mutually and were able to be friendly on social media. Being single gave Devi the opportunity to focus on what was most important – her future.

Her mother made it very clear to her, she was to pick a college major before arriving for her first semester. Not having a plan is lazy. Are you lazy, khanna? Even when her mother was thousands of miles away, Devi could hear her loud and clear in her head. Though, she found she was right. Devi had to be prepared to make decisions for herself otherwise all the work she’d put in to get to Princeton would be for nothing. She chose Biology and pursued it relentlessly.

By the time she was graduating with her bachelor’s in biology, she’d made plenty of friends during that time who helped her choose to further pursue Physical Therapy. It was funny, she often thought, how she spent so long working to move across the country for her favorite Ivy League school to then end up back in her backyard for graduate school. The University of Southern California had one the best PT programs in the country, and Devi was proud to have studied there. Her final fieldwork was assigned at OSMC, Orthopedics and Sports Medicine Calabasas. After a thrilling experience, and impressing her Clinical Instructor at every turn, she was asked to stay on after graduation. Naturally, Devi accepted.

OSMC was not only the most exclusive orthopedic surgery and rehabilitation practice in Southern California, but it was also where she felt most at home. Outside of having a coworker who passively refused to learn the correct pronunciation of her name, she was in her element every day. Plus, she got to meet some really cool people. Professional athletes, actors, stuntmen, they all came to OSMC for physical rehabilitation. Legally, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone else that she’d personally worked with Dylan O’Brien, Diego Boneta, and Mookie Betts. She liked to remind herself of those things regularly though. Living in the LA area also allowed Devi’s relationship to improve with her mom, who finally voiced how proud she was of Devi… when she first started working. Now, she was worried that Devi would never settle down.

Devi had begged her mother not to place her in an arranged marriage when she was still studying at Princeton. The conversation actually took place at Kamala and Prashant’s wedding ceremony. It wasn’t that she didn’t think it could work – Kamala and Prashant proved that love could flourish from being set up. Devi wanted something different though. She wanted what Nalini and Mohan had. They met when they were children, and never wanted anyone else. She wanted to meet a man and feel the electricity that could make her forget her own name (like Barb seemed to do every day). Heart softened by the reminder of how Mohan had swept her off her feet, Devi’s mother agreed. That was six years ago. More recently, Nalini reminded her daughter regularly that all of the handsome driven Indian men in her age range had already been swept up, so she was on her own. She also made it very clear that grandchildren were to be in her future.

Did her mother’s constant badgering sour Devi on dating? Maybe a little bit. Did she get guys to buy her, Eleanor, and Fabiola drinks when they out only to ditch the same guys at the first opportunity? Absolutely, but what woman hadn’t done that? It had been a long time since Devi saw a man that made time stand still, and Mehcad Brooks was treated in her therapy gym.

No, Devi was not the romance obsessed teen she once was. Honestly, it’s better this way. Now, I can focus on my career, she thought. She pulled up her schedule on her laptop and noticed she didn’t have an appointment for three hours. “Hey, Barb? What time is that eval coming in?”

“Scheduled in thirty minutes!” She called back.

“Who ya got, D?” Amir, one of the physical therapy assistants, asked. “Someone rich or someone famous?”

“Go ahead and take a look, you’ll probably be seeing them next week,” Devi replied going to grab a mug of coffee.

“Hey, another Olympian. Paxton Hall-Yoshida!”

“Devi, oh my gosh, are you okay?” Hannah’s voice sounded like it was a hundred miles away. Devi didn’t come back to reality until she felt a damp towel being pressed into her arms. “Here, there’s coffee all over your leg. I don’t want you to get burns.”

Hannah was their rehabilitation technician. She helped keep things picked up, sanitized, and would provide physical assistance if they needed another set of hands during a session. At the moment, she was saving Devi from second degree burns, and cleaning up the broken ceramics from the coffee mug she’d just dropped. Hannah was right too; Devi chose the wrong day to wear a skirt and had drenched her right leg in hot coffee.

“Hannah, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me,” Devi told her pressing the towel on her knee and calf with one hand and crouching down to help pick up the pieces of her mug with the other.

“Devi, I love you, but please don’t help. We don’t want you to cut your hand open,” she laughed. Devi was known to be a little clumsy. “I have a pair of scrubs with me if you want to wear them today.”

“You are a lifesaver, Hannah. I don’t care what Amir says about you!” she called over her shoulder, heading into the locker room to change into Hannah’s scrubs.

Okay, Devi, get your shit together. Maybe it’s not even the same guy. Except, of course it was. How many Paxton Hall-Yoshida’s were Olympic Swimmer’s for the US team? One. There was one. One Paxton Hall-Yoshida that Devi had routinely made a fool of herself in front of when she was in high school. Paxton Hall-Yoshida that gave her the best first kiss a girl could dream up. Before she started dating Ben, Paxton was all she thought about. Now, she was supposed to treat him? God, I feel like I’m fifteen again! she thought, kicking the lockers angrily. She had to get a grip. She had exactly twenty-two minutes to handle the situation.

After changing quickly into the burgundy colored scrubs, Devi found herself in her boss’s office. “Makayla, is there any way I can give my eval to one of the other therapists?”

“Why?” She tapped her acrylics on the desk impatiently. Makayla was notorious for being in all the gossip of the clientele in their practice. Devi knew she had to be careful telling her too much. If she knew Devi and Paxton went to high school together, the questions would never stop until Devi ended up with word vomit about both of their personal lives.

“Uh... I just spilled hot coffee on my leg, and I am feeling pretty tense from that still.”

“Alright, Devi, I’m going to level with you. This particular client asked for you specifically. Apparently, he knows one of your previous clients, and they were a satisfied customer. He will not be happy if he works with another therapist. Are we going to have a problem?”

Devi swallowed her argument about conflicts of interest and gave her boss a tight-lipped smile. “No problem. I’m flattered, obviously. Thanks.” She rose from her seat and began to back out of the office. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help,” she gave a small wave and didn’t notice the way her foot caught on the door frame until it was too late.

She screwed her eyes shut, waiting for impact. It’s a reflex to reach your hands out toward the ground when falling in order to protect your head, but instead it often results in one of the most common fractures. Devi knew her bottom and back could take a fall and so she resisted the urge to catch herself, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to meeting the floor.

Except she didn’t hit the floor. “Woah!” she heard man’s voice shout before she was caught by a strong arm. “Good thing you got my good side.”

When she opened her eyes, there he was. Holding her in mid-air with one arm, Paxton Hall-Yoshida smiled down at Devi like Christmas had come early. He gingerly aided her back to a standing position, and she tried to ignore how he bit his lip and smirked at her. Man, he had not changed a bit, except that somehow, he looked stronger and more handsome than the last time she’d seen him.

“Oh, thank goodness. We didn’t need Danni getting hurt again!” Barb giggled from behind the front desk. Devi opened her mouth to correct the office manager again but didn’t manage to get the words out before Paxton.

“It’s Devi,” he told Barb. “D-e-v-i; it means goddess.”

“Oh!” Barb smiled like it was the first time she’d heard Devi’s name. “Well, thank you, young man. This goddess is your physical therapist today.”

“Lucky me,” he grinned. “Lead the way, Dr. Vishwakumar.”

It was all Devi could do to stop the heat from coloring her cheeks as she led Paxton through the therapy gym to one of the exam rooms in the back. No one interrupted them or disrupted their course. That was an expectation of working in an office with so many VIP clients. Professionalism came first, and Devi kept blasting that in her head. Be professional. Be professional.

Once they reached the exam room, she stopped at the open door and gestured for him to enter ahead of her. She tried to stop herself from checking out his backside, but the high school sophomore in her won the battle. And just like when they were in high school, this boy – nay – this man had an amazing way of filling out clothing that would otherwise be loose fitting. God, he looked good.

When she looked up, she was glad his back was still to her. For the first time, possibly in her entire life, Paxton didn’t catch her in an embarrassing moment. “So, Mr. Hall-Yoshida, why don’t you take a seat and” –

She was cut off by his soft laughter. “Come here, Devi,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

She found herself returning his embrace, and it actually helped her relax a little. “It’s good to see you too, Paxton,” she told him when she pulled away a moment later. “How long has it been?”

His eyes squinted over her shoulder as he thought about her question. “Ben Gross’s Christmas party 2022, right? Eight years?”

Somehow, in that moment, it felt like yesterday. “Yeah, that’s right. The one party at Ben’s that didn’t end with me in the deep end of the pool,” she grinned.

His eyes raked over her for a moment, so intense that she chose to turn away and grab his chart to distract herself. Then he laughed again. “At least sometimes it was on purpose.”

“Yes, not all of us are as graceful in the water as the Paxton H.Y.” she smiled up from his paperwork. “Alright, we could catch up for hours, but we have to get your evaluation done. Tell me what’s going on with your shoulder.”

Paxton smirked, but nodded and did not argue with moving on into the session. He explained his sudden onset of pain during a training session. Sharp pain. He noticed more during strokes or overhead activity. It was difficult to sleep on that shoulder, but otherwise, if he wasn’t using it, he didn’t have pain. Everything Paxton told her confirmed what the orthopedist had diagnosed: shoulder impingement syndrome. Just to cover her bases, Devi confirmed positive results for Neer’s and Hawkins’ tests.  He demonstrated mild weakness in the affected shoulder, and pain seemed to onset just at approximately 100 degrees of flexion.

“Okay, looks like you saw Doctor… Matthews? Did he explain this to you?”

“Not really… he said I’m pinching a muscle in my rotator cuff?”

“Kind of, more like a tendon,” Devi said grabbing a model off the counter. “So, you know how this is a ‘ball and socket’ joint so to speak. Normally, you have full range of motion and the ball rotates in the socket without any pain or stiffness,” she explained demonstrating the normal range of shoulder flexion. “Right now, you have some inflammation in the space between the ball and socket, so whenever you raise your arm above shoulder level, there isn’t enough space for the joint to rotate normally. Because of that, you pinch that tendon, it hurts and causes more inflammation, and then the next time you raise your arm, you’ll pinch the tendon, it’ll hurt and cause inflammation, and so on.”

“So… every time I raise my arm… like on every stroke, I make it worse?” he asked, his forehead furrowing.

“Not really, but you’re not making it any better. Every time you raise your arm above shoulder level, you’re basically reinjuring it. Don’t worry though, we can fix it.”

“Dr. Matthews didn’t think I would need surgery.”

“Oh, god no, and I would never do surgery. A – out of my scope of practice, B – can you imagine me with a scalpel and a living, breathing person? Bad idea.”

She smiled when he started laughing. This was Devi’s favorite part of her job. She had many A list clients walk into her office, and there was always a level of fear that they wouldn’t be able to reach 100% again. Sometimes, it was true. Devi liked being able to alleviate that fear and make people as comfortable as possible though. Paxton was no different. He’s just another client, she told herself, and continued in her explanation.

“See the reason it keeps happening is because you’re not giving the inflammation a chance to go down. Between swimming, lifting, and day to day activities, your arm goes over your head a lot. First thing we have to do is, limit that.”

“So, I can’t swim?”

“Not unless you can do it with your left arm by your side,” her head tilted in sympathy. “It’s not forever though. I want you to keep your arm below 90 degrees of flexion – below shoulder level for four weeks and I want you to complete these exercises every day, two to three times per day,” she pulled her pre-assembled shoulder impingement program out of a binder. “I want you here twice a week and we’ll follow up on your progress.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “If you seem like you need more attention, then we’ll add a session weekly. Honestly, Paxton, this is a really common injury, especially for swimmers. It’s known as ‘swimmer’s shoulder.’ You’ll be back in the pool in plenty of time to qualify for 2032.”

He smiled warmly at her, and she could see his stress deflating. “Thanks, that is really good news.” He stood from his seat and advanced toward her before catching himself, “Can I hug you again?”

She grinned. “As long as you keep your arm below 90 degrees.”

She saw a spark in his eyes as he thought of a retort, but his expression changed to his easy smirk and he nodded. “Deal. Thanks, Devi,” he said as he pulled her into him.

“So, we’re done, and I can go?” he seemed nervous.

“Yeah, I have another patient in,” she glanced at her watch, “thirty minutes? Wow, I thought this was a quick one.”

“What time do you get off?”

“My last appointment is from 4:00 to 4:45 this afternoon.”

“Let’s get dinner tonight. Are you busy?”

Was he asking her on a date? No, just as friends to reconnect. Still, she had to keep things professional. Dot the T’s, cross the I’s – “What?” Nailed it.

He exhaled in a gentle laugh, his right arm reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “I, umm, I asked you to have dinner with me.”

“Like a date?”

He stared at the floor, another laugh escaping him. “Yeah, Devi, like a date.”

To be honest, she was a little angry with him for this. “Paxton, I can’t.”

“Devi, come on. It doesn’t have to be a big thing. It doesn’t even have to be a date! Just two friends, catching up.”

She opened the door, attempting to usher him out. “That would be hugely unethical, Paxton. If you wanted to ask me out, you shouldn’t have handpicked me to be your therapist. I can’t date one of my clients.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again with a nod. “You’re right, I’m sorry, Dr. Vishwakumar. I didn’t mean to offend you. Thanks for all your help today. I’ll see you next week,” he told her. It would have seemed respectful or sincere if he hadn’t smirked the whole time. He was already at the front desk, presumably scheduling his next appointment when Devi reached her desk. He turned, his eyes settling on her immediately. “Oh and, Dr. Vishwakumar, you look good in that color,” he said with a smile that made her knees weak.

“Devi, he was flirting with you!” Hannah rushed to her side once he was gone.

“Lucky me,” she grimaced, pulling her phone from her desk drawer.

*We’re getting drinks tonight.. Actually we’re going out. Get hot.*

***

“So why are we going out tonight?” Fabiola asked, pouring shots of tequila in her kitchenette.

Fabiola had a cozy apartment in Koreatown. After receiving her degree in mechanical engineering from UC Berkeley, she received an entry-level job at Aldrin Corp. Within a few years, and some well-timed retirements, Fabiola was promoted to Senior Project Engineer. It was a job that was made for her. She often said she felt she was more hands on than previous SPE’s she’d worked for, but it also gained her the respect of her subordinates and made meeting deadlines that much easier. Her salary allowed her to not only afford this apartment near downtown LA, but to keep saving. Devi thought even with Eleanor climbing the ranks in her own field, Fabiola would be the first to have a suburban home like they’d all grown up in. For now though, she’d have the apartment closest to the clubs, and would be their pre-game hub.

“Yeah, you’re lucky you picked tonight. I had an early table read this morning, but I don’t have to be on set again until Sunday,” Eleanor agreed, touching up her eyeshadow.

“You will not believe who walked into my office today,” Devi groaned, leaving the bathroom to meet Fabiola at the counter. She swiped a shot off the counter and downed it with a wince.

“What about the salt and lime?” her friend asked in outrage. “I cut fresh lime for you!”

Devi grabbed a wedge and bit the flesh out and Fabiola nodded curtly. “I’ll use the salt for the next one.”

“So, who was it?” Eleanor asked, gliding out of the bathroom to join them. “Was it Sebastian? I know he’s almost 50, but I don’t know how you didn’t go home with him at the last premier party.”

Eleanor was a successful actress. She wasn’t a leading lady yet. She was gaining a lot of clout though. Enough clout to be at premier parties with Sebastian Stan… and Amandla Stenberg… and Tom Holland. Her phone was full of A-list stars and she was not legally obligated to keep her mouth shut about any time she spent with them. She very thoughtfully brought Devi and Fabiola to her premier parties as her guests, and that meant that they met a lot of A-list stars too.

“It was not Sebastian Stan,” Devi rolled her eyes, “and I’ll remind you, he texted you the next day asking you to thank me for calling his driver to come get him, remember? He was plastered and did not need to wake up with a stranger in bed with him.”

“Yeah, he’s really shy and private about his personal life. That fruit basket he sent you was intense.”

“Hello, losing focus,” Fabiola redirected while refilling Devi’s shot glass. “Who came in today?”

Devi groaned as she remembered her obligation to patient privacy. “I can’t tell you. Stupid HIPAA. What I can tell you is, he asked me out at the end of the session.” Eleanor and Fabiola grinned at each other before turning their grins on Devi. “What?”

“You wanted to say yes!” they said in unison.

“What? No, I didn’t. I’m dreading seeing this guy again next week.”

“No, you’re not! You’ve told us tons of stories of your patients flirting with you and your coworkers. Never once has it prickled you to the point of wanting to go get hammered in a nightclub.”

“Fabiola’s right! You’re fantasizing about getting with this guy in the exam room like on Grey’s. God, will that show ever not be relevant?”

“The point is the reason this has you tweaking is because you know you can’t do it.”

“Shut up, you guys suck.” Devi said, preparing a salt strip on her wrist for another shot.

“So, give him to another therapist so he isn’t your patient.”

“I tried before he even walked in, but Makayla said he asked for me specifically. She said something about how he knew another satisfied client.”

“Why is your job so sexual?” Eleanor laughed to which Devi glared. “Sorry, I’m sure all of your clients are satisfied.”

“You’re the worst,” Devi laughed, grabbing a lime wedge and thrusting the saltshaker into Fabiola’s hand. “Now are we pre-gaming or what?”

After more than enough shots resulted in finishing off the bottle in record time, Eleanor called for a car. The girls piled in, giggling a lot more than they had been a half hour prior. Fabiola insisted on controlling the music, though no one argued. Fab had an excellent knack for reading the energy and picking the perfect soundtrack. At least normally. This time, what she thought to be a great throwback jam, took Devi back eight years to a time that would only increase her anxiety to think about.  2022, Ben Gross’s Christmas Party.

***

“Coyote girl!”

“Hey, Trent,” Devi smiled meeting him and Paxton by the punch bowl. “You didn’t dip your balls in this again, did you?”

“Come on, Devi, I’m in college now. Would I do that?”

She looked between Trent and Paxton: Trent attempting to look way too innocent, Paxton analyzing him just as much as Devi. Suddenly, he turned to Devi. “You know what? I brought a bottle of Jack. It’s in the fridge. I’ll share with you.”

Devi smiled in gratitude as Paxton led her inside. “So, you’re drinking?”

He smiled. “We get a break from meets during Christmas break, so I figure once or twice won’t hurt.”

“David!” she heard as soon as she and Paxton entered the kitchen. The moment they started dating, Devi told Ben that the ‘nickname’ bothered her. He almost never used it anymore, but he was obviously drunk. “Wait, no sorry. Devi!”

“What’s up, man?” Paxton fist bumped Ben. “I don’t trust Trent, so Devi is drinking my stuff. Cool?”

“Cool, man, and thanks for the heads up. If you don’t trust Trent, I don’t trust Trent.”

Ben and Paxton had reached a relationship of friendly acquaintances by the time Paxton graduated. It had been a necessity when Ben tutored Paxton in order to meet the requirements for his swim scholarship to Stanford. At the time, it brought Devi mixed feelings. Being a few years removed from the drama of her sophomore year, it was nice they could all just hangout without it being weird.

“So, Ben, I gotta know. Why are you having a Christmas party?” Devi asked. “You don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“True, but you can’t throw a party over winter break without accepting that people are going to call it a Christmas party, and expecting half the guests to wear ugly sweaters whether it’s required or not,” Ben explained, only slightly tripping over his words. “I just steer into the skid.”

Devi and Paxton grinned at him before laughing. “Hey, whatever. It’s a dope party, and you guys are just too sober to appreciate it,” he accused good-naturedly, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels out of the refrigerator. “Get moving and come find me when you’re on this level. Unless I’m with Emma, then come back later.”

“Emma?”

“His girlfriend. She’s wicked smart, and she even convinced his parents to be at parents’ weekend. They’ll probably get married,” Devi told him as Ben went back outside.

“I’m sorry, do you go to school in New Jersey or Boston?” he teased.

“What?”

“You’re turning into a New Englander, Vishwakumar,” he told her, taking a pull of the Jack. He stepped in close enough to her that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

“I am not,” she laughed taking the bottle from him and taking a pull of her own. She coughed a little as it went down causing him to smirk. “I don’t usually drink whiskey.”

“Here,” he turned to the fridge and grabbed a soda. “Chase with coke, it helps.”

Just as she went to open the can, a group of people came in, immediately crowding them because they were going to use the island for a game of quarters. At least, that’s what she was able to glean from the drunken shouts of her old classmates. She felt an arm wind around her waist and looked up at Paxton – her chest practically pressed against his.

“Hey, you want to catch up to get drunk or catch up with a friend?” he leaned down to speak in her ear.

“How about both?” she smiled, grabbing the bottle of Jack and slipping through the crowd with Paxton close behind.

“Devi, come on! Catch up!” she came back to reality to have Eleanor thrusting one of the mini fireball bottles she’d shoved in her purse into Devi’s hand.

“I hate fireball,” she groaned.

“Fireball!” her friends shouted, and they all downed a bottle.

“Ladies, we’re here.”

“Okay, okay, one more for the club,” Devi insisted.

With a cheer, all three girls shot another small bottle of fireball. After tipping the driver, Eleanor led them past the line and walked straight up to the bouncer.

“Ladies,” the man smiled. “You on the list?”

“Eleanor Wong,” she stated her name with a flutter of her eyelashes.

He was silent as he skimmed his clipboard. “I don’t see it…” he trailed off, looking up at Eleanor, “but hey, aren’t you in that new spy thriller with Michael B. Jordan?”

Her eyes lit up, “Yes! Shot for Death! Tom keeps saying I’ll get used to being recognized, but it’s such a rush! Oh, here he is now,” she held a finger up to the stout but muscular man as she answered a phone call. “Hello darling,” she said with a flourish. “We’re outside, but he says I’m not on the list. Could you?”

Within seconds, Tom Holland popped his head out the door. “Mal, they’re with me. They’re under my name.”

“My apologies, ladies. Head on in, and I can’t wait to see you on the big screen again, Ms. Wong.”

“Thank you!” she blew him a kiss as the girls hurried inside.

Tom and Eleanor greeted each other with a hug as Devi and Fabiola wandered over to the bar. When Eleanor first made friends with some prominent stars, Devi was star struck regularly. As she got more into her career, and treated more and more celebrities, she began to get used to being in their presence.

“Drinks or shots?” Fabiola shouted over the music.

“Shot for me and then I’m going to dance.”

“Yes, girl!” Fabiola pounded the bar, gaining the attention of one of the bartenders. “Can we get three B-52s?”

“Make it four and put it on my tab,” a man’s voice called from beside Devi. Her initial thought was that Eleanor and Tom had caught up to them, but it clicked almost immediately that the accent was distinctly American. And then it clicked again that she would recognize that voice anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” she wheeled around on him.

“I’m out with some friends. What are you doing here, doctor? Are you following me?”

“Paxton?” Fabiola caught his eye past Devi.

“Hey, Fabiola,” he grinned. “Good to see you!”

“Same,” she smiled back. “I didn’t know you were in town?”

“Yeah, I’m home for some physical therapy,” he shouted gesturing to his shoulder.

It took Fabiola exactly no time to connect the dots, and Devi could feel it. Instead of looking at either of her current companions, she accepted the shots from the bartender with as much gratitude as she could muster. Devi carefully pushed a shot to her left and then to her right, clutching the remaining shots tightly.

“I’ll go give Eleanor hers.”

“Nope,” Fab cut off her escape and plucked the extra shot out of her hand. “I’ll do that. You take yours and go dance!”

“Oh, I’ll cheers to that,” Paxton said, leaning forward so she could hear him. “Come dance with me.”

Maybe it was alcohol from their successful pregaming clouding her judgment, or maybe it was the way she could lose herself in Paxton’s gaze just as easily as when she was fifteen years old, but Devi couldn’t stop herself from nodding and clinking her glass against his as they downed the shots in unison. He smirked at her, grasping her hand gently and leading her to the dancefloor.

It was crowded already, but so many of the people here loved that paparazzi never got in, and they could cut loose. Devi loved that atmosphere. Under the flashing lights, music pumping so loud you can’t hear anything else, dancing with friends, or a guy she would be way too nervous to talk to otherwise – it all just made her feel alive.  She felt that same adrenaline as Paxton kept his left hand firmly on her hip but did not pull her into him. Instead, he left just enough space between them for things to be innocent.

As the beat dropped on a new mix, Devi felt Paxton’s hand like an anchor. They locked eyes for a moment, and she swore she could feel the energy crackling between them. The corner of his mouth quirked up, gaze never leaving hers. This man asked her on a date that morning. The man she’d so desperately wanted as a teenager – the man that she nearly idolized and seemed so unattainable in her youth was the same man in front of her, the one looking at her like pure sex. The thought had a laugh bubbling up in her that she couldn’t stop. Full belly laughter overtook her as she bounced and swayed to the music and just lost herself.

She wasn’t sure how much time past, but at some point, Eleanor and Fabiola joined them. The music had shifted from EDM to a mix of the most beloved hip hop music from ten to fifteen years ago. As intended, that shift had more people pouring onto the dancefloor, and having any space to breathe was impossible. To Devi, it was perfect. The beat was pulsing so loud, it felt like her own heartbeat, and the familiar music was lending to everyone’s closet-love for karaoke as people around her belted the lyrics. Then she felt two hands at her hips pulling her slightly backwards to dance against a man’s chest. Normally, she didn’t mind dancing with strangers. As long as they didn’t get too handsy, she didn’t even mind the approach this guy took. Tonight, things felt different. Her eyes flew open, and immediately met Paxton’s. His look was calculating. He wasn’t going to stop her if this was what she wanted.

The thought brought an easy grin to her face as she reached a hand out toward him. His lips twitched into a crooked grin, but he met her hand and spun her into him. In that moment, time stood still. Devi didn’t notice who had approached her before Paxton’s rescue. She wasn’t sure if Fabiola and Eleanor were still on the floor with them. All she knew was that her back was pressed against Paxton’s chest, and it felt like she belonged there. They swayed to the music together, and she felt his left hand rest on her hip again. His other hand swept the hair off her right shoulder, and she felt him press tighter against her.

“What do you want from me, Devi?” he asked, his breath hot on her neck.

“You’re not dating anyone?” she asked disbelievingly. “Not at all, not even one-night stands?”

They were sitting in Ben’s theater room on the floor passing the significantly less full bottle of Jack between them. It was nice. It was easy. The awkwardness of what happened in high school long behind them.

“Hey, I have never had a one-night stand,” he pointed at her. “Have you?”

“Well, no, but I’m me and you’re you,” she laughed.

“What does that mean?” his eyes narrowed at her good-naturedly as he took another pull from the bottle of Jack and passed it back to her.

“I just mean, one of us probably has people lining up to sleep with them, and the other one is me,” she shrugged.

“Why would you even say that? Have you looked in a mirror?”

“Come on, stop, I didn’t mean” –

“I’m serious, Devi. You are a very weird girl, like that’s your brand, but it’s hot. You’re hot. If you really think guys aren’t interested in you, you’re not paying attention.”

“Stop,” she waved him off, cheeks burning hot red. “You don’t have to do that.”

He was scooting closer to her until their thighs were touching, and his gaze was searching hers looking for any hesitation. “I know. I don’t have to do anything. You know what I want to do?”

Her skin tingled under his stare, and she shook her head ‘no.’ Her stomach somersaulted when he reached a hand up to cradle her jaw. “I want show you how beautiful you are.”

Devi turned in his embrace, draping her hands around his neck. Paxton’s head immediately fell to the crook of her neck, and she played with the hair at the nape of his neck as she leaned into his ear. “I want you to show me how beautiful I am.”

His head snapped up and he pulled back to look her in the eye. His jaw had gone slack, and he was looking at her with such curiosity that it made her second guess herself. Maybe he wasn’t interested after all. Maybe he’d just been swept up in not seeing her after so long that morning. Maybe he just wanted to see if he could still get her to fall at his feet. Maybe this was just a game to him. She started to unwind her arms from him to escape her embarrassment when he pressed one of her arms down to stay in place around him. His other hand was firmly pressed against the small of her back.

“Let’s get a drink,” he suggested, waiting for her confirmation. When she nodded, he took her hand off his shoulder, pressed a kiss against the back, and led her from the dancefloor back to the bar.

“What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey sour,” she told him.

“Thought you didn’t drink whiskey?” he grinned.

“Things change.”

When their drinks were made, he nodded to a staircase, and she set off toward it with him close behind. The upper room was a quieter atmosphere. Tables and chairs, booths, a pool table – it was a great offset from the chaos downstairs. He placed their drinks down on a booth, and she slid into one side expecting him to slide in opposite her. Instead, he slid in next to her.

“Paxton, look I’m sorry if I misread things, I just” –

He placed a hand on her knee. “No, don’t do that. You didn’t misread anything. Just tell me why you said that exactly?”

***

Devi woke to the feeling of a hammer slamming against her skull. She could feel the sunlight piercing through her eyelids, making her roll over and press her face harder against her pillow. She heard a toilet flush, and that prompted her to inspect her surroundings a bit more closely. Blearily, she moved to a sitting position as the faucet in the bathroom ran. It was her apartment, that much she could tell. Maybe Eleanor and Fabiola decided to come back here? Fabiola lived closest to the club. That was why they pre-gamed at her place. Why would they come back to her place? Was she the only one coherent enough to call for a ride? With the way she felt this morning, that was unlikely. No, so who was using her bathroom and whistling as they walked down the hallway?

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and unplugged it from the charger. She had a few unread messages in her group text with her friends.

*Let us know when you wake up this morning, we want to hear all the dirty details!*

*Also, avocado is a great hangover food!*

The dirty details? What did Devi do? So much of the previous night was a blur. At least she has clothes on – one of her dad’s old t-shirts and a pair of pajama shorts. That had a to be sign that she didn’t do anything too stupid. So, who was out there?

Only one way to find out, she thought, hoisting herself out of bed. She stepped out of her bedroom, and immediately smelled eggs. Devi padded down the hallway to the kitchen, and there was a steaming cast iron skillet sitting on a hot pad at the breakfast bar. No one was in the kitchen though.

“Hey, you’re up!” a voice cheered from behind her. Devi whirled around to the living room, to see Paxton on her couch carefully stretching one arm over the other shoulder.

“Jesus! Paxton, what are you doing?”

He tilted his head at her with a quizzical look. “I’m doing my shoulder exercises. You’re the one that assigned them.”

“Not that!” she couldn’t help but holler at him. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. His arms fell to his sides. “You actually demanded that I come here.”

“What?” her eyes went wide as she did her best to recall the events of last night. “Did we…?”

He started laughing as he stepped past her and behind the breakfast bar. “I knew you were too drunk to remember. No, we did not have sex. You were mad at me for that last night by the way.”

“No…” she trailed off taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Oh yeah, I told you I was going to take the couch, and you said you’d been waiting like ten years to see whether or not I stuff my swim briefs,” he smirked. “I don’t, in case you’re still wondering.”

“Oh my god,” this new information and the headache still throbbing against her skull was enough to make her vomit. Instead, she just dropped her head to the counter, the pressure soothing against her forehead.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. It was cute… in a very Devi way,” he brushed her arm gently. “Sit up, you need to eat.”

She shifted her head slightly to meet his eye. “I yelled at you for not showing me your dick, and you stayed the night and made me breakfast.”

“Yeah, I had to make sure you were okay,” his eyes warmed to hers. “Now, sit up and eat.”

She obeyed and smiled when he pushed a loaded plate toward her. “This looks awesome.”

“Yeah, I had to work with what you had, but I call it a southwest sweet potato hash,” he told her proudly. After loading up his own plate, he came around the breakfast bar to sit next to her.

“So, anything else I should know about last night?”

“Well,” he paused to swallow a bite of food, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

She thought about the events of the previous night, as Paxton hopped up again.His energized movements distracting her, she asked, “Are you not hungover at all?”

“Based on what you told me, I had a lot less to drink last night than you did, so no, I’m not,” she heard him reply. She was staring at her plate because too much movement made her nauseated.

“You didn’t happen to make” –

“Coffee,” he cut her off happily, placing the mug in front of her, “and here’s some Tylenol. I was looking for blowfish or something but doesn’t look like you have any.”

She gratefully took the little pills from him and threw them back with a swig of coffee. “I used to. I stopped getting hungover for a while too.”

“Why’d you go so hard last night?”

“I think you know why,” she said with a glare.

He pursed his lips in a pout before choosing to ignore her implication and coming back to sit with her with his own cup of coffee. “So, what do you remember from last night?”

“I remember dancing with you on the dance floor.”

“Anyone else? Eleanor, Fab, some dude that I’m pretty sure was Lucas Hedges?”

“Okay, yeah. Some guy started dancing on me, and I wanted to dance with you instead,” she replied casually, continuing her breakfast.

“Nothing else? You don’t remember going to the upper room to talk about what happened at Ben’s party?”

“We talked about Ben’s party?”

“Well, yeah, funny thing is, I didn’t remember that,” he told her with a nostalgic grin. “Like I remembered it, but I thought I dreamt some of it.”

“What? Like what?”

“Well you were gone when I woke up, and never said anything about it so I thought…”

“You thought you dreamt making out with me?”

“Well, see so that’s all we did? It’s hard, because when I’ve dreamt about it since then…” he trailed off, the tips of his ears turning pink at his own admission.

“You’ve dreamt about it since then?”

“Not like a ton… it’s not like I’ve dreamt about you every night for the last eight years, that would be kinda creepy probably. Just any time something reminds me of you, it seems to come up… high school, something about Gross in the news… seeing you on social media… it’s not that weird.”

“Paxton…”

“I mean, whatever, I know I’m going to dream about last night for a long time,” he winked. She didn’t understand how he could have so little shame. Then she remembered she had enough to go around. “You made it your mission to remind me of every dirty detail of that night at Ben’s.”

“We made out last night?”

“We started to, yeah. Instead of getting hot and heavy, you ran off to the bathroom, and I found you with your head in a urinal. That’s when it was time to go home.”

“And that’s what you’re going to dream about?” she scoffed.

“No, I’m going to dream about you pawing at my zipper yelling about pringle cans.” He settled into a close-lipped smile, but it didn’t hide the mirth in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Devi groaned, slipping off her stool to flop over onto the couch.

She could hear Paxton laughing. Soon, he was settled on the couch with her. She turned her body just enough to catch his eye, and he patted his lap. She rolled her eyes but stretched out so her head was on his thigh and she was looking up at him. His features were soft, gentle, caring.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he told her softly, one hand carding through her hair. “I don’t mind when you act like you like me.”

“I’m not acting,” her eyes fell shut, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp could lull her to sleep.

“Yeah?”

She hummed an affirmative. She was pretty sure if he kept scratching her head like that, she’d say yes to anything. And of course, she liked him. She was never able to truly deny that fact. Even when she’d had boyfriends, she’d be lying if Paxton wasn’t always lingering in the back of her mind. How could he not be? His appearance was god-like. He was beyond hiding behind words – if she was honest, that was her favorite part – he wasn’t afraid to be real with her. And he never gave up on her. As rocky as their friendship had started, as often as they lost touch, here he was telling her, he still thought about her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she almost whispered.

“Me too.”

She felt his hand trace the edge of her face, and couldn’t stop herself from leaning into his touch, and pressing a kiss to his palm. Somehow, it was comfortable, intimate. She felt like she was born to be here. The same thought she had eight years ago came back to the forefront of her mind: It’s always been Paxton. At that realization, her eyes popped open. He’d leaned his head back, eyes closed; he looked as close to dozing off as she felt moments ago. His lips formed a peaceful grin, just slightly curved upwards, and his two small moles pinning opposite corners of his mouth were barely shadowed by the growth of his facial hair overnight. His long eyelashes curled naturally in a way, Devi thought, women would kill for. She always knew he was hot, but she never really took the time to notice how beautiful he was.

Before she could stop herself, before she could think twice, Devi leaned up and pressed her lips to his. And time stood still. Just as she was going to pull away again, his hand found hold in her hair, and his lips moved over hers with fervor. She wasn’t sure who opened to the other first, but in a flash their tongues were dueling for dominance. Instead of admitting defeat, Devi pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down. He, honest to god, whimpered in response. She smiled against mouth before he swallowed her smile with one, two, and then three slow languid kisses. He pulled away, pressed her to his chest that she could feel was heaving. When she looked up to meet his eye, they were closed again, but he wore the most breathtaking smile she’d ever seen.

“Mm... I want to take my time with you,” he told her, pressing another kiss to her lips. She blushed at his implication. “God, I am not going to forget this any time soon.”

“Mood, my guy. Big mood,” she agreed, sitting up next to him.

He turned so he was halfway facing her, and his left hand took refuge on her thigh. “Can I ask you something?” he asked, waiting for her nod before continuing. “Okay, I don’t want to pop this, like, bubble we’re in right now, but… what does this mean going forward?”

“Paxton…” her eyes softened. She knew what she wanted, but with her job, how could she…

“Devi, listen. I know it’s my fault that you’re my therapist. I know that I made this difficult, but I really just wanted to see you, and now? I know one thing for sure, I really don’t want to wait another eight years to kiss you again.” he sighed, and repositioned again so he was fully facing her, clasping her hands in his. “I’ll wait for four weeks if it’ll make you happy. I’ll be your dirty little secret if that’s what you want. Just don’t turn me down. Let me take you to dinner, bring you flowers, make you soup when you’re sick. Give me a chance to sweep you off your feet.”

“Honestly, I’m stuck on ‘dirty little secret.’”

He smirked. “Lingering looks… shirtless assessments… secret dates… secret hookups,” he told her sensually, pausing between each suggestion to press a kiss first to her lips, then the corner of her mouth, her jaw, and finally ended by sucking her earlobe into his mouth and dragging his teeth over it. She shuddered under him, and felt him smile against her neck. “Do you like that idea?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

[cinebration]

By My Rules (Quentin Beck x Reader) [Part 18]

The dominoes begin to fall.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Epilogue

Warnings: none

Gif Source: gyllenhaaldaily

“More information on this scandal involving S.H.I.E.L.D. is still arriving on our desks. For those of you just tuning in this week, three days ago it was revealed that S.H.I.E.L.D. was infiltrated by a terrorist group known as H.Y.D.R.A. for as far back as the fifties. This authoritarian paramilitary organization was founded to control the populace and take away basic freedoms…”

You tuned out of the radio broadcast. Over the past seventy-two hours, every major news outlet had been dissecting the news that you had provided from Elias Clark. In true news media fashion, they had seized the story and run with it, speculating wildly and without foundation on the nature of the infiltration. Steve Rogers’s name was flung forward as a potential traitor, the man having been present at both the supposed end of H.Y.D.R.A. and its resurgence.

If Steve Rogers could be involved, so could the other Avengers.

You smiled to yourself. It was all unfolding brilliantly. You felt like patting yourself on the back, it had all been so wonderfully executed.

And you weren’t yet finished.

Drumming your fingers on the steering g wheel, you glanced at the car’s digital clock display. You had already been parked outside S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters for twenty minutes and counting.

The door to the building opened just as you shifted your attention up to it. Quentin emerged, shuffling like a man badly beaten. He squinted against the sunlight, grimaced as he shielded his eyes with his hand.

With the news having reported on Dr. Rinehart’s detention by S.H.I.E.L.D. and the S.H.I.E.L.D.- H.Y.D.R.A. scandal still unfolding, Fury had been forced, as expected, to release Quentin back into the world. Fury would undoubtedly monitor him for a few weeks, but the pressure of the scandal would force all of Fury’s attention elsewhere.

You climbed out of the car and waved Quentin down.

He hesitated, as though surprised to see you, before hurrying over. You had slipped back into the car by the time he reached the passenger door. Scrambling into his seat, he gaped at you.

You shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.

“How…?”

Smirking, you answered, “I told you I had a plan, Quentin. That we would do this by my rules. And here we are, witnessing the dominoes toppling.”

“I can’t believe it. Is that what you expected? They’ll fire Fury for sure—”

“Think bigger.”

He paused, his eyes widening. “No. You couldn’t have.”

“If all goes well, S.H.I.E.L.D. will be no more.”

Quentin leaned over and kissed you on the cheek, hard. “You are a genius.”

“Yes, I am.”

Something caught your ear on the radio. You turned the volume dial up.

“Breaking news. In the developing story regarding S.H.I.E.L.D. and its infiltration by H.Y.D.R.A., footage has been released of S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nick Fury and one of his associates changing from what appear to be aliens into humans. The story comes from The Daily Bugle’s J. Jonah Jameson.”

Jameson’s booming voice crackled through. “Not only was S.H.I.E.L.D. infiltrated by a terrorist group, but apparently it’s been run by aliens the whole time! I don’t doubt that H.Y.D.R.A was working with these freaks to control us! These aliens are probably the ones who caused the aliens to attack New York in 2012.”

You glanced at Quentin, feeling the warmth of his exultation and relishing the look of disbelief on his face.

“Following this news, the government has assembled a task force to investigate S.H.I.E.L.D. and its connection to H.Y.D.R.A. Fury has refused to comment at this time…”

“Dominoes,” you said. “Within a year, S.H.I.E.L.D. will be disbanded, and everything the Avengers do will be called into question.”

“Marry me,” Quentin breathed. “We can rule the world together.”

You laughed and shook your head. His melodramatic tendencies, no matter how much you tried, always amused some part of you, even when they irked you at the same time.

“All in due time,” you assured him.

~~

You steered the car through a suburban neighborhood, stopping before a small one-story house with a meticulously kept lawn.

“What’s this?” Quentin asked as you pulled into the driveway.

“Home,” you replied.

Quentin glanced at you sharply. It was only then that he glanced down at your hand, the sun shining bright off something on your finger.

Your wedding ring.

Taking him by the arm, you led him to the front door. “Quentin, I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think we do work better as a team, so long as I’m mostly in charge.”

His hand tightened on yours, but he said, “Everything can’t be your way.”

“Yes, I know. But I stand by my statement. We make a good team.”

You looked up into his face and offered him a warm smile. Something flickered in his eyes, as though something had resolved itself. He brushed his hand against your cheek and gently leaned down, kissing you gently.

When you broke away, you grinned and said, “Into the house.”

He grinned lasciviously. “Yes, ma’am.”

You laughed and shook your head. “We have work to do.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is dead.”

“I’m not done yet.”

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday: Job Hunting

Rose loses her job at the grief center and faces ageism when she searches for a new one. Blanche tries to lose three pounds.

Picture It...

Blanche is cutting vegetables while singing “Sleep, Kentucky Babe.” Sophia comes in (not wearing her glasses, for some reason) and is upset to see there’s no pepperoni in the fridge. She rejects both Blanche’s offer of celery stuffed with cottage cheese and Dorothy’s offer of chicken, as both repeat on her. Blanche, meanwhile, is trying to lose three extra pounds she’s gained.

Rose comes in, distraught (Sophia is, once again, indifferent), and tells the Girls that they’ve closed her grief counseling center. Blanche and Dorothy are immediately concerned that Rose has lost her job, but Rose is more worried about the fact that her former patients won’t have anyone to counsel them anymore. She says she plans to help them find other places to go, and then she’ll focus on finding a job. Dorothy is skeptical.

ROSE: I’m dependable, friendly, loyal, eager. *leaves the kitchen* DOROTHY: That’s great. If she learns to catch a frisbee in her teeth, she can get work as a Golden Retriever.

Later, Dorothy goes out to the lanai to read, and finds a strange man sitting there. He introduces himself as Milton, and Rose arrives to say that Milton is one of her former patients from the center, and even tells Dorothy his whole life story right in front of him. She sends him off and tells him to call her anytime, day or night -- the last three words sending Dorothy into a panic.

Dorothy confronts Rose about her job hunt and Rose says she hasn’t started looking, too preoccupied with helping the center’s patients. Sophia passes her phone messages from the patients and Dorothy gets one from an old high school acquaintance she had a crush on named Barry Glick. He’s visiting Miami and wants to get together, which sends Dorothy over the moon. Rose is drowning in her patients’ despair off to the side.

BLANCHE: I hate phone calls in the middle of the night! Now I’ll never get back to sleep. I’m as jumpy as a virgin at a prison rodeo. DOROTHY: Boy, that’s … pretty jumpy.

Dorothy bangs on Rose’s door that night to wake her, as Milton is calling in the wee hours. Blanche and Dorothy, irritated, retreat to the living room, where Sophia is sitting in the dark, and grouse about the situation -- Blanche has already lost one pound and doesn’t want to eat her insomnia, while Dorothy wants to look good for Barry. They decide to confront Rose, and sit her down when she comes out and tell her she needs to focus on finding a job. Rose tearfully confesses she has been trying to find one, but she’s been rejected after several interviews for her age. Distraught, she runs to her room and slams the door.

Dorothy and Blanche follow Rose to her room to talk to her about the situation. Dorothy tells her she’s recovered from a major life change once, after her husband died and left her as a housewife with no work experience. Rose says she’s older now, and Dorothy offers to help her figure out what she’s doing wrong in the interviews. Rose says she’s got one in the morning for a Hospital Administrator job, and Dorothy reviews her resume -- which stinks. She and Blanche find ways to pad the resume out, giving Rose some more confidence. Unable to fall back asleep, all three go to the kitchen for a snack.

BLANCHE: Oh I can’t fall asleep now. DOROTHY: Still at the rodeo, Blanche? ROSE: I can’t sleep either. Why don’t I make us all some warm milk? After I drink milk, I go right to sleep. BLANCHE: I can think of something else after which I go right to sleep. Huh, Dorothy? DOROTHY: … during.

In the kitchen, they somehow justify getting a three-course meal on the table, including our very first shared cheesecake (and Sophia’s precious pepperoni). Dorothy talks about her date with Barry, and how she wanted him to be her first lover. This leads into a lengthy discussion about their first lovers -- Stan was Dorothy’s, Charlie was Rose’s, and Someone-Whose-Name-Starts-With-B was Blanche’s. Rose’s first time was her wedding night, and she was appalled because she’d never seen a naked man before. Stan convinced Dorothy he was being shipped to Korea and “it would mean so much” and nine months later she gave birth. Rose not-so-subtly hints it took years for her to orgasm during sex, and Blanche is completely baffled, as her Southern heat gave her urges. The Girls transition from a full dinner to a full breakfast.

The next day, Blanche flirts with Milton on the lanai. He tells her to abandon her diet and they agree to a date later. Sophia comes out on the lanai, followed shortly by Dorothy, who says her date with Barry went very well. Blanche wants to know if he lives up to her high school fantasies, but Dorothy replies in the negative: Barry is gay. Sophia claims she’s always known that. Dorothy says at least no other woman can have him either.

SOPHIA: *about Milton* I thought he belonged to the other one. BLANCHE: Well I’m sure Rose won’t mind one bit. SOPHIA: He’s a man. It’s not like sharing a yogurt.

Rose joins them, all smiles. She didn’t get the hospital admin job, but she did find a job when she was out for a float after her failed interview: She’s now a waitress at a coffee shop. It’s not the job Blanche and Dorothy wanted for her, but at least she’ll be working and earning money. They congratulate her. Blanche asks Rose about Milton, and Rose says he’s just her client -- she could never date him, as he’s only interested in fat woman. The episode ends on Blanche’s furious face.

“Hell, if I’m gonna have cookies, I’m gonna have cheesecake!”

Usually, I’m on board with a Golden Girls Very Special Episode when it tackles relevant issues, but something about this episode -- ostensibly one about ageism in the job market -- just doesn’t land particularly well. I didn’t really love it as a child, and I don’t really love it as an adult, but I think it’s for entirely different reasons. I suspect there was some behind-the-scenes drama about this episode I haven’t been able to fully investigate, but suffice to say this episode is a throwback to the beginning of the season, when the show was much less certain of itself. That said, it’s saved from two-slice infamy by some very good lines and gags.

BLANCHE: You probably haven’t noticed it, but I’ve put on three pounds. SOPHIA: On each side.

I’m still not sure why I didn’t like it as a kid -- I think the fact that Sophia, who was my favorite, is in so little of the episode was part of it. Sophia’s role in this episode is basically to make weird remarks and hover on the periphery -- literally in the case of the living room and lanai scenes -- of the episode and make the occasional bon mot. She’s not in the extended kitchen scene where the Girls eat their way through a three-course meal (we’ll get back to that scene in a minute), so I think I was puzzled why this episode forgot about her.

As an adult, I can pinpoint a few more concrete reasons I’m not in love. Keep in mind I’m biased, as I was recently laid off and back on the job market, but I suspect that Rose’s problem might not be ageism. I’m not trying to be mean here, but the problem might be that Rose is trying to find a job with a community college degree and a 32-year gap in work history, and the fact that the episode doesn’t really seem to understand that is a little disconcerting.

ROSE: They closed the center. BLANCHE: Not your grief counseling center? DOROTHY: No, the Kennedy Space Center. She wanted to be the first Lutheran on the Moon.

I don’t plan to fully talk about the episode before the official SGS, but I think it’s necessary to fully give context here: Rose will get another episode based around age discrimination in the job market in Season 5 called “Rose Fights Back.” Suffice to say I think it’s much better than this one, because at least in that episode it makes it clear that the only reason Rose is having problems is because of people’s reaction to her age. But this episode is much less clear, and in fact, based on the one job we see Rose actually applying for, I think she may be aiming a little high here.

To be clear, you can do alright with a Home-Ec degree and business training. There are a lot of jobs you can reasonably get with those qualifications. “Hospital Administrator” isn’t one of them, and Dorothy’s attempts to fluff up Rose’s resume don’t do anything but draw attention to the huge gaps in her work history. “32 years with the same employer?” There is not an interviewer in the world who won’t ask which employer that is, and who is Rose supposed to say? Her husband?

I know I wasn’t alive in the 80s, but I refuse to believe it was so alien a time that someone with Rose’s qualifications would be able to get that job. Heck, if she lived in the modern day, getting a job at the Fountain Rock coffee shop would be a coup.

There are also a few continuity errors in this episode: For starters, Charlie goes from having died 15 years ago to 5 years ago. Rose will later get be a grief counselor with no explanation. I guess it’s possible that she could have gotten another job in the same field, but it’s still jarring that she’s a waitress for all of five minutes.

DOROTHY: I am so glad that my date with Barry is tomorrow. The fat won’t have time to show. ROSE: It won’t? DOROTHY: No, it always takes a few days before it shows. ROSE: Where does it go in the meantime? DOROTHY: To Connecticut! How do I know where it goes? BLANCHE: With me, the minute it goes in my mouth, I balloon up. I can go out to dinner, and in the middle of the meal, my pants are cutting off my circulation so bad my feet are turning blue.

I don’t want to be a Negative Nancy, so I’ll add that everything in this episode is saved by the excellent jokes and lines. Some of the most iconic lines and exchanges happen in this episode, so it’s memorable for that reason alone. The best parts are probably Blanche’s enraged reaction faces, as seen in the image at the top. Also, when I discovered that this was actually the second episode filmed, that explained an awful lot -- for example, why this episode doesn’t balance all four actresses well, why the writing doesn’t feel as concise, and all the continuity errors. Even the way the episode looks makes sense after learning that little tidbit.

As much as I like that scene in the kitchen where the Girls talk about their romantic history -- and also eat their first cheesecake together! -- it really has very little to do with the rest of the episode, and it takes up quite a chunk of time. I guess that’s why I don’t consider this a Very Special Episode: The tone is just a bit too inconsistent. Five minutes after Rose is lamenting that she can’t find a job because of her age, and she’s talking about how it took her five years to have an orgasm with her husband. A different kind of tragedy, to be sure.

BLANCHE: You know, in the South, we mature faster. I think it’s the heat. DOROTHY: I think it’s the gin.

I can’t be certain, but I think there was some behind-the-scenes drama with director Paul Bogart, who was fired shortly after this episode was shot. I can only find a couple of references to this episode in Golden Girls Forever, one of which calls it “troubled.” Don’t take my word as gospel, but it’s what I suspect happened. Bogart was liked by Rue McClanahan and Bea Arthur, but didn’t direct Rose’s character very well, according to Betty White. He wanted her to yell and scream during her big moment, which wasn’t very Rose, but she tried until Jay Sandrich, director of the pilot, took her aside and told her to do it how she felt comfortable. Bogart apparently told the staff (including the writers): “Just give me the show in the beginning of the week, and by the end of the week, you’ll have an Emmy winner.” That boast did not go over well, especially since he didn’t really include the writers or the hands-on producers, and he only directed four episodes.

One last thing: The kitchen scene in this episode was expanded and adapted for the 1988 Royal Variety Performance. In adapting this, they got smart and gave Estelle Getty lines to say. Not only do you get to hear Sophia tell the very posh emcee, “Let’s find a pub and get drunk,” you also get to hear Blanche make her usual joke about watching the changing of the guard. I’ve heard it was the Queen Mother who requested them, as she was a fan. Not only can you see her meeting the Girls backstage, but Sophia even references her when leaving the stage: “Hey, just because you’re over 80 doesn’t mean you can’t go out on the town at night. Just ask that fine-looking lady up there in the expensive seats.”

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰 (three cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite part of the episode:

Sophia’s line, which I’ve quoted more times than I can count:

DOROTHY: Ma, would you get Rose some water? SOPHIA: What is she gonna do with water? Has water ever made you feel better when you were upset? Have you ever heard anyone say, “Thank God, the water’s here?”